#so entitled and eager and expectant!!!!

[inkykeiji]

I’m re-reading the parts of toya-nii series where reader sleeps with Tomura bc it’s one of my favorite! But they’re so cute the part where she’s like “you believed I wanted to game” and him like “yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” They’re so awkward and almost innocent in a way. It’s super sweet. Soft Shiggy is my favorite Shiggy ❤️

HEHEHE omg yes <333 i love that bit, too!! bcoz like i said, this version of tomura is so bluntly and unapologetically honest, always saying exactly what’s on his mind, and he can’t even fathom that she would’ve meant literally anything else other than exactly what she said. like season one and season two tomu, he struggles with accurately reading social cues, affect, reading the room, double meanings, and using the right tones of voice (in addition to decoding others’ tones of voice!). like the thought that she actually wanted to come over to fuck and not play video games with him hadn’t even crossed his mind. he thought he might get a little lucky and cop a feel or maybe a lil sneak peek of her panties/up her skirt but not that he’d actually get to fuck her, let alone multiple times!

he knows touya’s very strict and possessive with his little sister, and he knows touya well enough to know that both he and reader are going to be in mega trouble if they go through with this (but tomu doesn’t care, because he knows touya ultimately cannot touch him), but he doesn’t actually know just how strict touya was about tomura himself in regards to reader. so the thought that she might be coming to ‘hang out’ with him as a form of revenge against her big brother isn’t a prospect he can even conceive!

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Vanilla Tobacco

summary: would you ever be enough for joaquin?

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MATURE/MINORS DNI, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f!receiving), internal angst, yearning, insecure!reader, fluff, love confessions

wc: 3,115

an: this fic idea came to me while i was listening to vanilla tobacco by eloise 🫶🏾

danny ramirez characters masterlist

You and Joaquin spend more time together than you expected to, but that feeling creeps in when the first streams of light peak through his curtains.

That feeling is exactly what you’d been worried about when you and Joaquin first started.

Since the beginning, you felt like Joaquin was out of your league. Not because you weren’t in one of your own— you had plenty to offer—but because you’re just a civilian. It feels silly when you really think about it, but you don’t have any special abilities, no training, and you certainly aren’t a mechanical or quantum genius.

You’re just a person. A normal person with not much but yourself to give. And while it was a lot to give, would it be enough for someone like Joaquin? You weren't sure.

It’s what you’re thinking about when he stirs beside you. You quickly close your eyes, trying to settle back into the mattress but Joaquin can feel the tension in your muscles as he stretches against you.

Lips brush the spot beneath your ear and his voice thick with sleep but smooth, “Buenas días, cariño.”

“Buenas días,” You murmur softly, sinking back against him when his arms circle you.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Hmm?”

“You were awake, probably laying there worrying about everything under the sun. So what was it today?”

He’s observant. Too observant in this case.

“Nothing important.”

He taps your hip, prompting you to roll over to face him. “It’s important if you’re worrying about it. C’mon, querida, lay it on me.”

“It’s just…gallery stuff,” You say hesitantly. “There’s an artist I’m hoping to hear back from.”

It isn’t a complete lie, there is an artist you would die to have in the gallery you help manage. But it’s the weekend, you know you’ll hear back eventually. With Joaquin, you don’t have the courage to ask the right questions.

“I’m sure you’ll hear back from them soon. They’d be lucky to be working under you. I mean look at that,” he points to a piece you painted that’s now hanging on his wall.

You hadn’t planned to give it to him though your relationship with him had inspired it. He’d come over one day and begged you to give it to him, not knowing he’d been the inspiration.

Your cheeks warm at his praise, at the meaning of the piece, unbeknownst to him. Shaking your head you insist, “That’s nothing.”

“It’s from your hands,” He counters, eyes warm.

His faith in you and your artistry make your heart race a little, that feeling returning. You try to swallow it down, distracting yourself by running a hand through his soft hair. “If you wanted in my nonexistent pants, you could just kiss me.”

His eyes go from warm to scorching, and he pinches your thigh playfully. “Maybe I wanted to compliment you first. I get to do that, you know.”

You’ve got him right where you want him, and you know that with his touch, with his kiss that all those worrying thoughts will fade to the background.

“Compliment received. Now what?”

The depth of Joaquin’s hunger bleeds through when he leans in to kiss you. His mouth is insistent, entitled as he kisses you deeply. He pushes you back against the sheets, both his arms coming up to pin your wrists down on either side of your head.

“Vamos a alistarte para mí, ¿hmm?” He asks, his lips brushing yours with every word.

“Mhmm, yeah,” you breathe, kissing more firmly at his mouth.

He returns your kiss for a few seconds before he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently. He starts a trail of these bites downward, your neck, your breasts, tummy and eventually thighs as he spreads your legs wide.

His mouth stays that way even as he eats you out; eager and demanding. He knows exactly what to do to get you to shiver and whine, his tongue alternating between sucking at your clit and dipping inside you to taste more of your slick. This combination takes you high quickly and once you’re relaxed for him, he slides his cock inside of you in one thrust as he kisses you gently.

With each roll of his hips, the tip of his cock feels like it’s kissing your womb, like he’s trying to dig himself further inside you.

“Joaquin, fuck,” You whine, one of your hands gripping his hair roughly.

He groans as pleasurable pain bursts against his scalp; he welcomes the way you sometimes pull his hair or bite the muscle of his arms. He bends to kiss the tip of your nose, shushing you. “Shhh, yo sé. Just take it for me, hmm, amorcito?”

You let out a gasping breath, nodding softly. It feels like he’s in your guts, in your throat but taking him is what you want. What you both want. “Okay,” You breathe, trembling beneath him as the band inside you winds tighter.

“Hold me close, querida,” He coos, finding more stable purchase on his knees so that his thrusts can come quicker and harder.

It’s a familiar dance that your bodies fall into, hips kissing in a rhythm that bring you both closer to the prescipe of your highs. Joaquin’s mouth is always busy, either praising you with how well you take him or leaving bites along your neck and shoulder.

You fall apart around him, biting your lip to hold in the wanton groan.

Joaquin bends to take control of your lips, shaking his head as he does. “Quiero oírte,” He mumbles against your lips.

It’s impossible then for you to resist; how could you deny him what he wanted if it was in your power?

Your body shakes beneath his, squeezing his cock tight as you whimper and moan beneath him. While you’ve always felt self conscious about how loud you can get, Joaquin has reassured you that he loves it. You should believe him with how quickly he unravels as your moans spill into the air.

He kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth trying to swallow your sweet sounds as he fills you with his cum.

You’re exactly where you want to be— surrounded. By the scent of sex and Joaquin, by his warmth and his praise. By his desire.

—

The next time that feeling shows its face is just a couple weeks later. You woke up with a start, your brain playing games with your heart even as you slept. The sight of Joaquin soundly asleep in your bed should’ve helped but it sent you further into a panic.

You love him, that much is sure. But could you ever tell him? Would you be enough?

Slowly, you reach over to grab your phone off the nightstand before slinking out of bed and into the kitchen. You call one of your closest friends, Eden; they’ve been privy to the entire journey Joaquin. They know how much you care for him.

As usual you skip the pleasantries, too far in your frenzy. “I have to end things with him.”

Eden has been quite patient with you despite your flip flopping nature. Even now. “Why’s that?” They ask, like the two of you haven’t had this conversation multiple times now.

“You know why.”

“I know why you think, but like I’ve said before I don’t think that’s true.”

“He’s a superhero.”

“And you’re somebody’s too. Managing a gallery at your age isn’t something that just happens, usually you’re just assisting.”

“Yeah, but I’m not saving anyone’s life.”

“No one’s expecting that from you. Least of all Joaquin,” They reason easily.

“I just don’t want to disappoint him. Maybe I haven’t yet, but I probably will and I think that would hurt more than me just ending things while we’re ahead.”

“Are you really ahead if you’re in love with him?”

“He doesn’t know that I’m in love with him. That would scare him off too I bet.”

“Did you call me so I could confirm your delusions or challenge you?”

Your voice grows softer as your words grow more vulnerable, “I don’t know, I just— I woke up in a panic and when I looked at him I had to face everything that I might lose. Waking up next to him means more than I ever thought it would.”

Eden’s tone is much more tender when they speak again, “Honey—“

“Querida? You in here?” Joaquin calls, his voice sounding much closer than you would like.

If you could hear him so easily, could he hear you?

“I have to go, he’s up. I’ll call you later,” You hang up just as Joaquin appears in the hallway, giving him your best reassuring smile. “Mornin’.”

He tilts his head, hair fluffy and mused. He studies you for a moment. “Que pasó?”

“Nada. Fue Eden.”

“They okay?” He asks, slowly closing the space between the two of you.

“Yeah they’re totally fine.”

His gaze lingers a beat longer than usual and for a moment you think he’s going to say something that confirms he overheard. Instead, his hands cup your cheeks, and he examines you further, his eyes so soft and warm. “You okay?”

You shut your eyes, leaning into his hands with a soft hum.

“Eyes open,” he challenges.

Silently sighing, you open your eyes, finding his gaze toxicating and grounding all at once. “I’m okay. Dame un beso,” you whisper.

Joaquin is still at first, and you can feel the way his eyes dig into you, searching for whatever you’re trying to hide from him. Whatever he sees, if anything at all, he must not be ready to talk about. Or maybe, he’s respecting your autonomy.

The way his hands cradle your face changes into something nurturing and delicate. “Besos a la orden—pero solo porque me lo pediste bonito,” he teases.

