#siri drabbles

[siribear]

her party is still just as chatty on the way back to base camp from the shrine of dumat. varric, dorian, and bull keep themselves entertained well enough without her input.

which works just fine for her - she's sore down to her bones. it wasn't enough that she was singled out and carried deeper into the red templar encampment via a charging templar brute. no - she absent-mindedly rubs at her neck - carol smited her and would have drowned her if not for her mark.

she could have saved herself with blood magic. but it's already the reason why she's lost the trust of most of her companions. the ones with her are all she has left of those who trust her.

even cullen, paces ahead of her, has barely spoken to her even while going after samson. but she deserves it. she lied to him.

annwn.

a chill runs down her spine.

'did you need something?' she asks, turning in her saddle to face varric.

he looks away from laughing at a joke. 'didn't say anything, cousin.' and neither did the others. she doubts cullen said anything. he doesn't address her as anything less than inquisitor, now.

just the wind, then? or she's hallucinating. but she could have sworn -

help me.

this time, a child's voice, low and scared.

again, it seems no one noticed.

the same shiver washes over her as they pass by a large, empty mansion. the first time they came through it gave her an uneasy feeling, but she wasn't hearing voices then.

without a word, she directs her horse toward the mansion. the air beyond the gates hold a chill despite the bright sun shining overhead. the yard is lush and green - but overgrown.

her horse whickers and throws its head up when she tries to urge it closer.

'another home no doubt abandoned during the civil war,' dorian says, pulling up beside her. 'someone ought to tell them they can come back. this place looks awful.'

near the rim of a distant fountain, a skeleton lays collapsed in the overgrown grass.

'i don't think it was the war that emptied this place, dorian.'

'what are you doing?' he asks as she dismounts. 'shouldn't we get that rune back to skyhold?'

'well, yes, but - ' she chews her bottom lip. 'there's something here. and it's the inquisition's job to bring stability to the area, right? so - '

'alright, alright. let me get the others, though.'

she hadn't even noticed she was already halfway through the front door.

and when it shuts on the five of them, it's with an echoing finality before all the light goes out.

-

'boss, i think the door just locked.'

from the shadows, cullen appears with a torch, and she only jumps slightly (she swears) when he asks for her to light it.

the iron bull tugs at the door. pushes. rams his shoulder into it. but the solid wood doesn't give. through the glow of cullen's torch light (what she can see now is just a borrowed sconce), they can see that all the curtains were drawn the moment they entered.

'why did we come here again?' the sound of varric drawing bianca echoes through the main hall.

all eyes turn to her. 'i thought i heard - i don't know. someone calling out for help?' and her name. very clearly her name.

a door creaks open at the end of the hall. light spills through the doorway, only partially illuminating their path.

'that's not creepy at all,' bull grouses. dorian murmurs a soft, 'i'll watch out for you.'

amell leads the way. inside the chateau is worse than outside. they step across broken glass and toppled furniture. scattered parchment whispers at their ankles. amell doesn't hear any more voices besides her companions.

'at the risk of sounding like solas,' dorian begins, 'the veil here is incredibly thin.'

he isn't wrong. it's gossamer thin, like walking through endless cobwebs. somehow it makes walking through a lit hallway unnerving in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that they watched each sconce flare to life just before they reached it.

as they step through the door at the other end of the hall, the next room looks nothing like the rest of the mansion. it's warm and lit, but small, and doesn't match what they saw outside. to their left, a hearth is blazing. the shadow of the stairs beyond it angles upward to the loft, so dark they can't see past. when amell turns to look behind her, the door is gone.

'hey, wait a minute. this place looks familiar,' varric says. 'it looks like - '

'annwn, what is the meaning of this?'

a woman, dressed in noble finery of a make she doesn't recognize and her blonde hair done up in a tight bun, points sharply at the burning hearth.

'mamae?' she whispers to herself, and then the woman stomps her way.

the sting of the slap makes her eyes water. amell touches her fingers to her cheek, and when she looks back to the woman, she's at least two feet taller.

'do not call me that word. i am your mother. now tell me why the fireplace is lit.'

'i-i was cold!' she stutters, her voice high and childlike. 'i was cold. we - ' there is an elven man standing in the shadows, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but there. the one who referred to lady amell as her mamae. ' - we couldn't find your matches. so - look!' little amell holds a mote of conjured flame suspended between her hands, then claps it away. 'i can do it myself!'

her mother grabs her by the wrist and squeezes hard. she feels the bones start to give. 'come with me. now, annwn.'

tears pour freely and her mother glares, unmoving. 'i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i won't do it again. please, mother - '

'come. you're going with the templars. bad enough that my sister ran away with one, but now my only child...'

she digs her heels into the carpet and tries her best to pull back. 'no, no, please, mother. i'm sorry! i don't want to go, please, please, i'll be good, please - '

something - someone - pulls her back before she can be dragged through the door. into inky blackness and a cluster of glowing eyes that wait. varric slams the door shut.

'inquisitor.' cullen holds her by her shoulders. 'you aren't going anywhere. was that...?'

the tears carried over from the illusion of the memory, and fresh ones join the tracks already there. 'the moment i was sent off to the circle. i was eight.'

-

she composes herself away from the others. what's going on? why would the fade show her that memory, out of all of them? later, after she rejoins her party, no longer visibly shaken, she learns.

as they're lead through the mansion, papers fly up to greet them, caught on sourceless gusts of wind. a note from a father, who locked up his child who began to show an affinity for magic. more worried about his family name than his daughter's well being. a note from the girl, so lonely and all she wanted to do was leave her room and make friends. and then one found her.

scraps from foolish books: ways to ensure your child isn't born a mage. amell briefly wonders if her mother had tried any of them.

led up to the final room upstairs, past a large, hanging sculpture of a dragon that bull moons over, amell hesitates at the door. she knows - they all know - what they'll find on the other side. a demon possessed child. connor all over again.

she pushes through.

in the middle of the large room, surrounded by a ring of toys, sits a little girl, perhaps a few years older than amell was when she was taken, in a floral day dress and wild brown hair. she sits up when she sees them and drops her dolls to the floor. 'hello! are you new friends?'

amell shares a look with the others before stepping forward. 'actually, we're looking for a way out. can you help us? what's your name?'

the - girl? - frowns. 'my name is nanette. my other friend told me you were here to be friends with me, though. there's no one else here to play with.'

amell kneels before the girl, who blinks up at her innocently. 'nanette, do you know what's happening? do you know... what your friend is?'

nanette hangs her head. 'i think everyone's gone. but i still have my friend.'

'how long have you known your friend?'

'um. a few months?' the girl tilts her head to the side and nods as if listening to someone whispering in her ear. 'yes, a few months.'

behind her, bull grumbles. 'okay. i'm going to talk to my companions here for a moment.' when she makes to stand, nanette reaches out to grab her hand.

'you can't leave me though. i've been so lonely.' the girl yawns. 'no one else has been... here... '

amell cuts off the spell and catches the girl before she can collapse to the ground. the air is silent.

'is she okay?' asks cullen, of the possessed child.

'sleeping. but with the demon so close, i'm not sure how long it'll hold.'

dorian strokes his chin. 'months like this? i'd be surprised if it wasn't just the demon toying with us. there's no girl there at all.'

'so, what, we just make the demon come out and kill it? then we can go home?' varric hopes aloud.

'doesn't feel right.' bull sniffs. 'killing a kid.'

'i agree,' says, surprisingly, cullen.

'what do you think, boss?'

she led them here. it's her decision to make. kill a child - if it is one - to free them. or - 'arl eamon's kid was possessed in redcliffe during the blight. some time between... between when i left for ostagar and when we arrived after the battle. less than a month, but... connor was still in there.'

she looks to nanette, slumbering softly, little hands opening and closing like a kitten kneading the air. 'there's a... very small chance she could be, as well.'

it would make killing her harder, though necessary.

'what do we need to do then?' cullen steps forward. 'how did you save connor?'

she blinks, drops her hand away from the dagger at her belt. 'more mages than we have here. no offense, dorian.' he shrugs. 'if you remember, we took a handful from the tower when we left.'

'so, what, we - we murder nanette to free ourselves?'

'i - ' i kill her, amell thinks. i brought us here. it's my fault. she exhales heavily. 'there is one other option.'

jowan taught me how to perform the ritual. i can do it without - without the mages or the extra lyrium. but it would require me to use blood magic.'

and a sacrifice, but she could probably make do without...

'i would need everyone's help, though.'

'our blood, you mean.'

she looks cullen straight in the eye when she says, 'it's that or i sacrifice myself so dorian can exorcise the demon in the fade.'

'could you not... open a rift? draw the demon out that way and slay it?'

amell shakes her head. 'not without killing nanette. or risking more demons pouring through in the interim.'

varric steps forward, one hand tugging up his sleeve. 'what's a little blood between friends, right? come on, let's save this kid.'

-

'i'm sorry,' amell whispers. blood beads and spills from the shallow cut on cullen's arm. he holds out his arm like the rest of them and lets the blood drip to the floor.

amell stands between cullen and varric, completing the circle, and slices deep into her palm. cullen shouts in alarm, but she raises her bloody hand to silence him. her blood spills and travels through the grooves in the wooden floor to meet the others. when it all connects, power erupts beneath her.

last time she did this, she was the one being sent into the fade. to be the caster and the one to go under - it's taking more out of her already than she imagined.

the girl stirs in the center of the spell, but when she rises its with jerky and inhuman movements. her eyes glow the sickly green of the fade.

'come on,' she taunts. 'it isn't the girl you need anymore. that's why you called out to me, isn't it? why you showed me that memory?'

'what are you doing?' cullen hisses.

'drawing it out,' she explains through gritted teeth. 'it has to let her go before i can - '

a dark chuckle. sweat beads on her temple. she feels the first tremor in her arm.

'she isn't strong enough, and you know it! you want more power.' there's an echo she can hear to her own voice. more demons than the one she wants closing in. she's drawn too much attention to herself. the mark flares, and the voices subside. 'nanette can't do that, now can she?'

nanette's body falls to the ground hard, but the glowing eyes stay in the center of the circle. if she squints, she can see the outline of the demon beginning to take shape.

it's enough.

amell closes her fist, and at the last drop of blood to hit the floor, the world goes white.

-

amell once again finds nanette playing with her dolls, though the room is only half formed in the fade.

'oh! my friend said he wanted to see you. come on, this way.'

she follows behind as broken rocks and landscape coalesce into the halls of chateau d'onterre. a roar rumbles in the distance.

when nanette finally sees the true form of her friend - a tall, spindly limbed terror demon - she shouts and makes to hide.

amell turns quickly and takes the girl by the shoulders. 'nanette, you have to wake up. wake up from this. my friends will be there to help you, okay? but you have to go now.'

thankfully, the girl nods and leaves, running back from where they came until she quite literally disappears. awake. amell sighs with relief.

'we all know who you are, now, mage,' says the demon with no mouth. 'we've seen you.'

'good for you.' her staff appears in her hand. 'i'm not here to listen to you, though.'

impossibly black eyes narrow. 'you offered yourself. you and your terror. you fear all of your friends will leave you. that you'll die alone.'

'you don't know me at all.'

with barely a thought, her staff is wreathed in lightning, and, at another, arcing across the distance between them. the demon might have held onto nanette for as long as it did, but with the girl's abilities barely honed the demon's powers have stagnated, and it shows.

in what feels like only a moment, amell has the demon trapped in a cage of lightning. it shrieks every time it throws itself against the walls, but they hold steadfast. she brings her hands together. the demon's flesh sizzles and pops as the lightning closes in. it ends with a crack of thunder that echoes across the limitless fade, and then the demon is nothing but ash.

amell allows herself a weary sigh. she's more exhausted than she thought she'd be. when she turns to follow nanette back across the veil, she stumbles.

in front of her is that avatar of fear, hundreds of eyes trained on her. it opens its maw, lined with an infinite number of teeth.

i know your fear.

amell screams.

-

she comes to, with that scream tearing out of her throat and something holding her, stopping her from retreating. she beats her fists against it and tries to push away.

'it's me. it's me!' says cullen, and then she realizes it's his arms around her. her back propped up against his knee, she's laid across his lap. she lowers her fists. her right, with the deep gash still bleeding, stings when she opens her hand. 'it's safe. the demon is gone.'

'nanette?'

'safe. the others brought her to a different room... just in case.'

she closes her eyes and sighs. 'good idea.' she opens them again, and cullen is looking down at her, worried. 'is everyone else okay? are you?'

'yes.' he tries to help her to her feet, but her limbs feel leaden. he lowers her to sit next to him. 'your hand...'

'right.' she raises the other over it, but before she can cast the spell to heal it, cullen pulls it over to him. he rests it on his knee as he twists to dig something out of his pack. 'what are you doing?'

he turns back with bandages, a poultice, and his canteen in hand. 'you're drained. and while the demon is gone, i don't think it safe to prod at the veil still.'

she watches him curiously as he gently splays her fingers. he wets the end of the bandage with his canteen and sets to cleaning her palm. she winces when he brushes too close to the wound.

'i'm sorry,' he murmurs, and the next brush is so soft she barely feels it.

when her hand is clean, he applies the poultice with that same gentleness. her fingers twitch every time he runs his own across her palm. next, he wraps the bandage around her hand, one thumb holding it in place at her wrist. when he's done tying off the excess bandage, the tingling in her hand has nothing to do with the numbing properties of the poultice.

she doesn't know when she rested her head on his shoulder, but even when he's finished he doesn't push her away.

'thank you.' she doesn't know where they are now - if she should call him cullen or commander, so she leaves it off.

'were you serious about sacrificing yourself?'

she lifts her head and looks at him then. 'i - ' her gaze drops to her hand, the one with the anchor embedded in her palm. a contrast to her self-inflicted wound on the other. 'mostly.' after witnessing the future in redcliffe, she knows she's more useful alive if only for the anchor. 'the other option was to sacrifice someone else, and i wouldn't do that.'

cullen hums in thought. 'can you stand?'

'yes, i think so.' she stands without his help, only to end up reaching out for him to steady herself. 'i'm fine, i'm fine. just - sitting for too long.'

before they can reach the door, varric opens it and waltzes through. 'ah, good to see you're okay, cousin. when dorian said you were taking too long we were starting to get worried.'

'it took a little bit longer to recover than i anticipated.' out of the corner of her eye, she sees cullen shift and duck his head. she can almost feel him blushing. 'is everyone - ?'

'ready to get the hell out of this creepy mansion? yes. i can't believe i'm actually excited to get back out into the humidity of the emerald graves.' he groans.

varric takes over in helping her across the balcony of the second floor and down the stairs. by the time they reach the main entrance she can walk by herself, at least.

with nanette on his shoulders, iron bull opens the door with ease and leads them back out into the light.

as she stands in the sunlight and promises herself she isn't seeing eyes in the eaves of sundappled trees, cullen brings her her horse. though they still aren't talking, he rides next to her. occasionally she catches him checking on her.

which is fine. because if she closes her eyes for a second too long, the avatar of fear stares back.

[biteofcherry]

Enforcer!Steve + in feral lizard brain mode as he holds Cherry down and pumps her full of his cum 🫠

In the past Steve got a little cocky about his endurance, but it seemed that since you popped into his life like an endless fountain of sweet pastel confetti, he gained new levels of stamina.

And it was all you.

Just the sight of you taking his cock filled Steve with bursts of energy and determination to keep going. To fill you over and over again.

Even as your eyes glazed over and your body turned limp, rocking bonelessly in rhythm of his thrusts, Steve didn't feel sated.

He hungered for more. To see you overflowing with his cum.

"Fuck, that's it, Cherry." He snarled, fucking into you in languid thrusts.

Deep and hard to feel the pleasure of it sizzling in his loins, but unrushed enough to admire the mixture of his cum and your slick glistening on his dick. And the way your swollen folds hugged his thick cock with each thrust.

Your thighs were shiny with sticky wetness, too. Your cute sundress rolled up to expose the cute swell of your belly, which Steve's primitive hindbrain wanted to see grow bigger - grow with his child.

It wasn't on his mind always, not a plan either of you were preparing for. When he was balls deep inside of you, however, he couldn't help following the temptation of that ultimate claim and ruination.

The top of your dress was ruined, too; straps ripped as Steve dove in haste for your breasts. They now bounced freely, your nipples stiff and shiny with Steve's spit. So sweet.

They could be sweeter filled with milk...

Fuck, but you were the hottest sight Steve ever landed his eyes upon.

His cock throbbed, his release impending. But he knew it wouldn't be enough. He'd fill you again, make your pussy milk the last drop, then in a matter of a few gulps of breath he'd be hungry for you again.

Cherry Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[bubblegum-cherry-lips]

“I may or may not have left some….marks.”