His kiss is much like it always is, unyielding and hypnotic. He has you pinned against the counter with nowhere to go. If your hands are any indicator where they’re clutching at his shirt, there’s nowhere you want to go anyway.

As always, you and Joaquin work together seamlessly, your hands moving up to thread through his hair as his move down to grip your hips and hoist you on the counter.

“What do you want, hmm? Who?” he asks, breathless from thrusting himself into the cradles of your thighs.

“You,” you mumble clumsily into his mouth, too occupied with tasting his tongue.

“Soloamente yo?” he grits out, nipping at your lip.

There’s a new and charged intensity in the way his mouth is against yours, the way his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips.

There is no hesitation in your answer. “Yes.”

“Porque?”

“Hmm?” you hum in confusion, breath catching in your throat as his fingers slide into your panties to find your clit.

Why do you want him? What kind of question is that— why wouldn’t you want him? The true question is why does he want you? But you aren’t allowed to slip into that thought pattern, his voice bringing you back to the present.

“Porque?” he asks again but he doesn’t let you respond. He keeps talking, his voice and fingers relentless. “Porque tu eres mía. Entiendes?”

“Si, soy tuya,” you whine as two of his thick fingers slip inside you.

—

It’s been a few weeks now since that day. You’re still thinking about how intense Joaquin was that morning, wondering what had gotten him so riled up. He had spread you across your kitchen counters and kept you pinned there with his fingers and mouth for minutes on end, eventually dragging you down to the floor to lose himself inside you. Whatever that was felt like a new piece of him you had unlocked, carnal and passionate. The thought sends a shiver down your spine— it feels like you can still taste him and feel his touch.

There’s a knock on your door and Joaquin starts to tease you right off the bat, “You always daydreaming on the clock like this, querida?”

You jump, grateful that you had decided to take your work back to your office instead of working in the lobby with how distracted you seem to be.

Scrambling, you reach for some papers in an attempt to look like you’re working. “Oh fuck, Joaquin. Hi. Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you were out of town.”

“We finished up early.” He leans on your desk, bending to place a kiss on your forehead. “I’m here because I want you to get dinner with me. You down?”

“Definitely, but I’m not off for another hour.”

“An hour, huh?” He looks at his watch, squinting. “I could make something shake in that hour. I’ll pick you up then.”

“O-okay,” you confirm before glancing over to your computer screen.

He clears his throat, and you meet his gaze again. Teasingly, he says, “Dame un beso, princesa.”

His words bring heat to your face but you can’t help but smile whenever Joaquin teases you; it’s so him. You stand from your desk, palms pressed into stacks of paper and sticky notes so you can press your lips to his. His hands find your waist and he nearly drags you over the desk, just succeeding in curbing his eagerness to be with you. It makes your head swim and for a moment you forget you’re at work.

The shrill of your phone cuts through the sensual haze and he pecks you on the lips on last time. “I’ll let you know when I’m back.”

You’re able to let yourself slip into a groove when there’s another knock at your door.

You don’t even look up, continuing to type the email you’re writing. “Joaquin, it definitely hasn’t been an hour.”

“So it was him!” your coworker, Daniella squeals. “When he asked for you at the reception desk I thought it was him. Jeff said it wasn’t.”

Jeff makes his way into your office with Daniella on his heels. “I thought he’d be the type to keep romance in the inner circle. Date another avenger or something. How’d you bag the Falcon?”

“We’re just getting to know each other,” you suggest.

“That’s not what he said at the desk,” Jeff retorts.

“Yeah, he said he was your boyfriend,” Daniella sings.

“Well he wasn’t gonna say he’s my booty call. Can you guys let me work, he’s gonna be back to pick me up.”

“Oooo, he’s taking you for a ride on those wings?”

“Dani—“

“Maybe an autograph?” Jeff cuts in.

“Out. Both of you.”

They know you only use that tone when you’re dealing serious and scurry out of your office. You get a decent amount of work done and when an hour has passed you pack up and make your way into the lobby. Joaquin is studying a set of quilts hanging from the ceiling, his back to you. You quickly make your way past the reception desk, ignoring the kissy sounds that Daniella and Jeff make as you walk by.

“Prompt as ever, Torres.”

He glances over his shoulder at you with a grin. “Always. C’mere. Para ti,” He hands you a bouquet of wildflowers before grasping your free hand to pull you close. “This is one of your artists, yeah?”

His question derails you from questioning him on the flowers. “Yeah, the one I was worried about.”

“Told you you’d get it done. Listas?”

“Listo.”

Joaquín takes you to a place you’ve both been a few times, a dining hall comprised of food trucks by the water. There’s collections of picnic tables to sit out, a dessert corner, and even a dance floor.

After making a game plan to get one thing from each truck, you both take your respective routes and agree to meet at a table near the dance floor.

It’s a struggle not let your mind wander as the two of you catch up, telling the other how the last week has gone while munching on your buffet. Jeff’s words had amplified you worries about not being enough for Joaquin.

As always, Joaquin notices but this time instead of confronting you, he wants to give you reassurance. He had heard your conversation with Eden all those weeks ago and in turn could identify when you were getting in your head about your dynamic with him. After some thinking, he realized he was ready to put those questions to rest for the both of you.

He finishes his bite, wiping his fingers before he rests a hand on top of yours. “Dance with me.”

“Joaquin…”

His mouth sets into a pout, eyes going wide. “Please, querida?”

You let out a resign sigh and start to stand, “Fine.”

There’s a slow song playing once he guides you to the dance floor, and he pulls you close, tucking you against his chest.

His mouth brushes your temple when he finally speaks “You’re distracted.”

“I’m not.”

“You barely touched those curly fries, and we got them because you begged.”

You shrug, looking up at him with a frown. “So maybe I’m a little distracted. Work has been a little nuts.”

“It’s not about, oh you know, your conversation with Eden?”

It feels like someone’s poured cold water down the back of your shirt. You stand straight up, creating a small gap between you despite being linked by your hands. “What conversation with Eden?”

“The one where you worried about being enough for me— which you are,” he murmurs.

“No it’s not about that,” you lie.

“Then it’s about the loving me part?”

The nonchalant manner in which he brings it up has discomfort festering in your chest. Did he think it was funny? That your love for him was so inconsequential that he could talk about it like it’s the weather?

“Joaquin I don’t want—“ you start defensively, but he cuts you off.

“Te quiero también. I do. I wish you would’ve told me sooner. Or maybe I should’ve been the brave one, no sé.” He stops, raising a hand to your cheek so that you have to meet his gaze. “But it’s true, I love you too.”

“You do?” You ask skeptically.

“I do.”

“So what does this mean? That you really are my boyfriend?”

He laughs, holding you a little closer as he starts to to sway again. “Your coworkers are chatty.”

“They were bursting at the seams. Jeff wants an autograph.”

“Only if he’s not a pain in your ass.”

“He’ll be one if I don’t get it for him.”

“Then sure, mi amor, I can oblige,” he agrees, kissing your mouth, your temple, your forehead.

You rest your head more firmly on his chest, feeling much less restless. He loves you too. You’re enough for him. He needs you too.

“Thank you, Joaquin.”

“Always.” He assures you. After several moments of reverent silence he speaks again. “Y’know you haven’t said it back, so I’m just wondering if—“

“Yes, Joaquin, I still love you.”

“Just checking,” He murmurs cheekily.

must be 18+/have age in bio to be on the nsfw joaquin torres taglist!

nsfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69 , @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @peacefangirl, @soularsss, @everydaydreamer, @violetpassionfruit

[minarisplaything]

I Know What You Want ft. Wonyoung

premise: Inspired by those "your birth month is your ex gf and your current gf" slideshows on tiktok. Might do more of these because they are light and fun.  

pairing: Wonyoung x Male Reader content warning/kinks: cheating, daddy kink, anal a/n: happy sunday, always lube up properly o7 audio version (note: audio version is without daddy kink bc i got too lazy to edit around it) wc: 2.4k

"Isn't she a little old for you?" Wonyoung asked, a hint of annoyance in her tone. 

"You sound jealous." 

She shrugged. "I'm not jealous. I just didn't realize Sunmi-sunbaenim was into robbing the cradle." 

"I'm twenty-one," you pointed out. Surely grown enough to make your own decisions on who you dated.  

"She's thirty-two," Wonyoung countered. 

You let out an annoyed sigh, "I'm not doing this with you today, Wonyoung. Why did you want to meet?" 

Wonyoung bristled at your directness, her posture straightening as she scoffed. "You start fucking some hag and you start acting brand new around me." 

"Some hag? Really? Wasn't it you who kept saying how much you adored Sunmi-sunbaenim?" 

"That was before she took what was mine."  

You let out a bark of dry laughter. "I'm not yours. I don't belong to you, Wonyoung." 

A healthy response would have been to accept the setting of boundaries and acknowledge their mistake. Which naturally meant that Wonyoung took your words as a challenge.  

"Is that right?" she asked, taking a step towards you. "You belong to her now, huh?" 

"That's right." Which wasn't exactly true. You didn't think you belonged to anyone but something about the entitlement she was acting with made you respond out of indignation.  

What you didn't expect was for her hand to reach out, manicured fingers sliding down to grasp your crotch. "Then why do I still get you hard?"  

"Wonyoung -- "  

A thin eyebrow arched itself, the picture of arrogance. "Are you going to deny it?" 

"Your delusional."  

"Am I?" She began to massage your cock over your clothing, and despite your protest, your cock was all too eager to respond to her familiar touch. "Are you telling me if I bent over right now you wouldn't fuck me against this wall?" 

God you hated her. Or at least you should. The reality was that despite your separation. Despite the toxicity that had existed in your relationship. Despite being in a happy relationship now. There would always be a part of you that was weak to her. To both her advances and her behavior. 

As if sensing your wavering disposition, her touch became heavier. "I'm not wearing any panties under this skirt," she said her tone taking on an innocent air. "Just the way Daddy likes." 

That was all it took.  

It was pathetically easy in the end for Wonyoung to get you to snap. Though, if anyone was going to be capable of it, it was going to be her. She knew you too well, for better and for worse. In fact, you wouldn't be surprised if her whole look today; the mid-thigh length skirt, the cropped blouse that was a size too small and hugged her frame as a result. She even let her hair down today so it'd be easy for you to grab it. Combine that with her lack of underwear and calling you daddy and, well, you never stood a chance.  

You surged forward, gripping Wonyoung's shoulders and spinning her to face the wall. She lead out a delighted fit of laughter as she arched her back, pressing her ass against your groin. Your hands moved to your buckle, shoving down your pants to free your cock from its denim cage. 

"I can't stand you, you know that?" 

Wonyoung giggled as she tossed you a look over her shoulder, "Whatever you say, Daddy." 

With cock in hand you used the other to shove her skirt up, revealing that she had spoken true in her words. You could see her bare pussy, practically begging for you. You bit your bottom lip, hating that the thought of missing this crossed your mind. "You were waiting for this weren't you?" 

"Can you tell?" Wonyoung smiled wickedly, "Can't you see how wet I am for you?" 

You could. And if you needed any further confirmation you ran your cock between her legs, coating it in her arousal. You had to stop yourself from delving into any further foreplay. This was just a one-time fuck to get it out of your system. At least that was what you told yourself. But as you slipped the tip of your cock into her and began to thrust forward, you were reminded of why it had been so hard to quit Wonyoung in the first place. 

"Oh fuck yes, Daddy," Wonyoung said, her back arching further. "You feel how you're stretching my tight pussy? You haven't felt that in a while have you?" 

You bit back the urge to tell Wonyoung that wasn't how that worked. Now wasn't the time for a biology lesson nor defending your girlfriend's honor. Instead you focused on stuffing her inch by inch, watching as her pussy swallowed more and more of you until you were pressed flush against her ass. 

"Oh, fuck," you groaned out, your head falling forward slightly.  

"It feels good doesn't it? It's perfect," Wonyoung cooed. "We're perfect." 

Your brow furrowed slightly. "Don't think I'm won over that easily." 

Refusing to give into the sentiment that she was suggesting you slipped your cock out of her before stuffing her again and again. You repeated the process, each time going a bit hard, a bit faster while making sure she felt every inch of your cock. The truth was it was fucking heavenly. Sex had never been the reason your relationship fell apart. And even now months later it was like returning to something familiar. Despite yourself you wanted to enjoy this, for however long it lasted. 

Your fingers moved to tangle in her dark, wavy locks, pulling her head back as her lithe body shook with your rough thrusts.  

"You like that, Wony? This is what you wanted right?" You taunted, giving into the moment as you seized back control.  

"Yes!"  

"You couldn't find anyone else to fuck you this good could you?"  

"Noo," she moaned. 

You tugged on her hair roughly, "No, what?" 

"No one fucks me this good, Daddy!"  Wonyoung cried out. 

You rewarded her diligent response with a spank on her fit ass.  

"Mmmfph!" She moaned, biting her bottom lip as you continued to fuck her roughly. You could feel her walls tightening around you, her juices already dripping around your cock each time you pulled out of her. The telltale signs that her first orgasm was on the horizon were there for you to see. The way her cheeks flushed, the way her mouth hung upon as she did her best to hold herself against the wall. All she needed was for you to push her over the brink.  

"Are you going to come for me? Come for daddy," you whispered against her the shell of her ear as you stuffed her. 

"F-fuck! I'm coming!" Wonyoung cried out, not even bothering with trying to contain her moans of pleasure. The look on her face was pure ecstasy and you found it was a look that, despite having near memorized it, it was one you missed. 

Her walls tightened around your length as her orgasm shook her body. You were relentless, continuing to fuck the top idol through her climax. One arm slipped around her waist should her legs go weak on her. By the time it was all over she had leaned forward, her face pressed against the wall, her eyes slightly glazed over as her body rocked with your slower thrusts.  

  As you looked at her perfect ass still pointed out to you, an idea popped into your head. 

"Don't move" you instructed her, though you weren't sure if she comprehended you. 

You slipped your cock out of her, ignoring the lazy "Hey..." That came from Wonyoung at your action. You were still achingly hard and now thoroughly coated in her juices. That would come in handy soon enough. You got down on your knees, spreading her firm cheeks. Her pussy lips were swollen from your rough fucking but that wasn't your target, instead your tongue was probing her asshole, much to Wonyoung's surprise. 

"W-what are you doing," she asked, the intrusion bringing her some of her senses back. Still, she made no move to stop you.  

Her inaction only emboldened her as your tongue worked her backdoor. In all the months the two of you had spent together. In all the spontaneous sessions that broke out between you whether it was loving or after a fight, this was the one hole that Wonyoung had never let you claim. In fact, she had been adamant about it every time you even mentioned it. But you had a plan for that now. When you were satisfied you withdrew your tongue and moved to test her hole with your index finger. 

"Really, what are you up to back there?" Wonyoung said, letting out a shaky breath. 

"Ssh, just relax," you instructed her. 

"You – fuck – you know that's off-limits," she returned. 

Now was your trump card.  

"Sunmi let me fuck her ass." 

A poignant pause hung in the air. It was as if Wonyoung was considering what you had just said. Though, given her actions thus far, you had a feeling you already knew her mind was made up. Wonyoung wasn't nearly as cut-throat as some made her out to be but she wasn't someone who took kindly to coming in second place. Least of all when it came to you. 

"Make sure you don't go to hard" she finally said. "And you better soak your cock, I'm not some stretched out hag." 

"Unnecessary," you chided her. Still, she was right on one point. You returned your tongue to her asshole, preparing it the best you could before moving back to your feet. Your cock slipped inside of Wonyoung again, giving her a few rough thrusts before pulling out and applying some more natural lubrication of your own as you spit on your cock. Finally you were ready. Well, as ready as you could be. Mostly your cock was just aching at the thought of finally being inside Wonyoung's ass.  

You positioned your tip at her entrance, gently beginning to push the head forward. "Remember to relax," you said, a hand on her lower back. 

"Oh, fuck," Wonyoung swore, her cheek pressed against the wall. "You're too fucking big." 

  "I thought you liked that," you taunted her. 

"Shut up," she groaned.  

You couldn't help but chuckle. There was the Wonyoung you knew. Not the princess she pretended to be in front of the camera. You continued pushing ahead, slow and steady as the head of your cock finally penetrated her.  

"Holy shit..." You muttered under her breath. 

"Fuck. Just....wait there a second," Wonyoung muttered, one long arm reaching back to press against your hip as she got accustom to the new stretch. 

You were more than happy to abide. Even just having past the head of your cock in her ass had you reeling. You knew that some of your reaction would be based on the novelty of it. On the fact that you were fucking Jang Wonyoung's ass for the first time. That you were the only person to ever do so. But the truth was it also felt far better than you could have imagined. It wasn't your first time. You hadn't lied when you said that Sunmi had taken you first. And, to be fair, you had loved it then too. But it had been different. You had merely experienced it as Sunmi rode you, in control the entire time. On top of that,t here wasn't the same history. As much as you hated to admit it, it didn't compare to this. 

"Okay," Wonyoung said, breaking you from your thoughts, "You can move." 

That was all you needed to hear. You pushed forward, inch by inch watching as her hole stretched around your cock until you made it about halfway down the length of your shaft.  

"This will have to do," you grunted. 

You began to move your hips, slowly at first as you rocked against her before adding more vigor. Steadily with drawing your cock before filling her backdoor again and again. Soft pants left Wonyoung as her nails dug into your flesh, her hand holding onto your thigh. 

"How does it feel," you asked her. 

"Like I'm being split in half," she groaned. 

"And?" 

Wonyoung was silent for a moment before a breathless, "...so good." 

"Yeah?" Your cock twitched inside of her. 

She nodded, her eyes closed, "Fuck yes. Fuck, your cock feels so good inside my tight little asshole." 

"That's right," you said, picking up the pace. "And no one will make you feel like this." 

"It's all yours," Wonyoung moaned. "Always yours, Daddy." 

Somewhere along the way you had transitioned to the one who was laying a possessive claim as opposed to Wonyoung. Whatever, you tossed it up to the heat of the moment. This changed nothing but it did motivate you to see this through to the end. After that it'd be like this never happened but until then her ass was yours. 

Your grip on her hips tightened as your pace increased, pounding her  backdoor. Wonyoung's hand dipped between her thighs, rubbing her clit as she chased her second orgasm.  

"Fuck!" She chanted, becoming more vocal as her climax drew near. 

"I'm going to come," you grunted. "I'm going to fill you up." 

Wonyoung didn't have the capacity to reply, instead her mouth fell open in a silent cry as her second orgasm washed over her. Not one to be a liar you finally managed to fit your entire length into her ass, just in time for your own release to hit you. Your cock swelled before spilling an obscene amount of cum into her bowel. As you pulled your cock out you watched your cum ooze out of her puckered hole.  

"Jesus christ..." You muttered, chest heaving.  The sight alone was damn near enough to make you want a round two. 