(18+)

sirius absolutely loves marking you.

he cannot get enough of you - after he kisses you good morning, his lips trail along the curve of your neck and settle right above your collar bone where he leaves a tiny hickey that only stays that tiny because you push him off, laughter bubbling out of your throat when he starts pouting.

you're making dinner, and his arms wrap around your waist as he leaves teeth marks on your shoulder, but he's careful not to hurt you for real and you bump your head against his because dinner will literally be ready in 5 minutes and he doesn't need to be so impatient.

and when he fucks you, it's like every bit of his control slips away from him. if he fucks you slowly, he's sucking bruises on your neck, timing his thrusts with it and licking his masterpiece as you come undone underneath him. if he's fucking you fast, desperation coloring his every move, he's holding your hips until his fingers leave bruises on them as he moves you along with his thrusts; and the blank canvas of your shoulders is perfect for him to bite as he cums, as you shake beneath him while he keeps going, keeps pushing into you until you are a sobbing, overstimulated mess.

he loves making sure that every part of you has his mark - and if the rest of the world gets a glimpse of that, even better.

[stxr-slut]

When I tell you I nearly cried when I came to the end and there wasn't more? Brilliant, aha I loved it, I need it in my VEINS.

Thawing Out

summary: You and Sirius are in dire need of a new coach just weeks before the Olympics. Remus is a former figure skating prodigy forced to retire after a career-ending injury. Though it's not smooth skating right away, those stiff Olympic village beds are dying to be broken in.

cw: modern au, chronic pain

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus still wakes before dark every morning. It’s automatic, an urgency and excitement that thrums through him like an old instinct, born from years of his alarm clock rousing him at this time. The rink is always at its best right now, when they’ve just finished resurfacing the ice and no one else is around. It was Remus’ favorite time to practice. 

Now, he has a new reason to get up. His hip clicks as he does it, so he starts his day with a couple of proactive painkillers. If he really wanted to be proactive he would stretch like he’s supposed to, but there’s no time and Remus doesn’t feel like it. He’ll pay his toll for the negligence later. 

The webpage of his Airbnb boasted a five-minute walk to the rink, but with his hip it takes Remus seven. It’s like an odd sort of muscle memory, an old routine from another life that feels as bitter as it does comfortable. He heads out early to give himself some cushion. The streets are empty but for bakers and baristas, the first hints of dawn tinging the sky a deep blue. When he turns a corner and the rink comes into view, the absence of his bag hanging from his shoulder is a phantom ache. 

The front doors are locked but the side one staff uses isn’t, the Zamboni driver already inside. Remus lets himself in, makes a cup of tea from the hot water dispenser they leave out when concessions are closed, plants himself on a bench, and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

Remus has nearly nodded off when two pairs of shoes come bounding up to him. Well, one pair bounds. The other drags. 

“Hi, sorry we’re late.” You’re breathless and hauling a sullen-looking boy along behind you by the hand, but you manage a smile when Remus looks up at you. “I had to run over and get him out of bed. It’s good to meet you!”

You hold out your untethered hand. Remus might normally stand to take it, but he no longer feels like doing you the courtesy. Your grip is firm and warm. 

“You were supposed to be here at six,” he says. 

You wince. “I know. Sorry, Sirius is really not a morning person.” 

Remus thinks that he might put more stock into your apologies if you looked a tad more contrite. As it is, your countenance is almost cheery, a fizzy eagerness about you as you look between him and the ice like you can’t wait to get out on it. 

In stark contrast, the ill-tempered boy behind you seems not to have a clue where he is. He looks rumpled and disoriented, squinting in the rink’s fluorescent light. 

“Then why didn’t you pick another time?” Remus asks. 

He hadn’t realized he was still looking at Sirius, or that the other boy could talk, so it’s a surprise when he answers. “Wasn’t my bloody idea.” 

By the way you grin, Remus wonders if you’ve even heard the obvious bitterness in your partner’s tone, or whether it’s gone straight over your head. 

“I like the rink better early,” you explain. “No one else ever comes before the hockey practice starts at nine, and they’ll have just finished resurfacing the ice.” 

Begrudgingly, Remus nods. “I always preferred it about now, too.” 

He realizes immediately that his agreement was a mistake, because your smile grows into something far too brilliant for the early hour. Christ, what has he gotten himself into? There’s you, starry-eyed and effervescing all over the place, and your partner, who looks more inclined to fall asleep on your shoulder than put on his skates. 

And this is the pair skating duo Remus is supposed to take to the Olympics. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Watch that back foot!” Remus shouts across the ice.

Sirius doesn’t look happy about it, but he corrects the placement of his skate, transitioning smoothly into the next synced turn. 

“Good,” Remus murmurs to himself. 

Once Sirius got out on the ice and woke up a bit, he was good. He skates with the technical proficiency of someone who’s been in the sport since before they started primary school, and the intuitive artistry of someone who loves it. You’re much the same, though your virtuosity and obvious competence are consistently undercut by hesitation, the grace of your movements interrupted when you second-guess yourself. But these—technical prowess paired with devotion—are the basics of what makes a good figure skater. You’ll have to be flawless if you want to do well at the Olympics. 

And Remus has found many flaws. 

“No, no—shit!” Remus stands as you fall out of your jump again, catching yourself on your forearms. “You’re still over-rotating! Come on!” 

Sirius snarls a quick “Hey!” over his shoulder before turning his back on Remus, going to help you up. He speaks to you quietly, checking you over as you stand. Remus seethes. 

He has no clue why he’s been called out here to coach a pair. Remus doesn’t know pairs, has never been a part of one. He was a solo skater. And frankly, it makes him wary that what’s supposed to be the best skating pair in Britain has asked him, a former solo skater who’s been isolated from the figure skating community in general for the past two years, to coach them. But Remus does know figure skating. And he knows when skaters are making stupid mistakes behind their skill level. 

“What aren’t you understanding?” asks Remus as you skate back to the edge of the rink. He really wants to know. “It’s simple. You can do this.” He knows he could have. As easy as breathing, and he would kill to have the chance again. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Sirius’ glare is sharp as knives. He steps off the ice before you can, positioning himself between you and Remus. Your lips purse with a knowing sort of apprehension. 

“Sirius…” 

“No, you don’t talk to her like that,” Sirius spits. “It was a tiny mistake.” 

Remus raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I’m trying to help her! It was a giant mistake, with a simple fix. You ought to be telling her the same, unless you’re okay with your partner snapping her ankle weeks out from competition.” 

“None of that means you get to fucking yell at her! Who do you think you are?” 

“Okay—” 

“I’m her coach,” says Remus, voice rising, “and—”

“Then coach her! Maybe if you’d give some actual fucking feedback instead of just nitpicking—” 

“Okay!” Your shout cuts through the space, echoing in the empty rink and silencing the other two. “That’s enough.” 

You haul Sirius back by his shoulder. Your grip doesn’t look severe enough to move him, but he goes, stepping back to your side. His eyes never leave Remus’. 

Your own gaze jumps between both boys, that same spark he’d seen in you earlier burning with a different light. 

“Let’s call it for today,” you say firmly. “Okay? We’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Neither boy speaks, though Remus nods. It seems to be taking all of Sirius’ willpower to bite his tongue. He gets the impression it isn’t something he succeeds at often, so Remus isn’t ashamed to say that it brings him a perverse sort of joy to see it now. His tiny bit of smugness fizzles out, though, when your eyes land on him. There’s something desolate in your expression that’s a salient deviation from how you’d looked at him before. Remus has the sinking feeling that he’s disappointed you. It’s more distressing than he can account for. 

“We’ll be here on time tomorrow,” you say in that same steady tone. “And my jump, I’ll work on it.” 

Remus nods again. You return it, and when you turn to leave, you drag Sirius after you by his shirtsleeve, picking up your bags along your way. Remus’ mouth feels dry. His lips are chapped, his fingertips hurt from the cold, and the sight of your skates sinking into the rubbery floor makes his hip ache terribly. 

It’s only once you’re nearly out of earshot that he manages to mumble, “Thank you.”

[gravesung-moving]

It’s midnight, and Keon is still in the music room. He plinks away at the piano keys in a steady, mournful melody, but his thoughts are far away from the instrument. 

When a knock sounds at the door, he doesn’t stop playing. He pretends he doesn’t hear it. Everyone who lives here knows that when Keon is in the music room, he is not to be bothered, and if it were an emergency, he knows his housemates would simply barge in or call his name. They’ve all established their boundaries well enough by now, thank goodness, and he has no intention of conversing with anyone until the melancholy has left him. He is the patriarch of this found family — they cannot see him weak.

The knock comes again. It isn’t insistent; it isn’t loud. Keon’s hands lift from the keys, an irritated vein twitching in his temple, as someone walks in without any invitation at all. Even before he steps into the room, Keon knows who he is by the smell alone: brine, sea wind, gravedirt. 

Peter Lukas stands by the door and gives Keon a smile that holds very little depth. A customer service smile. A distant smile, like a lighthouse so far in the distance you can barely make it out through the mist. Keon avoids shooting back a glare. Lukas was one of the few members of the company board that stuck with him after his father died, rather than jumping ship in anticipation of stocks crashing. His assistance, unfortunately, has been invaluable, and he has never once been unpleasant, in all of Keon’s years working with his father and the company.

That being said, he never got a key to the house. Somehow, that doesn’t matter to Keon in the moment. 

“Mr. Lukas,” he says, standing from his seat. Lukas waves a dismissing hand, gives him a chuckle. 

“Peter, please, Keon. It’s been some time. How have you been? Bad, I assume.”

“Bad,” echoes Keon, dryly. “Well, somethings never change. You certainly know how to cut to the chase.”

“I think you know as well as I do that pleasantries are all well and good, until you don’t need them anymore.” His chipper London-accented voice does nothing to cut through the silence. Paradoxically, Lukas being in the room with him makes him feel more isolated than being alone. The voices from downstairs have completely vanished; a wisp of fog rolls under the music room door.

Perhaps everyone is out together. Keon looks down at his hands where they hover over the keys. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Lukas? Everything alright with the company?”

“Everything’s fine. Personal call, I’m afraid.”

“Really. What could possibly —“

“You know you’re hurting them?” No downturn in his upbeat, matter-of-fact tone, like he’s recommending a nice bar for after-work drinks. 

Keon starts. His eyes fly up to meet Lukas’s, then immediately turn away, because the man’s gaze is iceberg blue, and looking into them puts Keon in the open ocean with no land in sight. He tries to shake off the chill, but it clings to his arms, clings in gray wisps and misty tendrils. Fog around his feet, around the piano, pooling over the marble floor. 

The strangeness of the situation does not occur to him. What does, immediately, is the answer to the question. “Yes,” he murmurs. 

“I assume you plan on doing something about it. You’ve always been one to act, haven’t you, Keon?”

“I—“ His words catch. Keon lowers the piano lid. 

“Your family is gone. You’ve created quite the gaggle of a new one, though. And then, one by one, they started to get hurt. The common denominator really isn’t hard to figure out.”

Naya’s screams, echoing through the portal, finding him in his half-dreamstate as she writhed from a burn by his hand. Fahey’s screams, too, as a virus burned them from the inside out. Casimir, cowering and alone in the basement, because of his father, because of him. The ritual: every injury Naya and the others suffered, every mote of agony they’ve endured because of him, because of him. Because they cared. 

“Yes,” Peter says. “It’s rather too late to fix any of that, I’m afraid. But you can easily prevent any more of it.”

“They need me.“ He responds too fast. His voice is desperate, even to his own ears.

“Do they?”

“We’ve come so far —“

“To do what, Keon?” Peter’s voice remains calm, steady. Just friendly enough. “Now, I’m only viewing the facts of the situation and guiding you toward a rational judgement. I know you appreciate that. Here — a visual, if it helps.” 

There’s a hand on his shoulder, cold, firm. It isn’t the hand of another person. Keon closes his eyes and sees Baz and Naya sitting in the library, laughing over a book that amuses them. He sees Fahey lope in and drape their arms over the back of Naya’s chair, Brekker stretch out his bad knee by the fire. He sees Pashar, perusing the shelves, chatting idly with the others. He isn’t there, and it’s better. The scene dissolves. A yawning cavern in the catacombs builds itself around him, the faceless members of Vox Obscura surrounding Keon with knives and magic and guns. He stands alone, but he knows he can fight them — or, at least, he can give it a good try. The scene dissolves again. Keon is back in the music room now, and he hears faint voices echoing very, very far away, as if the house is three times as big and his friends are on the other end. “It’s easy,” Lukas says, removing his hand from Keon’s shoulder, “in a house this massive. Keeping them safe shouldn’t be much of an issue, now, should it? You did it for two years. All you need to do is remember yourself, pick up the slack. Follow the fog, if it helps. Should provide some assistance.”

Keon turns his head downwards, only slightly, so that the sliver of his cheekbone is visible to Lukas. “You… whatever you are, Lukas. Can you promise me it will help them?”

The old man shrugs. Muffled sunlight catches his stark-white beard. “Is a promise really going to change your mind one way or another? I can promise to make it a bit easier to keep it up, if they get a bit too inquisitive. If that’s any help.”

Keon says nothing, his eyes trailing to the corner that the Collector disrupted during their last visit: Kimber’s things, covered in dust, her crayons and her drawings. The remnants of a girl whose memory he can’t erase. “She’s gone, Keon,” the captain says. For the first time, there seems to be a facsimile of sympathy in his soft voice. It only makes him feel more hollow. “Her and your mother both. But you have their memory, no? You can’t exactly harm the dead by caring for them.” He’s right. Keon knows he’s right. “I … should have separated myself long ago,” he murmurs. 

“That’s the spirit.” 

“What should —“

“You know what to do.” Lukas taps his hat with a finger. “As I said. You did it for two years. And don’t worry. It won’t be nearly so difficult once you get used to being alone.”

He wants to ask more questions. He wants to, but he knows, deep down, that the only reason to do so would be to keep Lukas in the room, and. Well. That would be antithetical to what the man is proposing. “What if they need me?” he asks, but his voice is weak and small. 

“I think you know as well as I do the answer to that, Keon.” Calm, steady. Factual. They don’t. He looks up from the keys, but Lukas is gone. All that remains is the room, the crayons, the dust, the fog — and the hollow thing in his chest that aches and aches and aches.

[lethalityandlustmoved]

When he wakes up, he expects blinding lights and deafening silence. Like the last time this happened to him. But he is greeted with neither.

He recognizes the Imp City hospital by the sounds of clanging metal, hoarse voices, and a blaring loudspeaker. Not the most welcoming of places, but it’s the only functioning hospital in Pride. It doesn’t even have a name— why would you need to name something that’s defined by its location? Sinners don’t exactly need hospital treatment, and Hellborns can head down to Sloth if they have an emergency.

Fuck, why is this what he’s thinking about? He should be thinking about—

The Exorcists. Memories. His eye.

Nope, not thinking about any of those. Better think about— “Hey, Sini?” he calls into the void of darkness. He doesn’t even try to open his eyes— even if he isn’t completely blinded, he’s certain to have a bandage on.

It’s quiet for a moment, then from somewhere to his right, a phone chime can be heard. “Yes?” an electronic voice says calmly, and Nikki breathes a sigh of relief.

“Can you make a post on Sinstagram for me?”

“Certainly. What text would you like to include?”

“Uh. ‘Didn’t stay safe yesterday lol. In the Imp City hospital if anyone wants to come help me get my bearings.’”

“Done.”

Nikki sighs. “Thanks, Sini.” He rolls over slightly, winces, and returns to his original position. He stays awake for a few more minutes. Then a few more. Then just a couple more, to see if any hospital staff’s notice he’s awake and come tell him what’s going on.

Nobody comes.

He falls asleep again.

[thesweetestofdreams]

black cat confessions

poly!marauders x reader

warnings: patching up bruised knuckles very pg allusions to violence

a/n Times are tough so please enjoy a sleepy drabble with a slightly whimsical reader who will always defend her boyfriends

“Hello gorgeous, where’ve you been?” James asked as you came into the boys’ dorm. It wasn’t like you to be so late, unless of course a portrait got to talking. You could never turn down a good story, no matter how many times you heard it. 

“Detention,” you said. This garnered the attention of all three of your boyfriends. Remus set down his book, he had been trying to read instead of worrying about you, and Sirius ceased spinning his wand in his hand. James sat up from where he was laying on his bed. Oblivious to their shock you dropped your bag onto the floor.

“Detention?” James asked at the same time Sirius said “You’re joking.”

“Yeah,” you said, sounding almost as confused as they were. 

“May we ask why?” said Remus abandoning his book. 

“Well Barty said that black cats were bad luck, which is rather rude.” You fell onto Remus’s unmade bed, arms flopping on either side of you. 