For once Wonyoung didn't have a smart comeback, instead slowly sinking to the ground in a heap, her cheek still pressed against the wall as she tried to catch her breath. Idly you couldn't help but wonder if this was how she imagined this encounter was going to go when she first confronted you. Maybe you'd get to ask her once some of her senses returned. For now you just wanted to bask in the pleasure of what had just happened without thinking too hard. 

TWO WEEKS LATER. 

"Un-fucking-believable." 

You stared at your phone, watching as the latest tiktok reel came across your screen. You watched as your girlfriend, Sunmi, and your ex-girlfriend, Wonyoung, completed a dance challenge together. Of course, Sunmi had no idea about your past relationships. Wonyoung on the other hand was well aware. 

And yet here she was, doing a dance challenge with the same woman whose boyfriend had been fucking her ass not two weeks earlier. 

You could only shake your head in disbelief and some mild concern. "What the hell are you plotting, Wony." 

[angelfleurry]

Could you do dangonronpa 2 cast kiss head cannons

SDR2 Kiss Headcanons!:

Hii, Anon!! I wasn’t sure if you meant first kiss or just general kiss headcanons, so I just did general. If you want first kiss headcanons, feel free to request again!.

Spoilers ahead <3

~~

Hajime Hinata:

♡ My guy is so awkward bless him.

♡ Does he need a reason to kiss you? Is there an appropriate moment? Is it okay if he just…

♡ Oh, oh you’ve kissed him, okay.

♡ Okay, his turn.

♡ He’s so nervous, but simultaneously so very eager to kiss you.

♡ He tends to lean in, but he does it so awkwardly that you can’t help but giggle.

♡ He kind of pauses at that, and just looks at you for a moment.

♡ It’s only when he sees that kind expression on your face that he realises he’s okay.

♡ That’s when he just goes for it.

♡ Doesn’t kiss you very often in public, if not at all, he’s more of a behind closed doors kind of guy.

♡ He’s very romantic with it, it surprises you.

♡ Always has a hand supporting you, even if it’s not necessary, as he kisses you.

♡ Hajime’s kisses aren’t short, but they’re not long, they’re just at that perfect middle length.

♡ Once he figures out how to get there, that is.

♡ Doesn’t know what to do when you kiss him.

♡ He just sits there, processing, looking at you as his face reddens.

♡ He kind of debates kissing you back in his head, and half the time he goes for it, and the rest he just dips his head and pulls you close.

♡ Is very much a lip-kisser, it just feels right.

♡ If you need a bit of comfort, he’ll kiss your forehead.

Nagito Komaeda:

♡ It took a while to get to this stage.

♡ There were moments, just split seconds, where everything seemed to be building up to it.

♡ But then, the moment would be lost.

♡ Nagito would start to talk, or some interference would occur.

♡ It did frustrate you a little bit, but you knew that was just your eagerness talking.

♡ Truthfully, you knew it was to be expected, so you just decided to wait it out.

♡ It’s not like you were reliant on the idea, it was more so you just wanted to.

♡ But, if there’s one thing about love, is that you must pay mind to the other person.

♡ And you, my darling, did remarkably at that.

♡ You knew the time would come, and as long as everything else about your relationship was healthy and happy, you were in no rush.

♡ Eventually you both got past that initial stage, but we can save that memory for another time.

♡ For a majority of the time, Nagito’s a very hesitant kisser.

♡ What I mean by this, is that he’d rather wait for you to initiate something that even dare to do it himself.

♡ However, once you do it, he’s so ecstatic.

♡ If you could peek into his brain, all you’d be able to see would be soft pink bubbles fizzing up to the surface, popping energetically.

♡ He feels so hesitant to even say the words, as if he’s being too entitled, but he’ll ask you to kiss him again.

♡ Sometimes, he has waves where he’s incredibly clingy, and this will be where he allows himself to initiate contact first.

♡ Treats you as if you were a porcelain doll, even if he’s really needy for contact.

♡ It’s as if he thinks you’ll break should he be too quick, or too harsh.

♡ Forehead kisses are really special for him.

♡ They make him feel so safe, so cherished, even if he struggles to comprehend that fact.

♡ If you kiss him on the lips, that’s it, he’s so bewildered every time.

♡ Always raises a hand to the spot you kissed him, and just sits there for a second, processing.

♡ When you look at him, though, he’s smiling.

Kazuichi Souda:

♡ He can be such an awkward kisser, it’s adorable really.

♡ Kazuichi’s very eager once that initial barrier’s been moved past.

♡ Sometimes, you won’t even be able to fully enjoy it as he kisses you so very quickly.

♡ He can’t help himself.

♡ But when it’s at that reasonable pace, it’s actually very tender.

♡ Like, you can tell the man desperately wants to kiss you, but there’s such an edge of sweetness to it.

♡ It does something to your heart, honestly.

♡ Likes to play little games where you both go back and forth giving each other light pecks.

♡ He’s got a preference for kissing your lips, but if you tell him there’s somewhere else you enjoy being kissed, he’ll gladly oblige.

♡ If he’s going somewhere where it means he won’t be with you, he always kisses you goodbye.

♡ He’ll do it in front of his friends, and your friends, so long as that’s okay with you.

♡ He just loves to show off that he has a partner!!

♡ Enjoys being able to kiss you when you’re both cuddled up together.

♡ Please, please, surprise him with kisses!

♡ Give him that peck on the cheek, kiss his forehead, go for the lips!

♡ Makes him all giddy!!

♡ It’s so funny how he can be so composed in public, or as composed as Kazuichi can be, but then behind closed door’s, he’s so bashful.

♡ His face goes bright red, even if he tries to act cool about it.

♡ But, he can’t shake that quivery smile as he wraps his arms around you.

♡ “You’re so cute, ya’know that?” he’ll ask, and all you can do is laugh.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu:

♡ He’s very quick with it.

♡ I just can’t picture him being one to regularly kiss.

♡ It’s nice, of course it is, but it’s just not something he initiates.

♡ He won’t complain if you kiss him though, just make sure it’s okay with him first.

♡ He doesn’t regularly want to be kissed like that, and you respect that.

♡ If he does kiss you, it’s very quick.

♡ It’s not harsh, but it’s quick.

♡ It’s like a swift peck and then he’s out.

♡ Always gives you kind words of acknowledgement as he does it though, he’s not neglectful.

♡ He doesn’t really know what to do with himself, so he prefers not to get too snuggly.

Gundham Tanaka:

♡ Nose kisses, NOSE KISSES.

♡ He’s not kissed anyone before you, so he’s still learning about his preferences!

♡ But, he’s discovered he’s really fond of nose kisses.

♡ It’s not as nerve-wracking as lip kissing is, but it’s still a way he can physically show he loves you.

♡ Finds it really endearing when you tell him to close his eyes so you can kiss his nose.

♡ He does the same to you, and you find at just as sweet.

♡ He’s also fond of nose-brushing.

♡ Like, the both of you just gently rubbing noses together.

♡ It’s calming for him.

♡ He’s also fond of kissing your hand.

♡ It’s just so formal, but so wonderfully romantic.

♡ The perfect way for a dark lord such as himself to show his affection to you.

♡ Is convinced you’re performing some kind of ritual on him.

♡ Is it really this normal to feel so very…fuzzy once you kiss him?

TeruTeru Hanamura:

♡ Oh my goodness, he’s so down.

♡ We all know Teru’s got a major issue when it comes to more deeply intimate shenanigans, but what may be a surprise is that he’s honestly a big sap when it comes to physical affection.

♡ Kiss him anywhere, he’ll welcome it.

♡ Only time I can picture him not wanting to is when he’s extremely, and I mean extremely, stressed. Just try and help out if you can then.

♡ However, this is a very rare occurrance.

♡ After all, it’s TeruTeru - he’s more than happy to indulge himself in your affections.

♡ But, that doesn’t mean he won’t do the same for you.

♡ The second you start dating, this man will in fact try to be affectionate with you.

♡ Once it’s specified you’re okay with kissing, that’s it.

♡ Is very much kissing you once you wake up.

♡ It’s probably his favourite way to greet you, even if you’ve not left the same room.

♡ It’s so nice to see a smile start to form on your face after he does it, and it only encourages him to kiss you again.

♡ Is no stranger to kissing your hand either.

♡ “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got something on your face,” he’ll tell you, smiling, “Let me…”

♡ That sly fox!

♡ It’s very hard to not be all giggly once he’s done kissing you, even if it’s just a simple peck on the cheek.

♡ Has a surprising touch of wholesomeness to him in this regard.

Nekomaru Nidai:

♡ He finds it adorable.

♡ The idea you want to kiss him sends him to a laughing fit, but it’s all from a kind place.

♡ Is very much open to it.

♡ He’s very awkward with it though.

♡ A very messy kisser, but it’s alright!

♡ He wants to hold you, but he’s a little worried he’ll be too heavy-handed.

♡ Kind of guide him if that’s what you want, and then he’ll settle.

♡ Forehead kisses are a cherished form of affection.

♡ His lip kissing skills need a bit of work, but you don’t mind guiding.

Ultimate Imposter:

♡ Oh, this one’s difficult!

♡ He’s not sure whether to be himself, or be the person he’s impersonating.

♡ Surely you know, right?

♡ I can’t imagine him letting you enter a relationship with him without informing you of his identity.

♡ Or, lack of thereof.

♡ As a result, I feel like his kisses are lacking in something.

♡ He wants to kiss you, and he will, but he’s blocking his proper emotions.

♡ Still, he’s rather soft about it.

♡ Just tell him you love him afterwards, it’ll give him a bit of ease.

♡ If you’re to kiss him, he’ll be happy, but he can’t quite show it.

♡ Likes it when you kiss his hands.

♡ It feels strange when you kiss him on his lips.

♡ He loves the feeling, but it takes him aback.

♡ How on Earth can a man so devoid of any identity still be able to be loved so tenderly…?

♡ Does he cry or not, that is the question.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Neverland

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 18

Prompt: Vacation

Rated: T

Tags: No UD AU; Cruise ship; Musician Eddie; Kids' entertainer Steve; Steve in a dress; Homophobic language; Sexual tension; Eddie being a horny disaster

Notes: Based on this brainworm. Artwork of Steve and Robin in their costumes, done by the incredible @arelliann this way.

“Hey, aren’t you on the band?” 

Eddie stops his beeline for the staff room, stuffing the hand that was just about to rip off the bowtie back into his pocket, and turns to face the couple that has strolled up to him. 

“Yeah?” he offers. 

“I knew it,” the woman smiles. “You play the guitar, right?”

“Um, yes,” Eddie says, unable to help the proud upturn of his mouth. “Glad you liked it.” 

The stuff they’re having him play is horrible, but at least he made an impression. It only goes to show how a skilled musician can turn even the most atrocious pieces into- 

“Oh, we didn’t,” says the guy conversationally. “We thought it was horrible.” 

Eddie gapes at them. They look back, like they’re honestly expecting him to reply anything that isn’t fuck you, you rich, entitled assholes. Maybe that’s what he should say. What are they gonna do, keelhaul him?

Except Wayne was so eager for him to take this gig. Two weeks on the board band of the MS Neverland, the Harrington Line's newest, shiniest, luxury cruise ship. He was so hopeful that this might be something Eddie would enjoy, and Eddie thought why the hell not? It sounded like an easy time, a paid vacation doing what he loved most. 

Except it isn't. The jazz music is making his skin crawl, the passengers are a bunch of stuck-up snobs, and the green suit jacket and matching bowtie make him look like some kind of demented leprechaun. 

But he can’t come crawling back home to confess that it didn’t work out.

“Erm,” he says. “Okay. Sorry, I guess.” 

Then, he books it for the staff room, stomach twisting and face burning.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he slips inside, slumping against the door and hiding his face in his hands. “This is so humiliating.” 

“Yeah,” says a voice. “Tell me about it.” 

Eddie lowers his hands.

There's a guy on the ratty couch at the other side of the room. A guy in sheer tights, glittering tulle wings and a dangerously short green dress. 

Eddie almost swallows his own tongue. 

“Hey,” says the guy, shucking off his slippers. There's little fluffy poufs on them. “I've seen you before. You're in the band, right?” 

“Hrrrgh,” Eddie says. The apparition tilts its head. Eddie pretends to clear his throat and tries again. “Yeah. I'm the guitar. I mean play. I play guitar. I've seen you, too.” 

In fact, seen may be too tame a word for what he's been doing. Ogle the way the skirt rides up his thighs until his eyes almost popped out of their sockets is more like it. It's kind of hard not to, he guesses. He's caught several passengers of various genders and ages do the same.

One perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. “Oh yeah?” 

Eddie nods.

“You're the … erm … kids’ entertainer. The fairy- no, shit, that sounds wrong. The … Tinker- … Tinkerdude.” 

The guy throws back his head and laughs. His throat looks impossibly long in the low-necked dress. 

“Oh my God, that's a new one. I love it.”

“What, really?” Eddie asks, chest fluttering with irrational pride. “I mean … you do?” 

Tinkerdude nods. Then, suddenly, something seems to occur to him. 

“Oh, do you mind?” he says, standing from the couch. “This thing is a bitch to get off.” 

Eddie is about to ask what he means, but then Tinkerdude gestures at something on the back of the dress, something half hidden between the wings, and … oh. Oh, fuck, Eddie’s in so much trouble. 

“Um, sure,” is what he says. Luckily, Tinkerdude has already turned his back, so he doesn’t see how Eddie’s legs wobble as he bridges the few steps between them. 

“So, why the dress?” he asks, just to say anything while his clammy hands struggle with the rickety zipper. “Wasn't there, like, a Peter Pan costume?” 

Tinkerdude chuckles. “There was, but I gave it to Robin. She was threatening to jump off board if she had to wear this, and I couldn't risk that. And besides, I make a great fairy. My dad calls me one all the time. Thanks, I got it from here.” 

The dress falls open, revealing broad, muscled shoulders, and inches upon inches of suntanned skin. It's riddled in moles. Small ones, large ones, some light and some so dark they look almost black, scattered all over the guy's back, all the way down to the dip of his spine and the curve of his-

Eddie reels backwards, trips over the slippers and just barely manages to turn his fall into a clumsy collapse into the sofa. It groans. Or maybe that was him. 

Tinkerdude, luckily, doesn’t notice. He's too busy shimmying into the jeans he's just pulled from the rucksack by the couch - all without taking off the tights, mind you, and how the fuck is Eddie supposed to live with the knowledge of what's under that skintight denim?

“What's your name?” 

Eddie jerks his eyes up. Tinkerdude, who has paused with his shirt in his hands, is looking at him with a quizzical expression and Eddie can't help but wonder if he's asked him that before. His chest has moles, too. So do his stomach and hips. The dress is bunched around his middle like a sparkly green miniskirt. The fact that the wings seem to be spouting from his butt does, unfairly, not diminish his hotness. 

“I, erm … Eddie,” Eddie croaks. Tinkerdude smiles and shrugs into his shirt. 

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” he says. “I'm Steve.”

He lets the dress drop to the ground, carelessly stuffing it inside his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“Looking forward to hearing you play again,” he calls as he breezes out. “I think you're really good.” 

Then he's gone and Eddie’s left alone in the staff room, trying to recover from whatever it was that just happened. 

Neverland just got one helluva lot more interesting. 

More holiday drabbles

[ramp-it-up]

Any thoughts on what transpired to give reader the nickname Sugar?! 🍬💕

Well, I hinted in the stories that Sugar was really rude to them when they first met and that's why they gave her that nickname and I wrote a whole drabble about it?

(I see what you're trying to do here and it's working.)

Read the Sugar is Sweet and Sugar Cubed fics.

Sugar And the Himbos

Word Count: 690

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader; Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Not Beta’d. No SMUT, but Minors DNI anyway. Roommate/Co-worker au, S MUT! Angst, Grumpy Sugar. Meet Cute. "dumb" and "bimbo" used as insults. Steve and Bucky are little shits, but cute little shits.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

The first time you met James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers, you were already in a bad mood.

The Stark Fellows orientation had dragged on for hours, filled with stiff introductions, mind-numbing lectures, and entitled tech bros who acted like they invented fire. Your stomach was growling, your patience was shot, and if one more guy tried to mansplain quantum mechanics to you, you were going to commit a crime.

Then, a deep Brooklyn drawl muttered behind you, "They all look like they got sticks up their asses."

A snort escaped your mouth before you could stop it.

"Shit, did we make her laugh?" 

A second voice chimed in, smoother, lazier, but just as undeniably New York. 

"I think we made her laugh. That’s gotta be a good sign."

You turned, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and took in the two guys standing behind you.

The blond one grinned, blue eyes flashing with mischief, broad shoulders wrapped in a leather jacket, and looking at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room. The other one, dark hair, sharper jawline, and a smirk just shy of arrogant, appraised you with an amused glint, like he already knew exactly how to get under your skin.

And worse? They were both stupidly attractive.

Your gaze flickered between them, your pulse kicking up despite your best efforts.

Blondie had that golden-boy charm, the kind that could talk its way out of a speeding ticket and into someone’s bed without breaking a sweat. The dark one was different. There was something a little dangerous in the way he looked at you, like he already knew all your tells and was eager to play the game anyway.

"What do you two want?" you asked flatly, refusing to let them see the way your body reacted to them.

"Just tryin’ to make a friend," Blondie said, flashing that all-American smile.

You arched an eyebrow. 

"Well, try harder. The objective isn’t friendship. It’s getting that money."

You rubbed your fingers together, watching their reactions.

Bucky let out a low whistle, eyes dragging down your frame before flicking back up slowly.

You snapped your fingers at him. 

"Hey. Asshole. My eyes are up here."

His smirk only deepened.

"Unlike you two, I am not a dumb himbo, so I expect respect and consideration if we are going to be colleagues. The sooner you recognize that, the more peaceful your life will be."

They exchanged a look.

"Did she just call us dumb?" Steve asked, eyes wide with faux offense.

"Did she just call us himbos?" Bucky gasped dramatically, clutching his invisible pearls.

You rolled your eyes. 

"I can already tell you two are gonna be a problem."

"What’s your name?" Steve smirked.

You sighed and told them.

They looked at each other again.

"Nah," Bucky said, shaking his head. 

"Doesn’t fit. Too sweet for someone with a bite like that."

"We’ll call you Sugar," Steve intoned, like it was already settled.

You blinked. "Come again?"

Bucky smirked and took a step closer, just close enough for you to catch the scent of his aftershave. He looked like he had something ignorant to say, but then he just gave a slow shrug.

"It’s ironic. Like callin’ a tall guy Tiny."

"Yeah, and it suits you," Steve added, voice dropping slightly as moved closer. This time, he locked eyes with you, and for some reason, your skin felt warmer.

"All sharp edges on the outside, but I bet there’s somethin’ real ooey-gooey and sweet underneath."

His brows lifted slightly, teasing, challenging, waiting to see how you’d react.

Instead of smiling like you wanted to, you leveled them both with your best unimpressed glare. 

"You two think you’re cute, don’t you?"

Bucky grinned as Steve chuckled.

"We’ve been told something like that before, Sugar. Don’t hate us because we’re beautiful."