“And how did that turn into detention for you?” Sirius asked as patient as could be, a trait reserved almost especially for you.

You rolled onto your stomach yawning as you rested your chin on your hand. “I told him that was hardly true but he wouldn’t give it up.” You were interrupted with another yawn. “Then he said the worst bad luck was black dogs. You could never be bad luck, Siri.”

Sirius could pretty much feel himself melting. James, as endearing as you were, was practically on the edge of his seat ready to find out what on earth their sweet girl could do to warrant detention. Remus was getting tired just looking at you and he had to fight the urge to join you where you lay.

“Well then he started talking about werewolves and of course he had nothing nice to say and he was looking right at me, so I punched him.” Just like before you were completely oblivious to the shock your statement caused. 

“You punched him?” Remus asked, and despite your tired eyes being closed you could hear the smile in his voice. The boys shared a conspiratorially prideful look. 

“He wasn’t mad. I think he thought it was funny.” 

“Sounds like he had it coming,” Sirius said, fully in agreement. 

“Professor Slughorn was mad though,” you mused.

“Merlin, what I would have given to see his face.” James laughed at just the thought. 

“I bet he went red head to toe,” Sirius added. You smiled in tired amusement. The sound of their laughs made your chest buzz, warm and full. 

“Punching people hurts,” you said looking down at your hand.

The energy of the room shifted as the amusement died down. Remus was already making his way to you, pulling your hand into his lap as he sat on the bed next to you. You didn’t fight him. He tsked at the sight of your knuckles and your fingers were dry and cracked. He turned them over in his hands ever so gently. 

“Slughorn made me wash all of the potion bottles,” you offered in explanation.

James wordlessly pulled a small first aid kit from Remus’s nightstand, while Sirius grabbed a set of pajamas they kept for you. Caring for eachother was a well practiced routine. It was an achingly good feeling to be taken care of. 

Remus spread dittany over your knuckles and any deep cracks, careful never to press too hard. James pulled off your shoes, and Sirius turned down the lights grumbling softly to himself when James reminded him of an early morning quidditch match. 

“You can sleep with me then,” Remus whispered loudly, teasing as he softly wrapped a bandage over your knuckles.

“Now this is just torturous,” Sirius groaned from his bed. James threw a pillow at him across the room. “I’m keeping this.” 

After some coaxing from Remus, you summoned enough willpower to stand and change into your pajamas. From across the room, you saw James dive into bed with Sirius who held the pillow above his head. James pinched at Sirius's waist earning a withering look from him that quickly dissolved into lazy smiling kisses. 

Finally you were lying in bed with your head on Remus’s chest. You could hear his heartbeat thump beneath you, the steady rhythm and warmth lulling you to sleep better than any lullaby. You weren’t helped by the slow circles he drew into your back. 

“Thanks for defending me, brave girl,” Remus said into your hair. 

Fighting a yawn you said, “you would have done the same for me.”

He would have done worse for you, and he would spend the rest of everyday grateful for the love he’s found.

[jjenthusee]

Moonlight And Intentional Mistakes

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: This is inspired and dedicated to @heavysighing-dreamyeyes amazing post linked here (show it some love) and their numerous sweet words especially on my Broken Mug writing drabble (also linked), so after crying reading their messages, i had to do something about the intense rush to write and the best way i can think of thanking you is by doing what i know, art and writing. i had no idea that i was influencing anyone, i only hoped my love for Jason was communicated correctly. i hope every single one of you that comes across my account has beautiful things happen to u. i’ll give u all a million kisses. please continue to write, i would love to continue reading what u have for us next <3 there’s also a surprise at the end :D (as always comments are appreciated if you’re comfortable <3 let me know your brain rot thoughts) ENJOY

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, soft Jason, touch starved Jason lowkey, siri play Never Grow Up by Niall Horan 😔, might have inspired the direction of the fic

Word Count: 3.4k

The moon was high.

Moonlight had casted a faint glow on the window blinds, it peaked in through the tiny gaps.

Only a small lamp was on, cascading light from the living room into your room. It gave enough light to see the outlines of your room. Bathing everything it could touch in a faint warm glow.

It was still dark enough that the details were too fuzzy to point out, but most objects were wrapped in shadows, bringing a unique calm to your room.

In the chill of night, the bed was warm. Jason was the perfect heater. The blankets were cozy and the sound of a fan whirred at the corner of the room.

It didn’t make sense covering yourself head to toe in a fuzzy blanket with a fan blasting air at you, but the sound mellowed you into the night, calling slumber closer to you.

It would have been easy to sleep if you were given the chance, but your gentle giant boyfriend was adamant to prove to you that he needed to sleep as physically close as possible to you.

It would have been fine, but today you couldn’t find a relaxing sleeping position. You had to shift your body around before finding the state of mind and the right amount of comfort to drift off, but tonight was difficult. Not only were you constantly shifting in the bed sheets, you were keeping Jason awake.

As your body moved to a new spot on the bed, Jason followed. Turning his body to follow the heat you left behind on the sheets. He wasn’t fond of the fact that a blanket fully engulfed you while he didn’t, it wasn’t fair.

When he got close enough to throw his muscular arm over you, you beat him to your next journey across the mattress.

If the queen bed the both of you were laying on looked like a college dorm twin XL with Jason laid out over it, then you shouldn’t have cornered yourself onto the edge.

Now half of your body dangled off the mattress. The bed was definitely big enough for the both of you the last time you checked, but with Jason getting closer to you every time you moved, it looked like he teleported a smidge closer when you blinked.

It also wasn’t ideal when he rolled onto the corner of the blanket that had unraveled from your legs.

You teetered on the end of the bed when he purposefully made sure to take up ninety percent of what was left of the mattress. Locking you on the edge, wrapped in a blanket.

You had been laying on your side, but Jason kept nudging you, tickling your face with his messy hair when he got close enough to attempt to burrow his large self into you. You kept scooting back, but once you didn’t feel anymore mattress, your legs were feeling where the cold air invaded the bed.

Now you settled on the dangerous edge with one leg completely off. Despite your avoidance of Jason, your free leg locked around Jason’s leg for any support to keep you safely on the bed. Your entire upper half was swaddled like a baby as the blanket blocked out any of the chill, your arms completely smushed against your sides with no way to free yourself besides Jason moving his body off of the edges of your blanket.

You had no control whatsoever.

It was you and your straining leg on Jason that was the only thing keeping you from plopping on the cold floor. Now in a vulnerable position, did Jason have the bright idea of asking the question you’ve been avoiding all day.

Where were his pudding cups?

———

“I take it back!” You pleaded with Jason as he kept the blanket tightly wound around you, preventing you from moving your arms to retaliate.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Jason playfully faced at you, laying on his side. His voice melted with innocence, but had underlying amusement.

Your blanket was your savior and your enemy as it saved you from the hard floor, but it was also securely caught by Jason’s entire weight. He had you completely trapped inside with only your head and legs poking out, the fabric slung around you.

Moving his body an inch closer to the edge, Jason pushed your body further off, further with no support beside his mere weight and strength keeping you from falling.

“I swear there were two pudding cups before you left!” You screamed, your hair falling off your face, the ends gravitating toward the ground, your impending doom.

“Sweetheart, let’s play world’s greatest detective and I’ll ask you something. If I didn’t eat ‘em and we are the only two people who live in this apartment, then who do we have left? Hm?” Jason’s voice, honey sweet, as he emphasized the contradictions in your statement.

With the blanket bunched in his hands, Jason easily lowered you slightly, juggling your weight effortlessly while laying on his side. You cursed at his perfect athleticism.

The room may have been dark, but you didn’t need the moonlight to know he had a shit eating grin trying to get you to confess.

You felt like this was probably the closest you would feel to people walking the plank in those pirate movies you watched as a kid, a sick waiting game not knowing when your fate was inevitable. It was fun at the time and maybe the cold ocean was different from your bedroom floor, but otherwise it was still cold.

“I don’t even like sweets!” You playfully laughed as he teasingly let his hands slip, clearly seeing through your lie. You squealed as you felt your head dip and your leg fall from on top of Jason’s.

“And my hand slipped.” Jason equally lied through his teeth, his threat filled with no malice whatsoever as he securely held onto you.

“I’m starting to feel like this has nothing to do with pudding cups.” You raised your head back up to look at Jason, a full smile present on your face, testing your vulnerable state.

“Oh?” Jason raised his eyebrow as he looked down at you from the edge of the bed. The angle looked great on him.

“My world’s greatest detective intuition is telling me that you’re just mad that I kept rolling away from you.” You mischievously pointed out.

“My love, you need to use those skills to find out why all our pudding is gone.”

“Do you do this to all the criminals you interrogate?” You deflected, using your eyes to point to the current position both of you were in, dangling from the bed in a blanket while Jason kept you there.

“Only the pretty ones.” Jason sung, pulling you up slightly so you weren’t as close to the floor, not quite on the bed, but in a better spot than before.

“I didn’t realize the Red Hood had such malicious threatening techniques.” You shook your head feigning disappointment as you struggled to readjust your leg to latch onto his again. It probably looked awkward, but you were desperate. It wasn’t your fault that your boyfriend was built like a tank. “I promise to not rob anymore banks anytime soon. I’ll straighten myself out. Scouts honor.” You breathed out, exhausted from the movement.

“Just admit you ate the pudding and I’ll erase everything. Your speeding tickets and the bounty on you in 15 countries.”

“It’s 18 actually, don’t defile me—“

Jason effortlessly lowered you again. The blanket slipping slightly from jostling you around.

“Okay, okay!” You cried out. “If I fall you’re limited to two kisses a day!”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Three, take it or leave it.”

“Tell me where the pudding is.”

“Four kisses and you can cuddle suffocate me when we sleep.” The blanket around you felt noticeably loose.

Jason scoffed, offended by your choice of phrasing.

“If our lives are ever on the line, I gotta remember I can’t ever let you negotiate.” He tauntingly called above you. “And I don’t cuddle suffocate you.”

“So it was ‘cause I moved away from you earlier!” You cried out as you slipped further. The blanket loosening completely around you, your gasp blurring into Jason’s name. A plea to catch you.

Jason quickly bent down, rolling his body off the bed and slipping his arms around you as he followed you to the floor. He rolled his body forward enough to quickly shift your position so his body plopped on the ground first while you landed on top of him.

It was a soft landing as you laid on his chest. Quickly finding a comfortable position in his arms.

“You only get one kiss a day.” You flatly said. “Why is our bed frame weirdly tall?” You nuzzled your head into his chest.

“Our deal was two.” Jason tenderly caressed your head. Moving your hair in motions that made you want to fall asleep.

“Looks like we’re both liars.” You barely whispered, sleepiness taunting your body.

“I guess you’re still wanted in 18 countries.”

You lazily laughed into Jason, his body slightly shaking from your movement. His arms wrapping around you, engulfing the feel of your laughter and locking it between your bodies. He smiled into your shoulder. Smelling your comfort.

You lifted your head, freeing your face. You were still being held by Jason, but you had a clearer view of his loving gaze lost on you as he traced your features, entranced by your smile.

“Missed opportunity.” You drunkenly watched and felt Jason’s fingers caressing your face.

“If you let me ‘cuddle suffocate’ you, you might have another shot.” Jason’s thumb rubbed your cheek, pressing into the softness. His calloused finger pads feeling slightly itchy, but you would never pull away, too endeared by how gently he treats you.

“Worth it.” You say after snapping out of your trance that was locked on your boyfriend. He knew the right areas to get your mind lost on his touch, focused solely on him.

You pulled yourself up from laying on top of Jason, grabbing for his hands as you stood. Straining to help pull him up, but almost all the effort came from his own strength, not yours.

Playfully, Jason never let go of your hands and let his body be dragged completely onto you, dramatically coming forward to rewrap himself around you.

You giggled as you threw your arms around him. Enjoying the warmth that radiated from him, reheating the once empty space. Your own personal heater. You were glad tonight was one of the nights he stayed home with you, cuddled in bed all evening. You tried your best to soothe his mind, away from the thoughts of patrol as much as you could.

Giving his mind a small mental break, to hold you close and whatever else he needed. Both of you continue to work hard to develop and maintain the kind of trust that Jason needed to work through the hard days, silent but never alone.

With reassuring hugs while he counted your breaths, holding onto your hand just to thoughtlessly memorize them, standing in your presence just to observe you.

His difficulty with readjusting to the mundane and useless tasks of every day life was the biggest challenge. Too many conversations about why we need to treat ourselves because we want to. Jason’s mind was filled with too many needs.

He needed a reason to buy himself something, he needed to push his body to the limits because there was no other option, he needed to work alone.

So you showed him that he didn’t need you to hold his arm while you walked around the city, but he wanted you to do it.

He didn’t need you to take care of him, but you wanted to because you cared.

As you lost yourself in the shared closeness, you swayed your body. Jason unconsciously following your movements, swaying with you and letting his hands intertwine behind you, letting it gently rest against your lower back. Once you held on, Jason had silently vowed to never be the first to let go.

As you moved your bodies, clueless about Jason’s promise to himself, you didn’t let go either. So the two of you clung to one another.

It was one of the millions of things you cherished about Jason, he showed his devotion through his mannerisms. He helped put away your bags after a tired day of work, when he brought you a blanket if you fell asleep on the couch then carried you to bed. He bought your favorite snacks if he was at the store. He effortlessly followed you, content to be next to you.

Of course, he still put up limitations. He wouldn’t put your safety at risk. He sat closer and became more aware of restaurant doors, he kept you walking on his side or always in front of him, when he slept he made sure to determine the layout that suited you best, away from the window. His eagerness to make sure your wellbeing is priority.

It led to him not sleeping once you switched your position too many times tonight. He wasn’t satisfied with you being closer to the window, but he also was determined to get you to cuddle.

Numerous times you wanted to tease him, but after a Red Hood reveal that had you debating if he collaborated with his brothers to pull a twisted prank on you and an emotional talk, you couldn’t blame him for any of it. The fitted suit was just an added bonus you could outrightly ogle at.

You two were standing, holding each other in the dark. His head nuzzled on the base of your neck, his hands gripping your shirt, crinkling at the desperation. Sometimes Jason felt overstimulated when his feelings were ready to burst. His unfamiliarity with so much tender affection makes his mind unable to process all of it.

All you can do is to tell him that your there. Reminding him that you were unwilling to go anywhere.

“I’m here, Jay.” You softly reassured. “I’m right here, in your arms.”

Jason was unaware of the same silent promise you prayed to yourself, to never let him go.

When Jason’s grip loosened, your lips softly kissed the side of his head, soothing the thing that gives him a hard time. Repeating the motion, feeling his breaths even.

You never said that you were limited to how many kisses you can give him.

As you methodically swayed and with one final kiss against his hot skin, Jason shifted himself to standing taller, resting his forehead on yours. His hair laid flat against your skin.

You closed your eyes, enjoying how docile he became once you initiated physical touch. A craving he wanted and you unconditionally gave him.

When you opened your eyes, adjusting to the darkness, you grabbed one of his hands to intertwine them, your other hand gently falling onto his shoulder. He noticed the familiar stance, mimicking that of a dance. He silently rested his free hand on your waist, once again feeling the fabric of his shirt that you wore.

There was no music, but you leaned into Jason once again, swaying to the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and in tune with his breaths. The further closeness let you settle your head underneath his chin, his hand following around the width of your waist pulling you in more.

Everything felt perfect. It was the middle of the night in the dark, you wore pajamas, no music played, both of your hair messy, but you held Jason. A sweet grasp of his shirt bunched in your hand, your feet bumping into his, the smell of your soap radiating from his skin from his shower.

If this was your last day on Earth, you would think you were blessed to be in front of the most loving, tender man. Watching his eyes softened and sparkle as he feels a breath of peace.

That was all you needed.

In an act of surprise, you moved your arm to wrap around Jason’s waist and attempted to dramatically swoop him back. It was haphazardly done, but he gladly played along despite the difference in height making it a little awkward. He dipped back then came forward, reuniting your embrace, both of you laughing at your clumsy attempt at a slow dance.

“Why does this feel like an awkward school dance?” You breathed out, breathless from the laughing, talking into his clean shirt. Most likely you were taking it to wear tomorrow night.

“We’re just swaying, we aren’t really moving how we’re supposed to.” Jason rubbed your back as you caught your breath, his voice softly surrounding you as you rested on his chest, feeling every word.

“And how would you know?” You looked up at him, a teasing tone. “It’s not like either of us know how to slow dance.”

Jason paused, looking down at your eyes, contemplating.

“Would you like to learn?” He hesitated, combing his hand through your hair.

You completely stopped swaying, Jason’s hand dropping from the top of your head to rest on your cheek. He carefully watched your reaction, your eyes widening, a stunned look in your eyes.

His grip tightened, barely noticeable if you didn’t feel his thumb press on your waist, helping to remind you to respond.