This time you did smile.

They were arrogant. Cocky.  And entirely too charming for their own good. This was going to be a long two years. But you could keep things professional.

Probably.

And, as it turned out, they were right.

Sugar suited you.

The nickname stuck.

----

Thank's for the ask, Darling! Hope you liked it :)

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day twenty one: Genies!Kalim and Jamil deceiving their darling

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: This idea seemed to be living rent-free in my head for a few months now, so ofc I had to write. I actually wanted to write more about it but decided against; all the fics on the halloween had to be easy to write and faster. Writing 30 fics in the span of two weeks was certainly something but tbh i was stress writing lol. Either way, I'm rambling now, good read, darlings!

The lamp felt heavier in your hands than it should have. Its ornate metalwork was intricate, with delicate filigree and worn engravings that hinted at centuries of history, a history long lost - now preserved as a legend.

The lamp gift from a friend, they had laughed when they handed it to you, suggesting the possibility of a genie inside. It was, of course, just a joke — something fun, a relic from a forgotten time. But as you sat alone in your quiet room, you couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't true.

Turning it over, you traced the smooth surface of the metal. The dim light of the room glinted off its curves.

“What’s the harm?” you muttered to yourself, half-smiling at the absurdity of it all. "Nothing will happen."

And yet, curiosity urged you on. You gently rubbed the side of the lamp, not expecting anything beyond perhaps the sound of metal against your skin.

At first, nothing.

You giggled, setting the lamp down on the table beside your bed. Wishing for something like that work was futile; you had to make your future happen with your own hands.

Yet, one could hope.

As you turned around to open another birthday gift, a faint warmth spread through your body, like a blanketbeing wrapped around you so gently and softly. The lamp vibrated slightly, a low hum echoing from its core. You froze, eyes wide as thin wisps of golden smoke curled from the spout, swirling and expanding until the room was filled with it.

You blinked, heart pounding as two figures emerged from the mist.

One stood tall and composed, his dark hair framing a serious face, sharp eyes locked on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His clothes were regal but foreign, a blend of deep colors and shimmering gold that seemed almost alive.

Beside him was another figure, smaller and brighter, with an infectious smile that lit up the space around him. His pale hair glowed under the lamplight, his eyes full of excitement and warmth, and he was holding the lamp on both his hands.

Both of them stood before you, impossibly real and tangible. If you reached out, you knew you could feel them there.

The taller one regarded you with mild interest. “I see… a new master,” he said smoothly, his voice soft and rich, like velvet. “I am Jamil and this beside me is Kalim. We're pleased to meet you.”

Kalim beamed at you. “Wow! It’s been forever since someone summoned us. You must be really lucky!” His enthusiasm was infectious, but you remained frozen, trying to process what was happening.

Was the legend real? They would grant you three wishes right here and now? Do you have any wishes? You can't think straight.

Jamil’s gaze didn’t waver. Soon enough, the famous words left his mouth as he almost purred the syllables. “You rubbed the lamp, which means you’re entitled to three wishes.”

You stared at them both, still struggling to wrap your mind around the situation. “Wait, what… this is real?” you stammered.

Kalim laughed for a long time, the sound light and cheerful. There were little tears forming on his eyes, but he wiped them. “We're as real as you are, habibi! You summoned us, so we’re here to grant your wishes!” He leaned closer, eyes sparkling. “Go on, ask for anything.”

Your heart raced as you tried to gather your thoughts. Wishes… real wishes. The possibilities swirled in your mind, but the disbelief kept you from speaking right away or remembering what you truly wanted.

The two genies stood patiently, Jamil’s eyes narrowing slightly as he waited, while Kalim watched with a wide, eager smile.

Tentatively, you spoke. “I wish for… I wish to have plenty of money.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth than the room shifted around you. You gasped as money started to appeared out of nowhere, everything felt too much like a fever dream, but this also meant you could finally treat yourself to some nice things, as you wouldn't struggle anymore.

Kalim danced around, his laughter filling the air. “Look at it! Isn’t it amazing?” he exclaimed, summoning a flower of thin air and handing it to you with a grin. “You can have anything you want.”

Jamil’s gaze never left you. He didn’t smile, but there was something satisfied in his eyes, as though your first wish had confirmed something for him.

“One wish down,” he said, his voice low and measured. “Two more to go.”

“What happens after I make all three wishes?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You held the flower in your hand, feeling its soft petals brush against your skin. But deep inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling of something lurking just beneath the surface. There was something too perfect about it all, too controlled.

Too much like a dream.

Kalim’s smile faltered for a second, but he quickly recovered. “You’ll be happy! That’s what matters, right?” He twirled around, his carefree nature pulling at you like a warm summer breeze. “We’ll make sure of it!”

Jamil, however, met your question with a deeper, knowing gaze. “All you need to worry about is the next wish,” he said, his voice almost hypnotic. “Whatever your heart desires.”

The unease in your chest grew. You looked down at the flower in your hand, feeling the weight of their stares on you. Could you trust them? The money spilled on your floor wasn’t what you had imagined. It felt… artificial, like it existed solely to please you, the perfect amount to pay your bills and live comfortably, it seems.

“I wish for…” You hesitated, trying to find something more meaningful. “I wish to see the most breathtaking sunset, something that can’t be replicated.”

The sunset felt eternal, like time itself had stopped for you to watch. You stood in awe, the sight so beautiful it was almost painful. Yet, even as you admired it, you could feel the weight of Jamil’s eyes on you.

This time, Kalim’s expression brightened, as though he had been waiting for something grand like this. “Oh, I can do that!” he exclaimed, raising his arms toward the sky.

The sun lowered on the horizon, its light turning the garden into a canvas of fiery oranges and soft purples. The colors spilled across the sky, streaking it with brilliance that took your breath away.

“Your last wish,” he prompted, stepping closer. “Choose wisely.”

You took a deep breath, the air thick with magic and the overwhelming pressure of their presence. “What if… I don’t want to make a third wish yet?”

Kalim’s smile didn’t waver, but there was an edge to it now. “But don’t you want more? You can have anything!”

Jamil’s eyes darkened, his voice a quiet whisper. “You can’t stop now."

The air around you shifted, growing heavier as the two genies loomed closer. The carefree atmosphere that Kalim had created melted away, revealing something darker, more insistent.

Before you could speak, Jamil raised a hand, his expression cold and determined. “We’ll make it for you.”

Kalim’s grin grew wider, but it no longer felt warm. It was possessive, unsettling. The golden mist from the lamp began to rise again, swirling around you. “We’ll make sure you’re with us forever, litte master.” Kalim said cheerfully, his voice sounding almost detached from reality.

You tried to step back, but the smoke wrapped around you like tendrils, pulling you closer to the lamp. “Wait— what are you doing?” Panic surged through you as you struggled to break free, but their magic was too strong, too consuming.

"Master, we've been watching you." Jamil’s voice echoed in your ears as the smoke tightened its grip, dragging you toward the lamp’s spout. “You’re ours now. You can't escape.”

The last thing you saw was Kalim’s glowing smile and Jamil’s cold, satisfied gaze before everything went dark, the world collapsing into the endless void of the lamp.

And there, in the heart of the lamp, you realized with a sinking dread that you were never meant to leave.

[avatarofthearchives]

Why Gerard Would Become An Avatar Of Each Fear

The Buried - Gerard has always felt a bit buried by the expectations his Mother places on him. That phrase has taken a more literal than metaphorical turn of late as he keeps having dreams where Mary places weight on his shoulders until he sinks beneath the ground, where the soft dirt welcomes him with open arms. He would assume that these dreams are nothing more than dreams, but he's done this whole fear thing long enough to know that it's alarming that he keeps waking up covered in dirt with a terrible ache in his shoulders …not to mention the new urge to dig.

The Corruption - Gerard could not bring himself to leave the bookstore after his Mother's death. He tried, but he was always pulled back by the toxic memories that felt like home. Even when mold started to grow on the walls, he could not bring himself to walk away for good, and when the floorboards started rotting through, he dug his heels into what remained. He realized too late that the entire situation was a breeding ground for The Corruption, and it had a hold on him just as strong as Mary did, but in an odd way that's okay. It almost feels like home.

The Dark - One minute, you're in a goth club just hanging out, and the next, a strange person comes up to you and asks if you also find peace in the dark. When this happened to Gerard, he shrugged and said he supposed he did, only to be handed a card promoting a church. He knew it was weird, but "curiosity killed the cat" has never been a saying he liked all that much. He had to check it out. And he had to go again when it was just as weird as he thought it would be. Purely for investigation of course. The peace he found hidden from the world within the dark had nothing to do with it.

The Desolation - Gerard's appreciation of destruction started small. At first, he just had a fondness for setting Leitner's alight that were more trouble than they were worth. The way the flames consumed the paper was so...warm. So...consuming. So...efficient. They solved all his problem with one flick of his lighter, and that was intoxicating. It only seemed natural to escalate to getting rid of his other problems as well, up until he ended up burning down Pinhole Bookstore and truly embracing the flames.

More Undercut

The End - Being a ghost isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to Gerard. However, being an avatar of the end ghost might be. Despite his annoyance at the whole situation, he's not shocked that it turned out this way. Dying in that hospital gave him plenty of time to feed The End, and when Gertrude brought him back with the book, not quite alive, not quite dead, and yet very afraid of what his existence meant for his mortality…well, The End latched onto him like glue to paper. As it turns out dying's not that bad. It's the staying dead that sucks.