“I mean, I’ve always wanted to try it.” You looked down toward your feet, slightly feeling the embarrassment creep up at your confession, but Jason rubbed his thumb on your cheek. A silent comfort. “But, I don’t have a reason to learn. I’m way past school dance age, I rarely go to events where it might happen, and…no one has ever asked me.”

A silence settled between the both of you, Jason’s thumb pausing. He looked between your eyes, glancing back and forth.

“Can I get my phone?” He asked with no explanation, no other detail leading to your earlier confession.

You felt the mortification creeping at you. You nodded, letting go of Jason.

He stood there until you removed yourself first. His grip fleeting, walking in the dark to grab his phone, illuminating the room with its screen where he stood. You curiously watched him, not quite understanding his intentions.

“I might be a little rusty.” He voiced, a broad back facing you.

A gentle melody played from his phone. Quiet, but getting louder as he pressed the volume button on the side of his phone.

“What?” You stood there awkwardly.

Jason turned to face you, throwing his phone on the night stand as he walked back over, raising an open hand to you.

“May I have this dance?”

He stunned you again, your brain having too many delays at once.

Your hand trembled as you raised it to meet his. You couldn’t respond to his question because your throat ached, ached in a way that you wished the world ended right there, to consume the pounding heartbeat in your ears, the firm grip of Jason, and attempt to swallow up all the love swelling in your heart. It would put up one hell of a fight.

Once the both of you met, bodies close, Jason repositioned your hands as it was before. Gently guiding you through the steps as you nervously looked at your feet, your tense body adding to your struggle.

Once you felt a decent rhythm and Jason patiently assisted you, memorizing your expressions, movements and the smile you beamed when you finally felt comfortable.

He grabbed your chin. Guiding your head back up to look at him. Bringing his head closer to yours.

Your eyes closed halfway before he gripped your back, dipping you back, holding your weight as you inhaled in surprise.

“Jason!” You laughed his name as he swung you back up, extravagantly twirling you from him, clasping your hand to twirl you back into his embrace.

“Rusty, huh?” You quipped, eyeing him, trying to stabilize your steps.

“What can I say, Alfred beat the movements into me. He would feel a shift in the air if I got it wrong.” Jason smiled, picking up the swaying again, enthusiastically moving both your bodies.

You continued dancing through laughter, not watching your feet as much as you were, letting the feeling of the music guide you.

Not knowing where your body and his separated, a beautiful blur.

How could you have missed out on something so sweet?

A dance shared between two individuals who adore one another.

Jason stamped another mark onto your life.

First dances laced with intertwined hands, lips brushing against one another, tuning out everything but each other’s voices.

Maybe the world did end, but you wouldn’t have known, too immersed in the moonlight on Jason’s skin, the warmth of love and home enveloping you.

[moonlightspencie]

you should see the things we do, baby

Description: Remus and Reader decide to take advantage of teasing Sirius, and it leads to a lot more than a dirty dream. (Part 2 to this drabble)

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!Reader x Sirius Black (not wolfstar unless you count a few comments from sirius lol)

Warnings: oh boy (18+ only!): p in v, oral (fem receiving), threesome and a trip to paris, big dick!remus, teasing, kind of dom!remus, sirius is shy for once

Word Count: 5.2k words

A/N: this was supposed to be a DRABBLE. also i don’t write smut like ever so pls be nice to me

A week had passed, and Sirius’ embarrassment had yet to subside. In fact, it was only made worse as he had two more dreams with a very similar subject matter.

It was terrible. It was exhilarating.

Sirius had never had problems finding someone to satisfy his needs whenever they arose, but dreaming of you caused a whole new slew of problems. It seemed like no matter what he did or who he tried to flirt with, you were still on his mind.

It was made far worse by the fact that Remus knew about his dirty little secret and had been relentlessly teasing him about it. Every chance he got, he’d show you off or pack on the PDA in front of poor Sirius, chuckling into your skin when the usually-suave Sirius would turn pink and need to look away.

Your suspicions in all of this only grew.

You sat with Remus in the bedroom he had at the place he shared with Sirius. So far, you’d only been reading side-by-side, everything being fairly innocent. That is, until an idea popped into your head.

“Love?”

Remus hummed in question.

“What’s going on with Siri lately? I know something is up.”

Remus shrugged, not putting his book down. “Not sure, darling.”

You narrowed your eyes, setting your book down on the nightstand. You turned to look at him more fully.

“I don’t like when you lie to me.”

He huffed. “Darling, it’s really nothing. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“But I am worried,” you whined. “He’s been acting so strangely around me lately. I know that you know what’s happened, too.”

“How do you know that?” he asked with a soft smile, finally setting his book off to the side.

“Because I know you, my dear,” you said, nuzzling into his neck. “Please tell me?”

“I can’t, love,” he responded, a hand coming to rest on your back.

You groaned, lifting your face. You set a hand on his thigh, rubbing against his leg softly. You pressed a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Baby, please? I’ll make it worth your while.”

He smirked. “Yeah?”

You nodded with an innocent smile, moving your hand up his leg slowly.

“Promise.”

“You say that like I’m not the one who’d have you begging for it in a minute,” he said, voice suddenly low and gravely.

You swallowed, knowing he was right, but unwilling to admit defeat just yet. You merely turned, pouting to yourself as you pulled your hands away. Then, you hid a smirk as a new idea came into your head.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you said, standing suddenly and moving towards the bathroom door.

You turned on the faucet to let the water heat up, walking back into Remus’ bedroom and straight to his closet. You started undressing, only taking one of his shirts off the hanger for after your shower once you were fully bare in front of him. You hadn’t yet turned around, reaching for a towel, but you could feel his eyes on you.

You sent him an innocent smile as you walked past the bed, right back into the bathroom with the door wide open. If he could hide things from you, you figured you could tease him as much as you’d like.

“You can join me if you want to spill the truth, love,” you called out, turning on the shower head and stepping under the stream.

It was a while before you finally heard him get off the bed, and a smile spread to your face. You heard the curtain open, not bothering to look in his direction.

“Don’t even think about coming in here unless you’re going to tell me what’s happened.”

“Darling. You’re being unfair.”

“I’m being perfectly fair,” you said, turning to him at last.

You had to admit, it was hard to turn him down when he was stripped down in front of you, asking to get in the shower alongside you. Few things sounded better than getting your hands all over his pretty body under the shower stream. But one of those few things just happened to be knowing that secret the boys were keeping from you. You shook your head at him when he pouted at you.

“All you have to do is tell me what’s wrong,” you shrugged nonchalantly.

He swallowed, looking you up and down.

“If I tell, you have to promise you won’t say anything to Pads.”

You smirked. “Whatever you say, love.”

He hopped in, shutting the curtain behind him with a cheesy grin, pulling you in for a heated kiss immediately. You let him have that, kissing him back, feeling him grow harder against your stomach from the contact. You sucked his lip into your mouth, letting it go with a pop.

“Tell me, then we keep going, yeah?”

“Siri had a sex dream about you. Feels real awkward about it, now.”

You raised a brow. “That’s it?”

He nodded. “But he’s terribly embarrassed about it. It’s why he’s been acting like that with you. Doesn’t know how to act now.”

“Why not?”

“Well, speaking from experience, darling,” he started, pressing another kiss to your lips, “once you get the picture of you all bare and begging in your head, it’s hard to get it out.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I find it hard to believe I’d have that strong an effect on anyone. Especially from a dream.”

“You’d be surprised,” he mumbled, capturing your lips again.

He let his hand trail down your body, rubbing at that little bundle of nerves in the way that made your knees weak instantly. He knew your body better than anyone, and he loved proving it to you over and over again. You tried to get into it, holding onto him tightly, but you found yourself preoccupied with questions.

“What is it, baby?” Remus asked against your neck, leaving soft kisses to your skin. “You’re distracted.”

“Just confused, is all, Rem,” you said, a little breathless from the contact he was making.

He hummed. “Why? You thinking about what it’d be like getting fucked by Sirius, now?”

You scoffed. “No. Just wanna know why it’s such a big deal for him.”

“You’re gorgeous, doll,” he said, letting out a small noise at your hand around his cock. “Surprised it took him this long to realize he’d like a go at you.”

You sighed, a whimper leaving you as his hand moved faster. He was clearly enjoying every bit of this.

“Sounds like you like the idea of it,” you quipped.

He chuckled lowly, bucking his hips into your hand. Your head fell against the tile in the shower, though he didn’t let you rest for long. He pulled away from your hand, lining himself up with your entrance instead.

“Maybe I do.”

He pushed inside of you, picking you up and pushing you against the shower wall as he rammed his hips into yours.

“Maybe I like the idea of watching you squirm on my cock with Sirius down your throat. Using that pretty mouth of yours,” he groaned into your ear. “Let him get a little preview of what it’s like to be with you in real life— not just in his dreams, yeah?”

You whined, the effect of his words making you plummet towards your climax at a rapid speed. He slapped your clit quickly, making your body jerk.

“You can pretend you don’t like that idea, but I can feel you clenching around me when I talk about it,” he said, looking you in the eye again with a mischievous grin. “No use lying to me, darling.”

“Remus…”

“What, darling? Tell me.”

“Fuck,” you whined, head dropping to his shoulder. “M��gonna… I-I’m—”

“I know, baby,” he said, getting a bit out of breath himself as he pounded you into the wall. “You can let go for me.”

You held onto his shoulders for dear life, coming hard around him, your eyes squeezed shut at the feeling. He didn’t let up his pace until he was spilling inside of you, barely holding you up as he did.

“Did so good, love,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead gently. “Good girl.”

You smiled softly, blushing every time he praised you, even after years together. He let you down onto shaky legs.

“Thank you, Rem.”

He furrowed his brows with a small smile. “For what?”

“Making me come like that,” you said, a little sheepish. “Best one in a while.”

“Naughty girl,” he growled playfully into your ear, nipping at the lobe. “Getting off on the idea of fucking our best friend.”

“Remus,” you groaned, pushing him away a little. “Stop it.”

“It’s okay, darling,” he said, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “You know I’m just teasing. But if you ever wanted to—”

You raised a brow, unsure how much of this was really a joke. He cracked a smile, rolling his eyes mockingly.

“I’m not going to push you to do anything, but I don’t think that Sirius would mind it. I know I wouldn’t.”

“Since when have you ever wanted to share me?”

He shrugged, turning to shut off the water that started growing colder. He stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist, and then tucking you into one as well, helping you out of the shower. He hugged you to his chest, slowly drying you off in his arms.

“I never wanted to before. Then,” he tilted his head, looking at you with stars in his eyes, “he told me about that dream. Thought it might be fun to share you, just a little. I also thought you might like the idea.”

“Why’s that?”

“Know you love to be all filled up,” he smirked. “What better way to get you full from both ends than with a friend?”

You laugh, dropping your head on his chest. “You’re gross.”

“You love it.”

“I love you. Not so much when you’re being all icky.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You liked it enough when I was fucking you against the wall, yeah?”

Your cheeks heated up, a shy smile on your face.

“Sweet girl,” he cooed. “Alright, I’m all done, now, my darling. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I just—”

He paused. “What is it, love?”

“I don’t even know how we’d, like…” you groaned. “This is so weird to even talk about.”

He smiled softly, leaning down to press a delicate kiss against your lips.

“If you want me to, I can do all the talking,” he whispered. “You just sit with me and be your usual pretty self. Just so he knows I’m not screwing with him.”

You looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, voice soft. “Whatever you want, darling. Anything for you.”

You smiled. “Alright.”

“Alright? You want to?”

You nodded, and his smile grew. He kissed you again, then kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your other cheek. Then your jaw, and eventually all over your face until you were a giggling mess.

“Okay,” you surrendered. “Okay, Rem, all done. Come on.”

You took his hand, pulling him back into the bedroom.

“Nap first, cause you fucked all my energy out,” you said, an accusatory finger pointed in his direction. He paid no mind, giving you a cocky smirk. “Then dinner, then… We’ll talk.”

He nodded. “Alright, princess.”

Sirius sat around most of the day, his nerves inexplicably on edge no matter what he did. He couldn’t place why he felt so anxious, but it just kept building. Up until after dinner time, it didn’t make any sense— but then, it started making a lot of sense.

You were all in the living room together once again, in what would normally be a comfortable silence as music played softly. However, Sirius was anything but comfortable.

Once again, you were perched on Remus’ lap, letting him run his hands all over you like nobody else was around. It had become more of a habit over the past week. Though, your teasing smile every time Siri caught your gaze was new.

He flushed each time your eyes met his, giving him a smile or a wink that he was certain he wasn’t imagining. It made him horribly nervous that you knew something. It also excited him more than he’d like to admit.

He had committed to not touching himself when he thought of you, and so far he had been true to his promise to himself. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t absolute torture with how often you’d been occupying his mind. It seemed that every time he tried to… be alone with himself, you’d pop into his brain. To put it shortly: he was on edge in every sense of the word.

He tried not to watch you and Remus, knowing Remus was merely teasing him for his dream, but every man has a breaking point.

His came when Remus bit down softly on your neck, and you let out a little whimper. It was horribly close to what he’d imagined in his dreams, and he found his pants growing a bit tight and uncomfortable. It only worsened when he looked up to see your eyes trained on him as Remus attacked your neck with lips and teeth, not bothering to be polite in front of his housemate. You smiled softly, a glimmer in your eye as you locked your gaze on Sirius. It took a great deal of control to look away from you, and he mentally patted himself on the back when he finally did.

“Not enjoying the show, Pads?” Remus asked teasingly.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“Aww,” you cooed. “What happened to my sassy Siri? You’re usually so forward and flirtatious. Why change now?”

His eyes widened, and he looked between you and Remus. You both wore eerily similar smirks, and suddenly he felt his mouth dry up. He leveled his gaze at Remus.

“You didn’t.”

Remus raised his brows. “Didn’t what?”

“You told her, didn’t you?”

“She can be very convincing,” he offered.

Sirius groaned. “You’re unbelievable. I ask you to keep one secret…”

“Come on, Siri, there’s no reason to be embarrassed,” you said, adjusting your position in Remus’ lap. “I won’t blame you for having a dream.”

He sighed, not meeting your eye. He shook his head.

“I don’t get embarrassed.”

“What do you call those red cheeks of yours, then?” you teased.

He turned his glare to you. “Not funny, angel.”

“Still calling me by pet names, though,” you smiled, turning to Remus. “You wanna ask, now?”

“You two need to stop this. It’s not fair,” Sirius shook his head, staring at the both of you, unamused.

“Done teasing, Pads,” Remus said, moving you on his lap to get a better view of his friend. “I have a real question for you, now.”

Sirius looked on, curious but cautious. He raised a brow in question.

“We were talking earlier, and, well, after that dream of yours,” Remus began.

Sirius cut him off. “Right, I’m done then.”

He started moving to get out of his seat.

“Sit down,” Remus said, furrowing his brow. “Just listen.”

Sirius huffed, plopping back down. He crossed his arms, and you held back a chuckle at his little show of annoyance. You leaned into Remus’ chest as he started talking again.

“We want to invite you to be with us for the night,” he said plainly.

Sirius gaped for a moment, then quickly shut his mouth, setting his face hard.

“S’not funny, Mooney,” he said, then looked at you with an equally severe look. “And I expect better from you.”

Your eyes went a little wider. “We’re not joking, Siri.”

He looked between the two of you, unsure. His cheeks were tinted red as he tried to formulate a response. You merely quirked a brow, hoping it would settle in for him that you weren’t lying. It was taking far too long for your liking, evidently.

“What happened to you being all snarky and smooth? Blushing and stumbling over us asking you to come to bed,” you said, shaking your head.

Remus snorted behind you, pressing his face into your neck.

“You’re one to talk, love,” Sirius retorted quickly. “I couldn’t send a wink your way years ago without you going red.”

“So defensive, Padfoot,” Remus tutted. “If you don’t want to—”

“No,” Sirius responded, too quickly. “No, I just… If you two are playing some prank on me—”

“We’re not,” Remus said with finality.

Sirius let out a breath, his gaze lingering on you before he finally nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he cleared his throat, throwing on a smirk. “Maybe it’ll get those dreams out my head, yeah?”

“Maybe,” you said with a smile. “Maybe it’ll make them worse.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t know if I can handle that.”

You smiled to yourself, standing and taking Remus’ hand in yours. “Come on, love.”

He stood with you, glued to you as you started walking towards his bedroom, but not before you turned to Sirius and sent him a wink. He raised his brows, unsure if he should get up and follow.

“You’re supposed to come too, Siri,” you called out behind you.

He nodded to himself, taking in a quick breath as he followed after you both. His heart pounded in his chest as you all stepped into the bedroom. He knew he was still blushing, but couldn’t quite stop himself. He never got nervous about sex, but this felt entirely different that anything he’d done before. He rubbed his palms against his pants, trying to appear confident, though he knew he was probably failing miserably.

He watched as you walked up to him, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bed as Remus lingered near the mattress with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Don’t be nervous,” you said quietly, instructing him to sit down on the bed.

He watched with wide eyes and a bitten lip as Remus spun you around, kissing you more intensely than Sirius had ever witnessed before. He felt that discomfort in his pants growing again, watching your body fully pressed against Remus’ as you let him explore your mouth until you were entirely breathless. Remus pulled away from you, pressing one last soft peck to your lips.

“Just want to remind you who you belong to before we start this,” he smirked. “Go on, show him what those pretty lips feel like.”

You leaned up, unable to stop yourself from kissing him once more before turning to Siri. You sat on the bed next to him, facing him.

“This okay?” you asked quietly.

“Definitely,” he nodded.

You rested one hand on his leg, leaning in slowly until he met you halfway. You nipped at his lip, not quite kissing him, yet. Luckily for you, he took that as a sign to make the first move. You smiled into the kiss: he was clearly desperate as he pressed his lips to yours intensely, scooting closer to you on the mattress. You licked softly at the crease between his lips, slipping your tongue into his mouth when he opened up for you. You felt Remus’ hand stroke through your hair as you let his best friend kiss you deeply. One of your hands moved up to Siri’s jaw, stroking his skin softly.

“That’s my girl,” Remus said softly, his voice giving away his arousal. “So good, darling.”

You peeked your eyes open, looking up at him for a moment as you moved your lips to Sirius’ neck. He gave you a soft smile, letting you take full control of the situation, even when he clearly wanted to. You reached up with the hand you had against Sirius’ face to trail up Remus’ leg and towards the noticeable bulge in his pants. He licked his lips, moving his hips a bit closer to you. Sirius sighed softly in your ear when you dragged your teeth against a particularly sensitive spot on his neck.

“Come on, darling,” Remus said, pulling you away from Sirius and up to your feet.

You looked at him expectantly, understanding his impatience more when he started tugging at your top. You let him take it off of you, hearing a hard breath come out of Sirius when he saw that you didn’t have anything under the shirt. Remus turned you towards Sirius, pressing open-mouthed kisses all down your neck.

“Isn’t she pretty, Pads?” he asked against your skin.

Sirius swallowed, nodding. “Very.”

He leaned back on the mattress, palming the bulge in his pants as he watched your chest rise and fall from Remus’ lips on you. You smirked when Remus trailed his hands up your torso, Sirius’ eyes following every movement carefully, before landing on your breasts. You pushing your hips back into Remus, making him groan softly at the friction against his still-clothed member. You thought it was only fair with how he squeezed at the flesh of your tits, playing with your nipples until you couldn’t hold back your noises anymore.

You were breathing heavily, your eyes fluttering open when Remus’ hands started retreating. You looked at Sirius who hadn’t pulled his eyes from you the entire time. You reached for him.

“Siri,” you said, pulling his hands to you.

He let his fingertips explore your exposed skin, leaning up to capture one of your nipples between his lips. You whimpered softly at the contact of his wet mouth against your irritated skin, your hand threading through his hair. You only stopped when you felt Sirius’ movements stop, his mouth barely against you as he glanced over your shoulder.

“Damn, Mooney,” he said, eyes wide. “Didn’t know you were… How was I the womanizer in school?”

You looked behind you, smiling at your now-bare boyfriend in all his glory. You couldn’t blame Sirius for being impressed— He had, by far, the biggest dick you’d ever seen personally. You were practically convinced he wouldn’t fit inside of you the first time you saw him.

“I was too busy chasing after this one,” he said, nodding towards you, leaving you blushing. “Not that big, anyways.”

“Not that…” Sirius started, trailing off. “Mate, I can’t stop staring. How have you gotten through life like that?”

You snorted a laugh. “Alright, stop staring at my boyfriend’s cock.”

“It’s impressive,” Sirius said simply, raising a brow as he looked on before turning his gaze away and towards your face. “No wonder you’re always trying to shag.”

You felt Remus behind you, pressing himself fully against your backside. “Helps that she’s just as impressive.”

Sirius swallowed, suddenly feeling overly dressed as he watched Remus tug your pants down your legs, leaving you in a pair of black panties.

“Wait till you feel her mouth, Pads,” Remus said, nipping at your shoulder. He then spoke into your ear. “Why don’t you help him out of those clothes, darling?”

You obliged with a shake of your head and smile. Sirius shot you a cocky smirk as you pulled his sweater over his head.

“Stand,” you instructed, to which he quickly obeyed.

You pulled his pants down, smiling to yourself at the tent in his underwear. You tugged those down next, and while he was no Remus size-wise, he was just as pretty. You stared for a moment, tongue wetting your lips subconsciously. As you stood back up, Remus shoved his hand into your panties, making a satisfied noise at how wet you’d become already.

He pulled his hand back up, popping the fingers he’d brushed against you in his mouth. You watched, never not enamored with how bold he got in bed. He smirked at you, then looked at Sirius.

“Care for a taste?”

Sirius nodded quickly. “Love to.”

“Lay down for him, darling,” Remus said, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You quickly climbed onto the bed, laying against the pillows at the headboard. Remus smiled softly at you, his eyes looking you up and down lovingly.

“Pretty girl,” he sighed, shaking his head. He sat next to you after a moment, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Alright, Sirius.”

Remus nodded at the apex of your thighs, expecting Sirius to get to work. Siri gave you a questioning look, to which you nodded with a smile. He crawled between your legs, kissing all the way up your thighs until he reached your panties. He pulled them slowly down your legs, licking his lips at the sight of you before him.

“Wow,” he said, breathless. He looked at Remus again, “Understand why you always want to shag, too.”

“And you haven’t even really touched her yet,” Remus said with a light laugh. He kissed you on your forehead. “See, love? You are entirely irresistible.”

You shook your head, capturing his lips with a hand on his neck. Just in time, too, moaning into his mouth as you felt Sirius dive into your cunt like nothing you’d expected. You gasped again, though Remus shoved his tongue in your mouth to keep you quiet. The only way you could describe what Sirius was doing was that he was not only eating you out, but fully making out with your pussy. You clenched around nothing, writhing under both of their grips on you: Remus’ hands holding your waist and neck, Sirius’ arms wrapped around your legs to keep you open for him.

“Feel good, darling,” Remus asked against your lips.

You nodded with a whine. “Yes. Fuck.”

Sirius groaned against you, the vibrations shooting all over you.

“Shit, Siri,” you moaned, a hand in his hair. “So good.”

Remus smiled, shaking his head at you before diving back in to kiss you again, directing your hand to stroke his cock as he did. Between his tongue in your mouth and Sirius’ mouth all over your soaked cunt, it wasn’t long before you felt that familiar tension in your stomach start to snap. You cried out against Remus, your whole body shaking as the orgasm ripped through you at a rapid speed. Sirius left soft kisses all over your thighs, pressing one last kiss directly on your clit before he sat up. You opened your eyes, looking at him in a daze. You knew from rumors he was supposed to be good in bed, but you didn’t expect him to be quite so talented with his mouth.

You also didn’t expect to look down and see him leaking precum as if he’d been the one getting off. You whimpered again at the sight, arousal only building at the fact that he was that excited from going down on you. You started moving your hand slowly again where it rested on your boyfriend’s dick, wanting him to feel good, too, but he had other ideas.

“Hands and knees, angel,” he said, kissing your cheek quickly. “Let him see what that pretty mouth can do for him, yeah?”

You nodded, moving to get onto all fours in front of Sirius. You leaned on your elbows, taking him into your hand and stroking him. You looked up, his face already showing obvious signs of his pleasure. You stuck your tongue out, running it terribly slowly over the vein that stuck out on the underside of his cock until you reached the head, pressing a soft kiss just where the precum was leaking out. You licked your lips clean for him, watching as his brows raised, his chest rising and falling a little faster.

“How is it?” he asked, a little amused at your show.

“Tastes like you,” you smirked, taking the entire tip in your mouth, causing a few curses to spill from his lips.

“My little cumslut,” Remus cooed from behind you. “Don’t let her pull off until she swallows, yeah?”

Sirius nodded, breathless as you started bobbing your head faster. “Yeah. Yeah, will do.”

You felt Remus slide his head against you, gathering your slick and Sirius’ left-over spit until he slowly started pushing into you. You moaned your appreciation around Sirius, causing him to tense up, his hand finding it’s way to the back of your head.

“Just like that,” he groaned as you wrapped your hand around him, pushing him deeper into your throat with each thrust. “Fuck, doll. You do this so well. So good.”

Remus slapped your ass from behind, thrusting into you harder. “Manners, baby. He just complimented you, didn’t he?”

You pulled off for a moment, hand taking over. “Thanks, Siri.”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, trying to push himself back into your mouth as quickly as possible.

You smiled to yourself, obliging him. Though, it was becoming a little more difficult to keep pace just right when Remus was more-so pulling you on and off his cock rather than thrusting his hips into you.

You groaned and choked on Sirius, especially as he started fucking into your face. You felt yourself rapidly approaching another orgasm, and Remus seemed to notice.

“Come on, love,” he grunted. “I can feel you. I know you want to come all over my cock. Go ahead.”

You whined again, mouth full, and came crashing down. You were barely able to keep yourself up as both men fucked into you relentlessly, and Remus grabbed you around your middle to help you stay upright.

“Just a bit longer, love,” he said, clearly getting close himself.

“I’m gonna…” Sirius said, groaning out the words. He looked down at you with his mouth agape and his eyes dark. All it took was you looking back up at him with teary eyes, his cock pumping in and out of your mouth. “Fuck”

His hips stuttered, and he spilled into your mouth. You shut your lips around him, swallowing as much as you could with him still jammed in your throat. He practically whimpered from overstimulation, pulling out of your mouth to let you swallow whatever you couldn’t before. He flopped down on the bed in front of you, giving you another smirk before he tossed his arm over his face, coming down from his high.

“Alright, love,” Remus mumbled, pounding into you harder now that you weren’t otherwise occupied.

You groaned loudly as he hit that perfect spot inside of you, gasping for breath when you felt a hand toying with your clit. You opened your eyes, seeing it was Sirius who had slipped his hand under your body. He smiled at you, cheeky, especially when he saw your brows knit together. You were getting close again.

“Gonna cum inside of you,” your boyfriend said, pressing his face into your neck. “M’close.”

“Please,” you begged, though not quite sure to who.

Sirius sped up the work of his hand as Remus spilled inside of you, sending you careening over the edge once again. Your body convulsed under Remus’ larger frame, your arms finally giving out under you. You shut your eyes as it took over your entire being, not opening them again until you felt Remus pulling out of you.

“Aww, look at that, Pads,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Think we just about fucked her to sleep.”

You heard Sirius chuckle. “Cute.”

Remus pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “I’m going to get a washcloth for you, alright, love?”

You nodded, barely coherent and thoroughly fucked out, still laying on your stomach. Another hand brushed away some stray hair from your forehead.

“For the record, this is definitely not going to help those dreams of mine,” Sirius said lowly.

[inkdrinkerworld]

hi can i request a rockstar!remus drabble where he is super touchy with reader and the guys r js teasing them hahah thank you i love your writing🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

“Dove,” Remus’ voice is scratchy and a little worn from all the shows. Singing and playing the bass for almost twenty nine shows in half as many weeks has him worn and a little frayed, but he’s still the same Remus. 

You’re in the hotel room with him, Sirius and James, the four of you having a cup of tea and trying to relax after the last round of shows. Or well at least you’re trying to have a cup of tea, but your boyfriend keeps calling you away from the kitchenette to his side with a pitiful whine and his pretty honey eyes.

“Two minutes Rem,” you’re determined to finish making his tea- a ginger and honey blend that you’re sure he hates but you know he’ll drink it- and yours, a regular black. 

“Give the girl some space, Moony. Haven’t let her have a moment alone since she got here.” Sirius is teasing, a wide smirk on his face as he sips his own tea. Remus doesn’t find him funny though. He also doesn’t see the humour in James’ raucous laugh because this is the first time he’s left Lily alone since she got in and that’s because she locked the door while in the shower. 

“Here I am,” you say coolly before Remus could reply to Sirius with a snarky comment. 

“Thank you dove.” He takes a sip of his tea gratefully before tugging you a little closer and you’re practically fused to his side, with your knees pressing into the space between his back and the sofa. Remus’ hand stays glued to the dip in your waist, slipping under the fabric of your t-shirt to caress the skin there.

“Tired?” 

Remus hums, not caring that his friends are mocking you both now. “Yeah, thank god we’ve got that two week break.” You hand combs through his hair, watching with a smile, behind your cup of tea, as his eyes flutter shut and he heaves a sigh. 

“Look at him, all knackered the second you stroke his head. He’s like a bloody cat.” Sirius snickers and this time Remus chucks a cushion at him even as he cuddles closer to you. 

“Give the man a break Siri, had to be without his girl for a whole three weeks.” James’ comment makes Sirius laugh even louder and you save your boyfriend from any further teasing. 

“Weren’t you the same one begging Lily to stay with you for the second leg of this tour, Jamie?” His cheeks turn red and Remus chuckles, making Sirius shake his head playfully. 

“I’m gonna go see if Marls needs any help,” you snicker, you all know what it’s code for. James follows it up with a, “M’gonna go check on Lils.” 

Remus huffs, a smile on his face. “Oh yeah, go be more lovesick than I am.” 

When they leave, Remus sets both your mugs down, pushing your body to lay flat on the sofa before splaying out over you. 

“Missed you so much.” he kisses your stomach, pulling up your shirt so he can lay his head flat against your skin. 

“Missed you too Remmy, get some sleep love.”

[siribear]

so anyway i haven't posted anything for this story on tumblr in like 3 years apparently?

basically whisper went to the institute and almost died.

here we go:

MacCready wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

When he woke up this morning, there were the usual sounds of Sanctuary that he’s grown used to, fond of: the kids’ lessons drifting out of broken windows, farmers scraping at the land, the hum of the generators powering the lights and signs and water pumps of the neighborhood. Now, it’s the soft sniffling of mourners, a sad track playing through the ham radio connected to the Castle, and shovels scraping the dirt as he and a handful of other residents dig the old psyker’s grave.

MacCready didn’t know her all that well, but Mama Murphy helped Duncan find a toy he misplaced soon after getting here, and he hasn’t minded her since. But as he looks over the faces of the ones gathered near her grave, he counts a lot more people than he’s ever seen at a funeral before. He kinda wishes he sat and talked to her more, especially since he passed her every morning when he took Duncan to school by himself.

Speaking of - he looks up to see Duncan still tucked in next to Alice, holding tight to her hand. Lucky kid, he thinks for a moment, before looking at Alice herself. Her eyes might be on the grave at his feet - almost finished, even though he hasn’t helped for several minutes now - but her gaze is glazed over. She’s somewhere else entirely, swaying like her dress in the wind.

He picks up a shovelful of dirt before someone notices him staring. Though between the music and the crying, he doesn’t think anyone actually would.

When the grave is dug and Mama Murphy lowered into it, Marcy is the first to speak. They’ve all known each other since Quincy, MacCready learns, and things were pretty bad before they got as good as they are. Marcy didn’t trust her until Sanctuary started rebuilding, she helped Jun through the worst moments after his son died, Sturges used to think of her as his own grandma, and Preston used to go to her for advice when the Minutemen first fell apart.

And then the eyes of the present Museum Survivors turn to Alice, waiting. She looks smaller now. It’s not the denim dress, even though he’s never seen her outside of jeans and some kind of shirt (hers or Deacon’s or the one time without). It’s as if when she came back, she left some big part of her behind.

“Like everyone else here, Mama Murphy saved my life.” There’s a gasp and hush through the radio. Someone certainly didn’t expect to hear from her. “When we first met, I didn’t know who I was. So I made someone up. Someone they needed. Someone I needed to be.

“The last thing she told me was that, even though there was a decision I was struggling with at the time, whatever I chose would be the right thing. Honestly, it scared me that she knew me better than I know myself, but at least she thought the best of me.” Even he can’t help but chuckle, though he has trouble imagining her doing anything but the right thing.

“Because of that, I never thanked her enough for saving my life, and the lives of those I care deeply about. And now the only way I can do that is to keep going. To turn Sanctuary, the Minutemen, the whole Commonwealth, if I can, into a place she’d be proud of. A place people can be safe. A place where they can pass in peace, at home in their beds, surrounded by people that care about them. That’s how I’ll carry her memory with me.”