The Extinction - Gerard has spent so much time worrying with Gertrude about a fear apocalypse that's it's hard not to think about the concept of human extinction. Especially when so many avatars are eager and willing to end the world just to serve their entitles in a more "pure" way. He can't imagine wanting that. The concept of Extinction terrifies him, and it takes all he has to stay steady when Gertrude needs his help in defeating another ritual. But thankfully, he's not stopping any rituals today. He's only supposed to be helping Gertrude burn a few Leitner's. Yet...it's odd. He hasn't actually gotten any burned. His eyes keep darting over to a letter on Gertrude's desk. It reads "from Adelard Dekker," and he doesn't know why, but he can't shake the urge to read it.

The Eye - "Better to serve the watcher then the lightless flame." Gerard said those words for a reason. It's nearly impossible in his line of work not to be tied to something, and Gerard's always found the concept of forbidden knowledge much more welcoming than worms, fire, cannibalism, and all the other horrors the other fears bring. He's fine with being the eye's pupil. As long as it means he's not belonging to something worse.

The Flesh (TW: Skinning) - Gerard was never really able to tell Mary no. He knew their bond was unhealthy...but he loved his Mother, and he wanted her approval more than anything. That's why he agreed to help her with her ritual when she asked him to help her bind her skin into the book. He knew that he shouldn't have agreed when he made the first cut, and he knew that he REALLY shouldn't have agreed when it was all said and done and he had the urge to go out to the store and get some meat.

The Hunt - The most natural thing in the world is a child that wants their Mother's approval. In that way, it's not shocking that Gerard went to the ends of the Earth hunting Leitner's for Mary. But what is surprising (but maybe shouldn't have been) was when one of the fears latched onto that instinctual feeling and used it to make him an avatar of the hunt. He thought the urge to hunt might ease after Mary's death, but…then he met Gertrude, and she gave him a purpose to chase.

The Lonely - It's easy to be lonely in a world where you don't fit. Gerard has always wanted a normal life more than he's ever been comfortable saying. He's spent so much time daydreaming about what it would be like to have normal friends who call him "Gerry" with a smile and allow him to leave all the fears far in his past. Of course, that's not something that would really happen. People in the real world are just too...naive. He doesn't fit in with them, and he doesn't belong with them either. Maybe he's just doomed to be alone. That would explain the fog that's started following him.

The Slaughter - Gerard doesn't think it's wrong to kill a few Leitner holders if they refuse to hand over their books. And he really doesn't think it's wrong to kill the avatar's of the fears he's sworn to destroy. He's just trying to make the world a better place after all, and the world is safer with fewer haunted books, and people, in it. Is a little cruel since Leitner holders and avatar's alike often aren't in their right mind by the time he finds them? Sure. But that's a price he's willing to pay. And he doesn't quite remember why it wasn't once. After he was shot by that war ghost Gertrude sent him to track down the means to the end all seemed so clear. He has to do a little bad to do a little good.

The Stranger - Gerard has never felt like he belonging anywhere. He is not ignorant enough to live within the "normal" word, but he has never managed to truly find a place in his Mother's world, either. So he just drifts aimlessly in-between both, never quite sure what role he's supposed to play or who he's supposed to be. He knows his lack of firm identity makes him a target for The Stranger, and his facial features have looked a little...blurry lately, but that doesn't make any easier to decide were he belongs.

The Vast - When you hunt fears it becomes easy to feel like you're insignificant in the world. There are things that are so much greater than him...and the very annoying thing about his line of work is that those feelings can become literal very quickly. He's started smelling ozone lately, and he can't shake the dizziness that hits him every time he goes up the stairs to enter The Institute, but he's not quite sure how to fight the sky when it's so all consuming that all he can do is stare in helpless awe.

The Web - Gerard has very...complicated feelings about Mary and Gertrude to put it lightly. However, they did teach him the value in one thing, and that's manipulation. He saw the way Mary would bat her shark-like eyes at his father and draw him deeper into her tide until he drowned. He saw the way Gertrude would act like a frail old and then go in for the kill when people would let down their guard. And he can play those games too. He's really mastered the art of offering deals that people feel like they have no choice but to take. In fact, he's so good, that Jon hardly hesitated when he leveraged information for burning his page. Spinning webs comes easily to him, he's had very good teachers.

[yanderes-galore]

Could you do prompts by starbabytae 14, 19, and 21 for Aemond Targaryen?

Aemond has gone FERAL in Season 2... so I'm ready. S2 E4 has definitely given me ideas. End is a bit awkward as I was unsure how exactly to fit it with the prompts.

‼️POTENTIAL SPOILERS FOR HOTD SEASON 2 - ALTERNATE TAKE ON THE EVENTS OF S2 E4‼️

Prompts Here

Yandere! Aemond Targaryen Prompts 14, 19, 21

“I just want you all to myself. Is that such a crime?”

“That’s where you belong. Worshipping me on your hands and knees.”

“Maybe if I branded you, other people would finally get that you’re mine.”

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Swearing, Stalking, Mature themes, Typical ASOIAF themes, Potential Targcest (You replace Helaena), Manipulation, Sadism, Threats, Possessive behavior/Jealousy, Murder, Blood mention, Forced/Dubious relationship.

Aemond had gotten used to the fact he'd be overlooked. He wasn't king due to being born after his brother Aegon. He tried to settle with simply being a warrior for his king on top of Vhagar.

But he still hated it all the same.

Aegon, the whiny brat of a king and brother, always got what he wanted because he was older. As king he had all the say. Meanwhile Aemond was left envious and irritated at how incompetent his brother was as king.

Aemond studied like the good prince he is, he's even better in battle. He's a better tactician and doesn't sleep around like his whore of a brother. He doesn't understand. Why must Aegon be king simply because he's older.

What makes it worse? Aegon also got his first and only love.

You were betrothed and married to Aegon. Aemond had loved you since you both were kids, yet the younger prince was forced to watch as you married his brother. Not only that... but he had to witness the babes you bore for him.

The thought still makes Aemond seethe. He's tired of allowing Aegon, an entitled brat, get what he's always wanted. Aemond always thought he'd make the better king... he's always followed his duties...

He wishes you and him were betrothed instead of Aegon.

While you may not belong to him, Aemond still yearns for you. For years he's loved you. Even when you were married to Aegon he still fantasizes about how it would feel to have you as his.

Aemond always watched you from afar, swearing himself as your protector. On top of Vhagar he felt he was the one making decisions for this war. He's the one making plans while Aegon flirts with other women.

Aemond can tell you aren't happy with Aegon... Aemond could treat you so much better.

Aemond wasn't expecting the opportunity to act on his desires ever. At first he was just going to take Criston Cole to take down Rook's Rest along with Rhaenys and Meleys. Vhagar has been so eager for a fight.

Then he saw Aegon swoop in on Sunfyre... making him pause.

He should be ashamed... but the plan was too perfect.

It was too easy to swoop in on Vhagar when Sunfyre and Meleys were busy. Aemond just had to say one word and the whole situation would look like a freak accident. The thought of finally taking what he deserved makes him grin.

"Dracarys!"

The command is short, simple, but executed with a plume of fire from Vhagar as both smaller dragons are struck down.

Aemond took sadistic delight in taking out both riders. The fire from Vhagar was enough to make Aegon and Sunfyre crash down. However, it took some stealth tactics to bite the neck of Meleys to make the red queen fall with her rider.

By the end of the fighting, Aemond found himself standing in front of his burned brother on the ground. His brother barely moved, yet his breathing was faint. Aemond barely hesitated when he picked up his brother's dagger and hovered it over his burned brother's chest.

"I will be the one to make her happy, brother." Aemond whispers, not caring if Aegon even heard or not. "I will be king, I will win this war, and I'll do it much better than you did."

It's then Aemond does the finishing blow, tucking the dagger away before leaving. The sight of the blood trickling from his brother's chest indifferent to him. Criston Cole enters the foliage to see Aemond and the corpse of the king. The knight goes to say something, yet Aemond's remaining eye glares at him.

"It was a freak accident, that's all it was." Aemond hums, walking past the knight. "Say otherwise and I'll have you gutted by my sword."

The loss of Aegon was a much bigger loss to The Greens. In comparison, The Blacks only really lost one dragon and dragonrider. The Greens...? They lost their king.

Which leads to them placing Aemond in power in an attempt to regain control.

The death of your husband makes you... conflicted. You didn't really love him... yet you feared the vulnerability that came from having the king slain. You believed it was genuinely an accident caused by Aegon's rash decision to prove himself.

Completely unaware of the culprit hovering around you, coddling you and cheering you up like he didn't kill his brother.

With the death of Aegon, Aemond began courting you. You're a widow queen... and he's the new king. Naturally... you two end up being betrothed to keep up support for The Greens. The marriage is then scheduled to happen within the week.

Such an announcement brings rumors from both sides and supporters. The whole thing seems too convenient. Soon there were rumors of Aemond being a kinslayer, killing his brother just to take his wife.

Aemond could care less for such problematic rabble.

All he really cared about was making you his, let them gossip.

Aemond couldn't help the playful chuckle that poured out of his lips when he saw you pacing about your chambers. You looked so vulnerable without Aegon around anymore. Now you are his queen... one who should listen to him and love only him unconditionally.

Aegon never deserved you, at least Aemond promises to only pay attention to you.

"Here you are, love." Aemond greets, cupping your cheek. "Gods how I love you... I've always loved you...

Aemond leans closer to brush his lips over yours, you leaning into his touch obediently.

"I'm so happy to call you mine... It makes everything I've done worth it...." Aemond hums, kissing your lips. He craves your taste, your touch, always has since you young.

Now you're finally his to claim....