There’s a reverent silence that follows, and then more crying, and then Duncan pipes up with a heartfelt, “Me, too!” that brings some levity. Alice picks him up and balances him on her hip. Duncan waves when he can finally spot him over the crowd, and when MacCready waves back, Alice smiles. And if standing next to her as she freed him from Winlock and Barnes and the gunners, or as she risked her life for Duncan’s serum, that right there - that would have him joining with the Minutemen in a heartbeat.

That's a smile that should be on the recruitment posters.

-

Preston has a million and one questions for her once the funeral is over and Mama Murphy is buried. Is she okay? Is her son okay? When did she get back? Does she need anything? She lets him go on, until finally Sturges tells him to give her a chance to answer at least one of them.

“I’ll be down there soon, I promise. There’s something I need to do up here, first.” There’s a scrap of paper in the breast pocket of her dress: he’ll be there. Just wait one more day. There weren’t any jet inhalers in the room when they found her, she was told. Mama Murphy said she knew how she was going to go… so maybe it was a package deal of information. It’s a hope she carries to keep the gnawing feeling of guilt at bay.

Whisper runs a finger along the top of the ham radio. “I got that party favor you asked for, Sturges,” she says, intentionally vague.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. Preston, could you get everyone together for the party? I’m thinking it’ll be a big one.”

She hears his clothing rustle sharply. “Yes, General. I’ll make sure everyone’s ready to celebrate your return. Did you need anything else, ma’am?”

“No.” She stands. “Just be prepared for any party crashers, will you? I appreciate all you do.”

Preston clears his throat. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll see you soon.”

-

With school canceled for the day, MacCready takes Duncan back home and Whisper is left to what she hopes is her final stake out. The violin pieces over Radio Freedom are more somber, but the message to her keeps on its loop. She has no doubt the Brotherhood listen in to their station, and if they hadn’t been listening in to her conversation with Preston and Sturges, there’s no reason to give them cause to wonder.

She flips over to Diamond City Radio with a hiss of static then straight into I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire. She hums along, foot bobbing to the tune. Anxiety tightens in her chest with every breeze that rustles the dead leaves, but whenever she turns her head, she’s still alone. Honestly. How long does it take to cross the Commonwealth these days? Whisper did it in a few days and all it cost her was a few days of sleep!

Head in her hands, she groans.

A twig snaps. Just the one. Her hand twitches toward Deliverer resting on the surface of her lookout. The sound of footsteps grows closer. Whisper stands and turns to look behind her -

-  And out from the forest, finally, steps Deacon, dressed in his dirty white tee, hands tucked into the pockets of a familiar pair of distressed jeans.”Hey, partner. You wouldn’t believe the traffic getting up here. It was terrible.”

Whisper blinks. Tears prick the corner of her eyes. Her bottom lip quivers. Then she grabs her gun and aims it at him before he can get too close. His eyebrows shoot up over the frames of his sunglasses, as do his hands to the air. The pistol is shaky in her hand, even with the other braced under it to keep her steady.

“Do you have a geiger counter?”

Deacon relaxes, and she almost does. But she can’t. Not yet. “Mine is in the shop.”

The dam breaks. She tosses the pistol to the ground and runs to him, tears already streaming down her cheeks. She tucks her head against his shoulder, and he holds her to him with one hand cradling the back of her head and the other trailing gently up and down her spine. He smells like sweat and gunfire and stale cigarettes and catacomb air. He smells like home.

“I’m sorry,” she hears him say. “I’m so sorry, partner. We should have found another way. You shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“It’s my own fault.” She lifts her head to look up at him, and from her angle she can see the furrow of his brow. “I bulled over everyone else because it had to be me. I didn’t think - ” She wraps her arms around him tighter. “I had no idea what I was walking into.”

“Whisper.” He takes her by the shoulders, gently pries her off him. “What did they do to you?”

She looks over to the vault and wipes away a stray tear. “I think it’s better if I start from the beginning.”

-

Whisper isn’t the first one to try to get into Vault 111. Deacon knows. He’s sat up in that very same lookout that he found her and watched and waited as others attempted to break in. But no other stolen vault pip-boy or percussive maintenance could persuade the door to open. Yet when she pulls the cord out from her own pip-boy and plugs it into the door control mechanism, the machine flickers to life.

“I said that I would tell you everything when I got back,” she says, voice still a little rough.

Of all the things he thought he’d see when he got up on that hill (a trap, an Institute courser, three super mutants in a trenchcoat - ), Whisper pulling a gun on him then breaking down wasn’t one of them. He’s never seen her cry before, he realizes. Not that he’s much of a cryer himself, but for someone with as much on her shoulders as she’s had, he’s surprised she didn’t break sooner.

Whisper presses the button, and just outside, the blast doors slide open in the middle, like a great eye waking up.

“The first time I went down here,” she breaks the silence and begins walking toward the vault-tec symbol painted into the metal door. “I was dressed almost the same.” She flares the skirt of her dress. “We were supposed to go to a ceremony. Nate was going to give a speech, get a medal for his service. And then we were going to go shopping for Shaun’s Halloween costume.”

Deacon follows her onto the symbol and waits. The ground feels unsteady on his feet, and when it rumbles, he half expects for the metal to fall out from beneath them, for them to tumble down into the vault below. Instead, the ground rises up around them, until it passes over their heads, and the only light are the fluorescents built into the wall of the large elevator.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he answers, as casually as he can. He’s still processing the small bits of information he’s gotten. First: her pip-boy worked on the door. Second: first time she went down here?

“If you had a second chance at a life with Barbara, right now, would you take it?”

Now he turns to her. The elevator ride casts her face in light, then shadow, then light, but her expression is neutral. Not expectant. If he chose to lie to her now, she would understand and move on, as always.

“I’m not the same person she married anymore.”

She turns away, the corner of a smile casting a sharper shadow across her face. She’s pleased with his answer, at least.

“That’s how I felt.”

“What?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.” The elevator hits the bottom with a slight pistoning bounce. Deacon spreads his arms and feet wide to brace himself for the whole thing to come down, but Whisper grabs him calmly by the forearm. “It’s okay. We’re at the bottom.” A high mesh fence surrounds the elevator; the opening slides around to the back, and then they’re free to enter the vault.

It looks just like the entrance to vault 81, from here.

“Watch your step getting out. The floor is uneven.” Deacon toes the edge of the elevator floor and finds the lip she’s talking about. He steps over it. “It’s okay. We were all in shock when we reached the bottom, too.”

“Whisper, who’s ‘we,’ exactly?”

Still holding on to him, she leads him up the stairs, across the grated bridge, down a long, narrow hallway. Windows lining the walls peer into rooms lined with individual pieces of heavy machinery, each uniformly the same. Metal boxes, with water leaking out from underneath them.

“My neighbors and I,” she says. “We were led just down here.”

There’s no atrium to greet them at the end of the hall, no welcoming signs of life. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something isn’t right.

“Here.” He doesn’t know when she released his arm, but now she gestures at a terminal jutting from the wall. “The guest list. Nate and I were last minute additions.”

He steps up slowly. Compared to before, Whisper’s calm. Not serene, but… detached. He looks over the list; names and descriptions, male, male, female, male and infant… Nathaniel and Shaun Ward. Female: Claire Ward.

When he turns to look beside him, she isn’t there. Instead, she’s standing in front of one of the machines, one hand on the glass window. He passes by the dead bodies in the other pods as he walks down the remainder of the room. Sealed shut, the bodies aren’t even decomposing. They could be sleeping. Her neighbors.

“The one behind me was mine,” she says without looking away. “A little over two hundred years ago, I stepped into that pod. We didn’t - we didn’t know. They said it was for decontamination. We had just seen the bomb drop. The one that made the Glowing Sea? I’m sure none of us ever could have thought…. ” She takes a deep breath. He feels himself mimic her.

Then it all comes out. From start to finish; from bomb drop to Institute and back. She ends it with, “Deacon, this is my husband.” Whisper’s got good taste, he has to admit. Handsome - not even death could take that from him - and a vain part of him can’t help but notice Nate is also a ginger. “Shaun tried to tell me that they… saved him. I know we say synths are people, but that wasn’t my Nate. He was programmed to… to… 

“He wanted to try again at raising a family. But I walked away.”

“That’s why you asked about Barbara.”

She wraps her arms around herself and shivers. “Yeah.” With a look to her husband’s pod, “I don’t know if Nate could look at me the same after all I’ve done. He fought in the Great War, but… I’m not the same woman he came home to afterward.”

He shrugs. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

Whisper stares. “I - thank you.” She coughs. “Can we, um, can we go? This place still makes me uncomfortable.”

Deacon steps in beside her, puts an arm around her shoulders. “I get why the catacombs bothered you so much now. Don’t look at me like that. You were more jumpy down there than you were walking through raider-infested territory.” He stops when they’re halfway back to the entrance. “You, er - didn’t want to bury him just yet?”

She pulls him back along. “When this is over. We’ve already buried one person today, anyway.” At his look, she clarifies, “Mama Murphy.”

“Sorry to hear.” He steps into the elevator, and when she sends them up, he’s hit with a wave of vertigo as the floor disappears below them. She draws his attention with a hand on his cheek.

“How many agents am I facing when we get back up there?”

“It’s just me here, partner.”

Two of her fingers walk their way up his chest. His heart skips a beat. “Really? I didn’t think they’d trust me after…” The fingers fall away.

“Well…” He lets the word trail off, high and pitchy. “You’d still be waiting for me if I hadn’t snuck out when I did.”

She hangs her head. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

The sun breaks over the top of the elevator, spreading over them like the world’s quickest - and most welcome - sunrise. He grabs her hand and swiftly leads them off the elevator before the earth decides it wants to swallow them back up.

“Did you know?”

“I know a lot of things, pal. What do you want to know about what I know?” She huffs, and there’s a grin threatening to break her frown.

“About… any of that. I saw the rail sign up on the hill. Have you just been humoring me this whole time? Letting me think I had this big secret, but everyone was in on it?”

Ah. “Not exactly.” They walk past the gate of the would-be military checkpoint. The skeletons have all gone since he’s last been up here himself. “I had PAM look into past Institute sightings, and this place came up. Figured it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye out, but for the longest time it seemed like a bust.” The bustle of Sanctuary is good to see. Exactly what he’s been begging Desdemona for the Railroad to branch out into. “Once again, you found us before we could officially find you.”

She squeezes his hand.

-

“Allie!” Lost in her own thoughts, Whisper doesn’t see Duncan until he runs into her and wraps his arms around her thigh.”Dad took me out on patrol with him since we didn’t have school today! We didn’t go too far though, but I saw a molerat and a bloatfly and Dogmeat and I played fetch with a stick.” He takes one long, inhaling breath. “Where did you go? Who’s he?”

Duncan maneuvers around to put her squarely between him and Deacon. She pets his head as he goes shy and cautious around the newcomer. “This is Deacon. He’s a very good friend of mine. He’s a little silly sometimes, but you can trust him. I promise.”

“Mac’s kid, huh?” Deacon says, kneeling. “I can see the resemblance.” Whisper grins, feeling Duncan lose his tight grip on her just a little.

“Why do you wear those?” Duncan asks, pointing at Deacon’s sunglasses. “No one else does.”

Deacon’s voice dips low into a conspiratorial whisper. Duncan leans in close. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says, looking between her and Duncan, “but these hide my reptile eyes.”

Whisper explains what he means when Duncan gives her a confused look. At that, the little boy’s own eyes go wide. “Can I see?”

Deacon stands and props himself up by the elbow now resting on her shoulder. “Sorry, kid. Wouldn’t want to scare her.”

Duncan frowns. “But if Allie’s your friend, she wouldn’t be scared.”

A conceding nod that she feels in her shoulder. “You’re probably right. But I like having her around, so I won’t risk it. Hey, Mac.”

“Deacon.” MacCready looks between them, then down to Duncan now standing comfortably next to Deacon. “Does that mean you’re leaving now?”

Her hand that’s been idly combing through Duncan’s hair stops. “I - ”

“No!” Duncan whines. “I don’t want you to go.” He clings back to her leg. “What if you don’t come back? Like mama?”

Whisper picks him up before he can work himself up into a full blown meltdown. She walks them toward their home instead of continuing to draw attention in the middle of the road as they always seem to do. Duncan murmurs a litany of you can’t go, you can’t go into her ear in between sniffles and mucousy coughs. In return, she whispers anything she needs to, to soothe him. When she sets him down on his own bed, he only holds onto her neck tighter. MacCready sits down next to him, one hand on his back. Deacon, she hears lean against the doorframe.

“Please don’t go,” Duncan says, muffled against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I have to. But I’ll come back, okay? I’ll come back, just for you.”

He pulls away, eyes big and watery. Snot runs freely down one nostril. “Do you promise?”

She holds one pinky up in front of him. “I promise. Pinky promise.” His little finger wraps around hers. “There, that means it’s real.” He wipes his nose with his sleeve.

“Are you going away tonight?”

She looks to Deacon. Originally, she wanted to, but now - Deacon yawns, long and loud, and stretches his hands up to the top of the doorframe. “Boy, am I tired. I don’t think I could head out tonight if I tried.”

She mouths thank you over Duncan’s head. “How about we all have dinner together tonight, then Deacon and I will head out in the morning.”

“Okay!”

“That means we need to get you all washed up, kid.” MacCready gathers his son in his arms, and he goes easily. “Sorry about that. He’s - kind of attached to you.”

Whisper smiles. “Well so am I.”

-

“Thank you again,” Whisper says once they’re back in her bedroom. Outside the closed door, Codsworth prepares dinner with a clatter of pots and pans. “How long do you think we have until Des sends a search party looking for you?”

Deacon sits cross legged on the bed. “We can spare the night, anyway. Any longer and I’d have to send a note with one of your caravans.”

“Well, good. I’d hate to leave Duncan like that. He’s a good kid.”

“And he adores you enough to rub snot all over your dress.” He gestures her closer, and puts his fingers to work undoing the buttons down the front. Slowly, he unhooks the fabric around each one, the knuckle of his forefinger leaving a trail across her bare skin.

Stepping closer between his newly splayed thighs, she says, “Speaking of, thank you for earlier, also.” She hadn’t expected to fall apart so suddenly. With all the relief at seeing him again, knowing it was really him, there was no more room for the tension welled up inside her, and it had only one place to go. “I won’t make it a habit.”

“Mi shoulder es su shoulder, sugar.” He shrugs her out of the blouse. The skirt hangs on by the belt, but he doesn’t make a move to uncinch it. Instead, he runs his hands across her stomach, up to the hem of her bra, her muscles fluttering at the touch - and then he flinches back.

She looks down at him and his hands frozen an inch away from her skin. “Deacon?” No answer. With a finger under his chin, she forces him to look at her. “What’s wrong?” Her other hand removes his sunglasses and places them on the bed. There are no reptilian eyes staring back at her, instead all she sees is blue eyes filled with -

The door to the bedroom swings open without so much as a knock. “Hey, Codsworth says dinner’s almost - Jesus - “ Whisper takes a half step away and covers herself with her arms. MacCready quickly slips back into the hall. When she looks back at Deacon, he’s already standing with his sunglasses back on. “Look, Duncan’s waiting at the table. If you two are done - ?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Is all Deacon says with notable false cheer before leaving without so much as a glance in her direction.

Whisper covers her mouth, either to hold back a sob or to stop herself from being sick, she isn’t sure yet.

“Hey,” MacCready says, stepping slightly more into the room but eyes firmly on the floor. “Everything okay?”

Whisper buttons up the dress, snot be damned. “Yeah, Mac.” She sounds normal to her ears, at least. “Everything’s fine.”

Except it isn’t. She’s seen Deacon afraid before, but never of her.

-

Duncan keeps dinner from being awkward. He insisted on sitting next to her, which leaves MacCready on the other side of the table and Deacon at the head beside Duncan. Conversation flows as Duncan wills it, their little conductor oblivious to how the adults do their best to avoid looking each other in the eye.

“It’s okay if you go now,” he says with the most glowing approval. “Because daddy’s going, and he can keep you safe from bad guys, like you said.”

“What?” MacCready asks when her look is questioning. “Were you just going to leave me behind?”

Yes, she thinks. Because you have this little boy to live for. “No, of course not. The more the merrier.”

He leans back. The chair bears his weight with only a small protesting squeak. “Good. I still owe ya for… you know.”

Duncan shines under the spotlight MacCready casts on him. “I’m gonna be as strong as dad one day. Then I can protect you, too.”

Whisper steeples her hands over the table, then rests her chin on them. “Is that so? You know you have to eat your greens first.” A pile of green stalks, like too tall broccoli, lays untouched on his plate. Duncan glares at it as if she just asked him to eat bloatfly.

“They’re gross, though. I don’t want to eat them.”

“Eat up, kid. You’re gonna hurt Codsworth’s feelings if you don’t.” The Mr. Handy is in sleep mode in the laundry closet, unable to dispute the claim. Duncan still pushes his plate away.

“You’re such a dad about it, Mac.” Deacon pipes up. “Watch this. Hey, little Mac.” Duncan’s favorite new nickname gets his full attention. Deacon leans over the table, and his own plate with a slightly smaller pile of vegetables, and grins. “I bet you can’t eat all yours before I eat mine.”

Turned to Deacon as he is, Whisper can’t see the kid’s reaction, but she can see his back straighten at the challenge. “Nu-uh.”

Deacon goads him further, “I bet you don’t even eat one before I finish eating.” Duncan jerks his plate back and holds his fork in a fisted death grip. He goes to stab one of the stalks, Deacon grabs his arm. “Whoa there. Rules first, right?” The little boy nods eagerly. “You have to chew and swallow each one before you eat the next. And show your dad, too, so I know you’re not cheating.”

“Okay. Allie has to make sure you’re not cheating too.”

“I’ll make sure he isn’t being sneaky. Don’t worry.” Deacon grins.

“Count us in, partner.” 

She does, and at Go! Duncan tears into his vegetables with the gusto of a starving animal. He chews quickly, swallows, then makes a loud ah! sound every time he shows his dad his empty mouth. He barely looks at Deacon, eating as slowly as if his greens were the mirelurk they ate at Coastal Cottage, but when he does Deacon makes a show of chewing quickly and struggling to keep up. And Whisper can’t keep her eyes off him. Not because of the contest, even though she has to give him a Vault-boy worthy thumbs up whenever Duncan is looking, but because she’s missed this. Missed him. And in this moment she gets a glimpse of… something too intangible to put a name to, just yet.

She finds she wants to, though.

“I win!” Duncan startles her with his shout. “Look, you didn’t even finish,” he gloats.

“Nope, kid, you got me.” Deacon sighs theatrically, one hand on his stomach. “I concede my defeat. You are the better green eater.”

“What do I get?”

“Duncan,” MacCready chides, but Deacon hushes him.

“Come on, dad, it’s only fair. He won. Say, ever heard of Grognak?”

That opener gets the two of them started on a whole conversation about comics, with Duncan hanging on Deacon’s every word. Whisper and MacCready clear the table of plates and empty nuka cola bottles (the bottle caps go into MacCready’s pocket), with Whisper pausing only to take a chance to press a kiss to Deacon’s temple. Her own victory is to feel him lean into it.

At the sink, Whisper washes and MacCready dries. Whisper tunes her pip-boy to DCR. “You’re sure you want to come along? I - “ quieter now, though Duncan isn’t paying attention, “... I plan on going after the Institute. It’s going to be dangerous.”

MacCready shrugs. “You’re my boss. My… general. Is that what I’m supposed to call you? Whatever.”

“But Duncan - ”

“Isn’t safe with the Institute still around. I’m doing this for him, too. C'mon, let me do this.”

“I can see where he gets that sweet pleading look from.” She looks up at him, tall and lanky, as if a stiff breeze could knock him over. “One condition.” She raises one soapy finger. “You cut your hair. It’s getting way past regulation.”

He laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

-

The departure of MacCready and his son finds Whisper leaning against the back of her couch and Deacon staring at the door as if he’s debating whether or not he wants to leave as well.

Whisper doesn’t let him. “Deacon, talk to me.”

She watches as his demeanor changes; his shoulders shift down in resignation, then up in acceptance. “What do you want to talk about?”

Her and Nate had a rule: never let the sun go down on bad feelings. “Are we good? I’m sorry I kept everything from you - from everyone, really - but I guess I thought...” She wilts like what remains of her centuries old garden.

Deacon puts a friendly hand on her shoulder. “You and me, we’re always good. If you had told me that story when we first met, I’d have laughed in your face. Probably.”

He holds himself stiffly. Keeps a healthy distance between them. “Then why did you flinch when you touched me?”

“Random muscle spasms. When you get older you’ll get them too - ”

“Deacon.” Her tone is desperate.

He runs a hand over his head and walks a contemplative little circle in front of her. “Fuck. Well, I’m dead anyway if I’m wrong.” She stops him before he can make himself dizzy. “Your… your scars are gone.”

Whisper blinks. She had put her hands on Nate and she knew. “Oh. Oh. No, they - the Institute had to stitch me back up after - ” After Glory downed her. Her blood spilling out onto the ground, her strength getting weaker, staining Deacon’s shirt red. “I’m not a synth, Deacon. I’m still - me.”

His mouth is a thin frown. “Whisper, I don’t think you realize how bad you got hurt in Bunker Hill.”

Anger rises to the surface. “So tell me. Because I sure as hell felt how bad I got hurt.”

Deacon looks at his hands as if she should see something in them. “I held your-your guts in my hands, Whisper. What I wasn’t trying to hold in was… ” He takes a shuddered breath. “... was on the ground. Or quickly on its way.”

“I was in an autodoc for three days,” she says, shrilly. Once again, Deacon flinches. “I wasn’t replaced. I can’t be - it wouldn’t make sense - ”

Once again his hands are on her shoulders, gentler now, soothing. “It’s okay. It’s okay, we’ll deal with this.”

She shrugs him off. “Listen to me. Shaun hates synths. He doesn’t even see them as human, so he wouldn’t make me one. Not when he wants me to lead the Institute. His legacy.”

“He remade your husband,” he helpfully supplies.

“For me. So I would stay.” A knot forms in her throat, the truth difficult to swallow. “Besides, if I was a synth, they would have just programmed me to love him, instead.” She’s going to cry again, she can feel it. The dam’s already broken, and now it’s all free to rush out. Her legs give out like a tree uprooted in the deluge, and she slides to the floor with a sob. “It would have been easier,” she hiccups.

She hears Deacon join her on the ground before he pulls her to him again. “I thought you were a synth the moment I saw you again,” he confesses into her hair. “I didn’t think there was any way you could have survived. I even thought about going under the knife again. Getting a new face, so I didn’t have to stare at the one that watched you die.

“Whisper, I flinched because I thought you had been replaced, and, for that moment, I didn't care.”

Didn’t care? If she was replaced, the Institute could ruin the Railroad, the Minutemen, the fragile peace they’ve cultivated across the Commonwealth. “Deacon…? What are you saying?”

He leans back, but still huddled close like they’re sharing a secret. His nose nudges the hollow of her cheekbone, and every breath breezes across the curve of her neck. “One last test.” For this, he removes his sunglasses, and the apprehension glittering in his eyes can be felt in the shaky grip he has at the nape of her neck. “Whisper, what’s my name?”

A shiver runs down her spine at the roughness of his voice. “You told me to forget in the morning,” she answers, even though she never did. 

The hand at her neck reaches up to tangle in her hair, and then Deacon kisses her first.

She had asked him once why he never did before, when insecurity made her feel as if she was forcing intimacy on him despite his enthusiastic response. Plausible deniability, he told her. Lies are always more believable with a little bit of truth dashed in, and if Des pressed him about starting something with her, well, it would be the truth if he said no.

There is nothing plausibly deniable about his tongue caressing the soft palate of her mouth, or her keening whine in response. She climbs into his lap, throwing a leg over his to straddle his hips. She pulls away to breathe, and he takes the opportunity to kiss a trail from the hollow of her throat up to her jaw.

Whisper moans his name - his real name - and is rewarded with his hand hiking up her skirt to her hip. He kneads the skin there, thumb dipping under the band of her underwear. She thinks of his poor knees when he shifts. “Deacon,” she struggles out, mind a fog, and nothing registers but his hands and his mouth. “Take me to bed.”

His hand on her hip yanks her hard against him, and she feels just how excited he is at that suggestion. “Your wish is my command, sugar.”

Legs hooked behind his back, she anchors herself to him as he carries them - almost back to her bedroom. Her back hits the wall outside the door. With one hand, he locks her wrists above her head. When he kisses her again, his hips mimic the thrust of his tongue. The other hand works the buttons of her dress. The cool air is a relief against the flush spread across her body, the burning heat spreading through her veins, flame set alight every time he touches her. She rocks her hips forward. WIth a soft hiss, he releases her wrists and finally carries her to her bed.

Even when he deposits her on the mattress, they aren’t apart for long. As if even letting her go for a second pains him. If he isn’t touching her, she’ll disappear for good. She sits up to pull her dress over her head. He helps her, fingers skimming every inch of skin he exposes. 

He dips his head to her breasts and licks the valley between them. Whisper arches against him, grinding down against his still too-clothed lap. God help her when he unhooks her bra and draws a nipple lightly between his teeth. She goes when he eases her back down to the mattress. He hovers over her, eyes roving, and even in the dark she can see his pupils are blown wide.

Whisper runs her hands up under his shirt to help him out of it. With a hiss of fabric, it joins her dress and bra somewhere on the floor. Her hands go to the button of his jeans before stopping, finding the the rough scars across his torso. The one just below his ribs from the mirelurk queen, the peppering of scars from gunshot and knife wounds, and a new one high up on his collarbone. He watches her as she maps them out, his chest steadily rising and falling as he catches his breath.

“Everything accounted for?” He huffs.

She hums low. She presses a kiss to the scar on his collarbone. “What happened here?”

“Bunker Hill. Ran into a Courser but your, uh, Brotherhood friend helped me out.”

Whisper shows him just how glad she is that he survived.

Their next steps are slower, more deliberate. No longer frantic, but tempered. Want still simmering beneath the surface, but no longer threatening to burn out all sense. Deacon begins again, mouth moving determinedly south. One finger hooks through the band of her underwear, and she arches again to slip them off. Still he takes his time, pressing kiss after kiss to the inside of her thighs. And just when she hopes he’ll grant her some relief, he glances at her over the planes of her stomach and grins. He rests one of her legs on his shoulder, presses another kiss to her thigh. Then one hard swipe of his tongue has her loudly moaning his name.

He’s always been good with his tongue, but now it’ll be the death of her. Sometimes, she swears she recognizes a snippet of shorthand that he writes into her until another swipe erases any semblance of thought like an eraser to a chalkboard. Once he introduces his fingers, it isn’t long until he has her seeing stars.

When she comes back down, he’s pillowed his cheek against her thigh, watching her and looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Knew I missed you for a reason,” she sighs with a grin. “Come here.”

He does, and it’s her turn to taste herself on his tongue. His jeans and briefs join the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and then she finally gets to learn the feel of him entirely against her. No longer hindered by just-get-naked-enough, Deacon fits a knee underneath hers and hikes her leg at an angle. Open beneath him, she urges him forward, and he finally thrusts home.

They moan together. Whisper’s head falls back further into the pillow, and Deacon pulls out and buries himself again. His breath is hot and heavy against her shoulder, the only sound other than flesh against flesh and encouragement moaned in the dark.

Pleasure builds quickly, welling in her core and tightening every nerve. Deacon’s hips stutter, pace uneven, fingers caressing where they’re joined in an effort to send them over together. He whines Alice in her ear and she builds her home in it. The tension snaps, and she’s falling hard, taking him with her, and together they’re tumbling limp limbed on the mattress.

-

The afterglow finds Whisper’s head on Deacon’s chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. It’s almost enough to lull her to sleep, mental and physical exhaustion doing its best to pull her under.

“Go to bed,” Deacon rumbles. Hypocrite, she thinks. Under the blanket, his fingers keep a lazy circle on her hip. Every fifth circle he dips down into the vee of her hips, then returns. “We have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Not that early.” He’s already half hard in her hand. “We have to say good-bye to everyone.”

“Not that early,” he agrees.

She rides him until names given and made blur together in unbroken breaths of oh, god, and please, and fuck, and they come apart again when words have no meaning and the feel of them is enough.

[biteofcherry]

Enforcer!Steve + innocence kink. I can just see this sinful AF, devious MFer loving to do the filthiest things to his sweet Cherry and her O_O response would make him even more feral lolll 🥴

Heart hammering in your chest, you stared at the pristine white ceiling of Steve's so called office, while he had you spread on his desk.

It wasn't the first time you found yourself on it, but the time before was more active. This time, Steve was... exploring.

You felt his gaze on your most intimate parts. Felt the slide of his fingers along your naked thighs and between your dripping folds. It was like an inspection and admiration all rolled into one overwhelming sensation.

"How about here?" Steve asked, circling a single digit coated in your slick over your puckered hole.

"N-no," you replied shyly, clenching your fingers on the bunched fabric of your pretty, new sundress.

Heat scorched your skin when he touched you there. It was such a dirty act. One you never before spent a single thought on. But now Steve had you imagining him doing it to you.

"No cock in that pretty, virgin ass?" He spoke so casually, while your insides flamed with embarrassment at his words.

"No. Never." You shook your head.

"How about fingers? Or toys?" He teased your rim with his finger, pushing against it, but not penetrating.

"Nothing." You fought the urge to close your legs and hide from him. As much as the instinct to do so tensed your muscles, the arousal from being so on display for Steve was greater and spread your legs further apart.

"Say it, Cherry. Say No one played with my virgin ass." Steve's eyes glinted a wicked satisfaction as he looked down at you.

"N-no one played with my virgin ass, Steve," you repeated obediently.

"But you will let me, right Cherry?" He didn't have to wait for your reply, he felt the gush of wetness dripping down onto his fingers; saw the way your pupils dilated and your breath shortened.

"Yes, Steve." You nodded, staring at him with wide eyes.

"What will you let me do, hmm? Tell me, baby. Name each naughty thing you'll let me do to your tight ass." He pressed against your anus again and your hands flew to cover your face when your hips responded eagerly rocking into his hand.

Steve chuckled.

"Such a sweet, innocent girl." He braced one hand on the desk, leaning forward and hovering over you. "I can't wait to see your face when I open that hole for the first time."

Steve Rogers Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[dc418writes]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Ari + pinned down + “Fuck, sweetheart, I love it when you whine so pretty for me.”

*incomprehensible screeching* ok ok calm down self no pressure 👀 lol but thank you Siri for this prompt! And all who read I hope you like what I came up with☺️!

Mine

✨Pairing✨: ex!Ari Levinsonxblack!reader

Summary🪄: As luck would have it, your ex is there to save you from a creep. Some coincidence right?

🚨: 18+ NO MINORS, soft/dark-dark elements, mention of sexual harassment, violence (man-man), unprotected adult happy funny times (please be safe everyone!), fingering, breeding kink, mention of alcohol, a couple bad language words

Your once pleasant buzz has since been replaced by a dull headache as you sit in the middle of your ex’s king sized bed. One of his shirts - smelling a mix of his cologne and detergent - covering your freshly washed body after the small bar brawl left the front of your top and skirt soaked with beer.

Every few minutes your mind wanders back to that moment where the “kind” and charming stranger showed his true colors. His touches becoming unwanted while trapping you against the bar and ignoring your protests. If it wasn’t for Ari, quickly yanking the hazel-eyed man away from you before his fist was soon meeting his cheek, you’re sure you’d be stuck somewhere and missing for God knows how long.

Maybe even worse.

A light knock on the door has a small smile curling on your lips seeing Ari in the doorway. His muscular body nearly taking up the entire space standing in his black sweats and some worn looking band tee.

“Hey, you feel alright?,” he asks and you nod. “Need anything?”

“No, just tired.”

“Get some rest. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

You didn’t want him out there though. In your current state - emotionally vulnerable and unable to get the events out of your mind - you wanted him next to you. To not be alone for tonight at least.

“C-Can you stay? Please?,” you call after him halting any further movement out of the doorway. With that tilted smile you still loved, he was soon removing his shirt and joining you under his sheets.

“Of course sweetheart.”

His thick arm wrapped around your middle with your back against his front, it was like old times how instantly safe and comfortable you felt. How you fit together so well, it was as if you’d never even broken up in the first place. And when his nose bumps behind your ear barely touching one of your special spots, that familiar flip returns to your stomach as well.

“Goodnight.”

“Night Ari,” you whisper, but you already know sleep is a far off concept from your highly active brain still focused on the bar. Trying to force you into reliving every detail as if helping you study for your own exam.

So many minutes pass of just feeling the air from Ari’s nostrils against your neck and hearing cars run by that you’ve accepted you probably won’t be sleeping tonight.

“That pretty head’s going a mile a minute again huh?,” he asks slightly startling you thinking he was asleep this whole time.

“You can tell?” He nods and you can feel the gentle scratching of his beard on your skin.

“Your pulse is a bit high; not to mention your body’s tense. Not as relaxed as I know you wanna be.”

He was always so intuitive with you. Knowing how you were feeling or if you were off without you having to even say a word. It was honestly scary sometimes how he was there with what you needed before it could cross your own mind.

“Why am I not surprised? Spot on as always,” you softly chuckle.

“Because I know you sweetheart,” he replies placing a chaste kiss to that sweet spot behind your ear. “Know all about this body. What goes on in your mind.”

His voice in your ear as his hand slowly drifts from under you and down your abdomen to the front of your thigh has you beginning to squirm. An ache quickly forming between your legs you want him to erase.

His fingertips trace a slow circle just centimeters from that junction as his lips create their own steady path down the column of your neck to your shoulder. It’s a tortuous buildup you wish he didn’t enjoy so much.

“Let’s get you to sleep, yea?”

“Please,” you shamefully beg anticipating his touch where you needed most.

And he doesn’t disappoint placing your leg over his so you were spread wide for him. His middle finger immediately dipping in your needy core and dragging just right you couldn’t stop the moan that tumbled from your lips.

“Still so tight after all this time. We can work around that though can’t we?”

By the time he was done - having readied you with two orgasms - you were already in a mindless haze only capable of babbling incoherent noises, “please”, and Ari’s name.

Exactly how he wanted you as he pushed your thighs up against your chest keeping them in place with his wide upper half while his hands pinned yours over your head. You were now completely at his use as he slowly began to push into you with a low groan and silent curses how you gripped him so tight.

“Ari please,” you whined. Head lulling to the side to lie on your arm. “Need you.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I love when you whine so pretty for me,” he finishes with a gasp finally pushing to the hilt. For your sake, he tries to start slow, but the feel of you clinching around him and all the sweet noises you’re making, it doesn’t take long for that rhythm to quicken. The squeaking of the bed and the sound of skin slapping soon taking over your moans and panting.

“Mm don’t stop!”

He moans nipping at your bottom lip. “I’m the only one that can take care of you. Knows all your spots that make you dumb. Isn’t that right?”

Ari takes your whine as a yes, smirking as his mouth finds yours in a heated and numbing kiss.

“Because you’re mine sweetheart.” His pace quickens and you shriek as your release squirts to the sheets below. It only spurs him more moaning as he feels his own release approaching. “Always have been, shit, always will be.”

You want to whine and push him away with your new sensitivity and puffy folds that feel raw, but that blissed out cloud just keeps lifting you higher and higher that you don’t want to come down.

“And everyone’s gonna know it too seeing you with our little baby bump. Gonna be the best mama to our babies.” The thought of you carrying a mini version of the both of you pushes him over the edge moaning his release as you have one last one of your own feeling him fill you up with deep ruts wanting it to stick as deep as it could go.

Finally meeting that blissful high with you, a tired chuckle leaves his lips as he kisses all along your sweaty face. You’re pleasantly knocked out - mouth slightly parted - as he carefully lifts up so your legs can be stretched out again. Although soft, he doesn’t pull out; instead staying buried deep so none of him can escape.

Plus having you wrapped around him so snug, occasionally pulsing and clinching, it’s better than any blanket he could ever buy.

“Now, if only you weren’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he whispers before leaving one last peck on your temple.

HiredHelp: I said only one punch! (sent 12:29 am)

HiredHelp: That’s an extra 2K (sent 12:30 am)

HiredHelp: 5K in my account by tomorrow or we meet again very soon (sent 12:30 am)

So for those who’ve read my works over the years, this is definitely a bit of new territory for me (soft/dark-dark and smut) so hopefully it’s not cringe🫣. Thank you @stargazingfangirl18 for this prompt and for allowing me to play☺️! Also sorry if this is longer than a standard drabble lol

[o-solemioo]

Scenario: Reader is very popular with the boys and girls at forks high because he's even more beautiful than Rosalie and actually talks to people. It's Friday afternoon during lunch and all the Cullens (except reader) are at their table and see’s some random human confess to reader. Reader plays along to piss off Jasper because he didn't let him do whatever (you can pick what it was). Jasper gets jealous and pissed so he calls Carlisle and tells him to not come home until a while. He takes reader home and punishes him.

THIS ISNT MY RQ IT CAME FROM SUM1 ELSE BUT THE CREATOR DIDNT WRITE FOR TWILIGHT!

hi anon,

thanks for the ask! this will be more of a drabble, i haven't written smut in a while... but! i've been loving writing the past few days!! also, i'm not very good with sub!reader, so please forgive me if it's a tad awkward, i'm trying >-<

also, quick note, if all of you wouldn't mind reading this post, that would be lovely! just a little message (including a thing about kinktober ;D) so it would mean a lot if you would take a peek at it! thank you darlings x.

you are loved, ๏siris ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･

— you really got me

☾ pairing: jasper hale x male!reader ☾ summary: "little brat." or jasper doesn't like when you flirt with others, even if it's "just a joke." ☾ warnings: 2nd person (you), smut, porn and not a lot of plot, dom!jasper, bratty sub!reader, reader is a bit of a masochist for sure, jasper calls reader "pretty", edging, a bit of slapping (in a sexy way i promise), ruined orgasm, aftercare ofc, not proofread. ☾ w๏rd c๏unt: 872

—

To put it lightly, Jasper was pissed.

You two had gotten into a ridiculous argument about a book you had been reading on the Civil War. You had tried to tell Jasper that it was labelled "historical fiction" for a reason, but he wouldn't budge.

So, you weren't really talking to each other at the moment.

You had been enjoying your lunch, deciding to sit with Bella and her friends, because why not? They were nice people, as much as you were encouraged to stay away from them. Suddenly, Jessica chirped into your conversation.

"So... Do you have any plans this weekend?" You knew she meant it in a bit of a flirty way, but you were still mad at Jasper, so you gave in.

"No, I don't think I do." You replied sweetly, your voice dripping with a honey-like tone.

Jasper and his very good hearing did not like that.

When you arrived home that day, the house was empty. None of your vampiric 'siblings', no Carlisle, no Esme. You were confused until you heard a venomous voice behind you.

"So... going out with Jessica this weekend?" Jasper spat.

"It was a joke, Jas, learn to take one." You responded cheekily.

"Little brat." You wouldn't admit it, of course, but you were starting to get a bit excited. Jasper easily picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. You playfully struggled in his grasp, both of you knowing that it didn't matter; you were obviously going to let him do whatever he wanted. You just liked messing with him.

He tossed you onto the bed that he didn't need, straddling you and ravenously attacking your neck, nipping and sucking at the flesh that would've left marks, had you any blood to bruise in the first place.

You whined as he ripped himself off of you, slipping your shirt over your head in one swift motion. Then his shirt was off. All of the sudden, he was toying with the button of your jeans.

"W-Why'd you stop?" You asked breathlessly.

"You know what I'm gonna do to you, right?" Jasper smirked. Of course you did.

"Yeah... will you hurry it up?" Why not push his buttons just a bit more? It was fun.

He pulled your pants and underwear down at a painstakingly slow pace, your already hard cock springing out. Jasper laughed.

"I haven't even done anything, pretty" He mumbled in that lovely southern drawl.

Without warning, he gripped the base of your cock and squeezed a bit, making you gasp. He relished in the noise and leaned forward to use his spit as lube. You held the bedsheets in your strong hands as he began to stroke you excruciatingly slowly.

"Come on, what's the hold up, Jas?" You huffed out, already bothered with what you knew was a punishment of sorts.

Jasper took that as a challenge. Out of nowhere, his hand began to move rapidly against your length, pulling gasps from you and making you squirm.

He refused to relent until those fateful words slipped from your mouth.

"Jas, Jasper... I'm gonna cum-" And his hand went still. You lolled your head back and let out a groan. Of course. You wouldn't get away that easily.

And when you finally felt half-yourself again. He just started back up. Your lungs began to burn as you writhed underneath him, letting out strangled moans as he abused your cock.

Again, you felt yourself close to your peak. "Please, please," You began to beg slightly. "Let me cum."

Nope. His hand was fully off of your dick this time; you tried to close your legs, searching for any sort of friction, but he forced them open, slapping the inside of your thigh harshly, drawing another moan and a smile from you. He knew you were liking this, of course you were.

This continued for a while. You would beg him to let you cum, and he would only pull his hand off of your aching length.

Finally, the half-hour mark hit and he decided he would be nice.

The next time you piped up with a "Please, please, Jas, baby, let me cum, please..." Your voice was hoarse and rough; yet you still asked with a small smile on your face.

"Okay, pretty. Cum." He commanded. It didn't take much else for you to reach your high, but the second your seed spilled from your cock, he pulled his hand off again, leaving you with nothing to guide you through your high. You bucked into the air a few times, crying out for any sense of relief, but he just smiled as he watched you toss and turn.

When you finally came down from your ruined euphoria, Jasper left the room for a moment, leaving you heaving and half-dazed. But he returned with a washcloth, cleaning up your now sensitive dick.

"Fuck." You sighed. "That was good, actually."

Jasper let out a hearty chuckle at your words. "You find anything good." He shook his head slightly.

"So do you forgive me now?" You smiled, still a bit dopey.

Jasper smiled. "Yes, pretty. I do." That pretty drawl could put you to sleep. You were just happy it all worked out.

—

damn, i'll be honest, i wasn't expecting that to be as easy to write as it was... again, quite drabbly, but i know a lot of people like shorter reads, so i hope this is alright :)

[moonstruckme]

This is a bit of a heavy request but could you do a blurb or drabble of Siriusx reader where they struggle with eating and food in general in recovery tho and still finds it difficult sometimes again this might be too much so I’m sorry if it is

Thanks for requesting!

cw: reader is struggling with eating disorder recovery, thoughts related to bullemia, please don't read if this will be triggering for you

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 737 words

You can’t fathom how Sirius has managed to clean his plate, but you’re grateful that he has. It makes it easier to think of your portion, hardly more than half of his, as a reasonable amount. 

Still, it sticks in your throat as it goes down. 

“How was your day?” Sirius asks, waiting patiently in front of his empty plate as you take your tiny bites. 

“Not bad.” Not great. Your boss had gotten irritated with you for asking too many questions about your new assignment, and you’d spend the rest of the day steeping in shame for your incompetence. “Yours?”

“It was good,” he replies, and his voice is breezy, but you can feel his eyes on you. There’s a few bites left on your plate, and if Sirius weren’t here you’d throw the rest of your dinner in the trash. You think he knows.

You can feel your meal pressing at the base of your throat. You want it out, up, whatever. It's one of your worse days, and the thoughts of how disgustingly full you are, how many calories you’ve eaten, how you didn’t work out that morning, are more difficult to repress. Nausea works at your gag reflex, and you keep swallowing as if that’s going to help.

“Do you want some water?” Sirius asks softly.

“No.” Anything more in you, and you’re sure you’ll be sick. But now irritation provides a distraction. Inexplicably and to your self-loathing, nothing sparks the flint of your anger quicker than the people you love being worried about you. It’s some petulant instinct: don’t tell me what to do. You know Sirius isn’t trying to be patronizing, that he’s not trying to take control of your meal away from you, and still. Resentment roils hot and bitter with the undigested food in your stomach. 

“Just a few—”

“I know.” Your tone is so harsh you’re surprised the words don’t scrape and tear on their way out, and you backpedal immediately. “I’m sorry, Siri, I—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, with more sympathy than you deserve. “It’s okay, baby, I get it. You don’t wanna talk about it?”

“No, thank you.” 

He nods, and there’s a brief silence. 

“Hey, d’you wanna start that puzzle tonight?” he asks casually. “I know you’ve been wanting to work on it for awhile.” 

Sirius doesn’t even like puzzles. “I thought you had work to do?”

He shrugs. “I can do it in the morning. It’s only five hundred pieces, right?”

“A thousand.”

He blanches, and you almost smile. You know what he’s doing, but you’re going to let him anyway. He composes himself quickly. 

“Perfect. The more the better.” 

You force yourself to take one bite, then another, swallowing before you can fixate on the feel of them in your mouth. It’s impossible not to think about them, but Sirius’ chatter makes things easier, beckoning you to engage with him as he asks silly questions about whether you start with the border or the picture, if you’re a purist or if you use the box for reference. 

“It’s going to be hard,” you admit, and realize with the clink of your fork against the dish that the last bite is gone. Sirius takes your plate before you get the chance to think about it too hard, carrying it with his to the kitchen. 

“Why’s that?” he prompts. 

“Because…” It takes a moment to remember what you were talking about. You’re proud of yourself for finishing, but the insistent full feeling is still there. “Because the picture is watercolor. Things won’t be as distinct.” 

Sirius seems to sense that you could still use a distraction, discarding the plates in the sink and leading the way to the living room. “This one, right?” He holds up a box for you to see, and you nod, sitting with your legs crossed under you on the floor by the coffee table. “Pfft, that’s easy money, dollface.” 

“You’re going to eat those words,” you reply, doing your best to match his easygoing tone. 

Sirius makes a disbelieving huffing sound as he spreads the pieces on the table, dropping a kiss on your head. “Proud of you,” he murmurs, and it’s like a blip, a break in character, before he settles down beside you on the rug and his voice resumes its normal volume. “With your skills, we’re gonna make this puzzle our bitch. Just you watch, sweetness.”

[crazyyluvr]

The World Wants to Melt my Face Off I Swear-

pairing: sirius black x gn!reader

summary: If the summer heat was not going to back down, you’re just going to take matter into your own hands. And Sirius is all up for it.

genre: fluff, mild suggestiveness

wc: 698

content: modern au, you and sirius live together, established relationship, reader removes/changes clothes but no gender-aligned body parts are mentioned, HOT SUMMER HEAT, watermelon <3

note: totally didn’t write this because it’s so damn hot and i need a way to cope with the heat, totally not… (i wouldn't do this if I lived with someone, but if I lived alone, I'd 100% walk around in just my underwear — THAT'S HOW HORRIBLE THE HEAT IS HERE)

drabble under the cut :: not edited

Summer was relentless.

It was like the world was getting hotter every year, because you were pretty sure that you didn’t feel like you were going to get burns on your feet just from walking around in your house a few years ago.

Sirius found it amusing to hear you swear to yourself once in a while and complain about the heat radiating off the walls of your shared home. The scrunch of your eyebrows and the way your lip set in a slightly curving pout was adorable to him.

But that wasn’t the only reasons why he enjoyed the times when you get worked up like this.

The long-haired boy liked it because you would change your dressing style at home to accommodate the heat and make sure your body doesn’t feel too warm.

Your usual baggy, long-sleeved style was replaced with tank tops and shorts that left little to his imagination. It was one of the only times you didn’t care about how much skin you were displaying, more focused on keeping yourself from overheating.

You were rummaging around the kitchen one late afternoon, trying to find ice for your beverage. Not even the cold that it got from being in the fridge was enough for you.

Sirius was laying down in your shared bedroom, the air conditioner working overtime to keep the room chilly enough to keep you comfortable. He was already buried under the comforter and an extra blanket and yet he was still shivering a little. How were you this warm-blooded?

"Siri!" You called, voice muffled from the walls, but it reached Sirius's ears nonetheless. He pulled the covers off of him and walked towards the door. He opened it to be greeted by a rush of heat.

"Close it quickly, you'll let the cold out," you said, focused on your task in the kitchen. It was mid afternoon, and the sun was merciless with its bright and hot rays breaking through the windows.

He soft and fond laugh escaped his lips, but he followed your wishes and shut the door gently behind him.

"You hollered for me love?" He said, turning to look at you before stopping in your tracks.

You didn't have a shirt on. (If you have a bra, then you're wearing a sports bra still btw <3)

Your back was exposed to him, showing off the curve of your spine and the contours of your back.

"You want some watermelon?" You asked, still not turning to look at him. "I found some earlier today in the market and left them in the fridge, so now they're cold."

You finally looked over your shoulder when you didn't get a response, only to roll your eyes when you saw Sirius's dumbstruck expression.

"What? It's hot!" You said defensively, putting down your knife and angling your body to properly face him.

He grinned, approaching you and examining your body (as if it wasn't anything he hasn't seen before). "You're hot, babe."

You rolled your eyes again, but a smile slipped past your façade. "Suree..."

Sirius put his hands on your hips, dragging them up your sides and to your shoulders. You shivered slightly from the cold that lingered on his pale fingers.

"We can just have the watermelon later," he murmured, leaning in and placing a kiss on the crook of your neck that was coated in a light sheen of sweat, making you laugh and push him away. "Sirius I'm sweaty!"

"So?" Sirius shrugged, pulling you closer still. "It's not something I haven't dealt with."

You swat his arm, turning around and focusing back on your fruit, but it was hard when Sirius molded his chest into your back, placing kisses on shoulder, neck, and the higher part of your back.

"Sirius, I want to have fruit," You said, voice slightly whiny.

Sirius groaned. "Fineee, but we're definitely gonna do something about this when we're done."

He pressed his hips against you and you gasped when you felt something against you, shoving him away with another laugh. "Sirius Black, you horny man!"

"Only for you, m'love," he said cheekily, winking.

You did end up happily eating your fruit. And helping Sirius with his little (not really little) problem as well.