"I always hated the fact Aegon got to have you..." Aemond whispers, pressing your face closer to his own in between kisses. "I always wanted it to be me... always should have been me... but now you're mine...."

Your feelings for Aemond are... complicated. You loved him more than Aegon yet couldn't help but distrust him. It felt too... planned.

Yet you were scared to push.

"Aemond... it is scandalous to act this way with a recently widowed queen...." You whisper, yet Aemond only ignores the comment.

"Let the commonfolk think what they wish..." Aemond growls, pulling you flush against him. “I just want you all to myself. Is that such a crime?”

Aemond then chuckles, the idea of the common people and the royals knowing you're his a pleasing thought. To him, this is the ultimate revenge. Even now he despises his brother for taking advantage of the privilege he was given.

At least Aemond plans to use it right.

“Maybe if I branded you, other people would finally get that you’re mine.” Aemond teases, tracing his hands over the exposed skin of your nightgown. "Just as you should be...."

The way you shiver in his touch excites him. Be it from pleasure or fear, he doesn't care. Now that you're his... Why would he ever let go?

"Do you believe the rumors, Aemond?" You ask him in such a sweet voice, his one eye looking at you affectionately. He wonders if you can see the darkness in his violet gaze. "The ones where they call you a kinslayer?"

"Do you believe them?" Aemond asks, affectionately kissing your skin. "Do you really care what the common folk think?"

Aemond waits for you to answer, yet is met with silence. He chuckles at your conflicted gaze, kissing your lips softly. It really didn't change anything if you believed them or not... only two people knew the truth...

and Criston Cole was dangerously close to being hanged, anyways.

"Don't worry so much, love." Aemond whispers, pulling back a bit to view you fully. "You'll hurt yourself... just focus on me..." He kisses you one more time before sitting on the bed, hands on your shoulders. "Could you sit on your knees for me...?"

Obediently you listen to him, making Aemond shiver in anticipation. This was what he always wanted. You listening to him... coddling him... tending to only him.

“That’s where you belong. Worshipping me on your hands and knees.” Aemond praises, petting your head as he lays your head in his lap. "No need to worry about anything, my queen... I'll take care of it all for you."

You merely listen to your new king as he strokes your hair. This is all he's ever dreamed of. Aemond can't hide the dark smirk on his face as he gives you the affection he's always wanted to give.

You shouldn't look too much into rumors, you shouldn't worry about a thing, who cares about the fate of Aegon?

You have Aemond now... he'll fix everything... for you, the kingdom, and the seven realms.

[lovesoakedd]

STOLEN TREASURE, SEIZED BY THE THROAT

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝 contains: oc x oc, 9.4k words, porn with plot ig, LESBIAN SEX (cishet men + minors dni), teasing, fingering, degrading, praise, corruption kink, throat-grabbing and light choking, kinks that weren't negotiated beforehand, dubious consent, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, face smacking, squirting, heart-to-heart about overbearing parents + gender, mentions of violence

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝 about characters + language used: jack: (pls no I did NOT name him this because of jack sparrow 😭): transmasc butch, he/him, only bodily description is of his hands mina: she/her, called a girl, terms used for her body include: "pussy," "cunt," "clit," "breasts," "tits," breasts are described as having a weight to them that makes them bounce

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝 taglist: @lovethousand

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝 ao3 link: here

“You know, of all the things I expected my crew to bring to me today, I didn't expect it to be a little thief. You have no worth, no one who’ll pay for your ransom, and now, I have to deal with another mouth to feed.”

When all Jack was met with was silence, he turned around, hands propped on his hips. “Well?”

The girl in front of him should have been meek after having been caught like this, her hand buried in the loot from the ship they had ransacked last week, eager fingers grasping at amethyst and smiling in wonder. Honestly, she had been so poorly obvious about it that Jack couldn’t help but assume that it was her first time. It had to be – who else would be stupid enough to sneak into a ship resting at port, thinking that there’d be no members of the crew there guarding the treasure?

But, the girl – Mina, she said her name was – is staring at him with burning, bright eyes, her mouth clenched into a firm line, as though she’s just moments away from lashing out like a wild animal. Not that that particularly scared Jack – he had been in this business long enough to know exactly how to ease wild things into submission. 

“If my presence here is so useless,” she says coolly, narrowing her eyes. “Then, just let me go. You don’t need me here.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Jack muses, eyeing her up and down. In all honesty, he’s not too bothered by this turn of events – such happenings have been a common occurrence over the years. He has no intention of punishing any of the fools who dare to attempt thievery with him. From his experience, slight punishment and the humiliation of being caught are enough to have people on their way and making atonement. “Which is why you’ll be dropped off at the second port we reach after this one, and we’ll call it a day.”

She splutters, looking up at him with bulging, disbelieving eyes. “The second next port? Are you insane? It’ll take me weeks to return back to my city.”

Jack shrugs. The punishment he’s bestowing is one entirely too graceful for this situation. This girl should be on her knees, begging for mercy and thanking him for not slicing her throat out and leaving her to drench the floorboards. Instead, she only seems even more indignant that he’s sparing her in such a manner. If she was a thief who, like most in that career, had been bred to steal since birth, then she’d know that Jack is being unnecessarily generous with her life. 

No, this is the indignancy of someone higher up. This is the entitlement of someone who’s never faced the harsher, crueller punishments of this world before.

“It’s an inconvenience, that’s for certain, but by no means impossible.”

She scoffs, and Jack’s mouth twitches in amusement. “It’s ridiculous, is what it is. If you’re not going to kill me, just bring me back to the port where I was caught.”

This is exactly what Jack means. She speaks about her own death with such unwavering confidence, as though she’s completely certain that not a blade can penetrate her skin. Her skin, which isn’t roughened or scarred by years of labour or crime. How did Jack not realize it sooner? This girl is the picture of blue blood. 

“We’ve already set sail,” he says coolly, leaning on the beam supporting lower decks. “I’m not going to inconvenience my crew just to make things easier.”

“But, you’re inconveniencing me, and–”

“And?” Jack asks, cocking his head as he slowly saunters over. When he reaches Mina, whose eyes are wide with what he suspects is shock at his proximity, he lowers himself, crouching down to her height from where she sits on the hammock. “What exactly do I owe you? You make a feeble attempt to steal from me, I spare you, and you’re whining about having to travel back home?”

Her lashes flutter, mouth parting in surprise. Jack’s eyes flicker down, swallowing hard at the sight of her lips, softened probably by some expensive oil they’ve got down there. “I’m not whin–”

“Shut up,” Jack murmurs, grabbing her jaw, privately relishing in how undignified she looks when her cheeks are squished in his grasp. 

“I–”

“No,” he says, his voice lowering to the kind of consulting one might reserve for a stubborn dog. “Release the attitude.”

Her lovely throat, so unmarked, so innocent, bobs as she swallows down his words, her glossy eyes frozen on him.

With a satisfied hum, he gently pushes her face away, his tight grip freeing her cheeks. “Good. Now, if you’re gonna be a thorn in my ass–”

“It’s thorn in your side–”

“Then, you might as well make yourself of some use.”

“Meaning?”

He lets his gaze rove over her, taking in the swell of her breasts revealed from the tight pinch of her fabric. The cleavage is just barely revealed, the dip of it peeking from the neckline. He licks his lips, feeling a throb from between his thighs. When was the last time he had such an innocent, lovely little brat like her bent over his knees?

She shifts, a hand flying up to her bosom. When his eyes languidly roam up to her face, his mouth twitches at the sight of her downturned mouth and sharpened gaze.

“How dare you stare at me like that?” she gasps, reeling back.

He snorts, taking note of the way her chest rises up and down rapidly. “I apologize. As for your task, you can empty the piss bucket.”

“The– I, what?”

“Servants have probably been doing it for you for years,” he snarks, stepping back to unlatch the door and return to the upper deck. 

“Servants? How did you–”

Before she can finish her sentence, he’s already slammed the door, amusement bubbling in his stomach from her little show of defiance. 

–

Mina had really anticipated for this experiment to have gone differently. 

After weeks upon weeks of the rope set in place around her neck beginning to wind tighter and tighter, she had grown weary, crumbling under the weight of her mother’s constant demands. As well as desperate, the expectation of a soon-to-come offer of engagement haunting her innermost thoughts every night. It sent her stomach pulsing with anxiety, and every nerve in her body pinching until she was restless. 

So, she had hatched a plan. If she couldn’t find freedom within her city due to the power her parents wielded, she’d find it outside of its parameters. 

She had heard of the crew stationed at the docks, and knew of their mercy. Unlike other pirates, they’re infamous for having a captain who isn’t a man, and a set of morals that only permits murder if abuse or significant stealing takes place on their ship. Which, yes, is not the most comforting of sentiments, but when one is as desperate as Mina, it sounds like good odds.

And so, her plan had been to sneak onto the ship, and hopefully, as much of a stretch as it was, secure a place there temporarily. Just anything to buy her some time, far from her family. A half-year of freedom was better than nothing. And she can hide it behind the excuse of being taken by force in order to avoid punishment from her parents. They’d never believe that she was a willing participant.

And yet, she couldn’t even manage to accomplish that much, caught red-handed with her fingers brushing reverently over the gems found on deck. The pads of her finger had barely brushed the edges of one before two men had yanked her by her shoulders, dragging her into a rotten-smelling room filled with hammocks, and tossing her ungracefully onto the floor. It’s the roughest treatment she had ever dealt with before, and her entire body had grown hot in humiliation.

Unfortunately for her, though, the unceremonious handling had continued as a common theme that day, with the captain soon emerging through the door, wide-shouldered and strong. He had been all curt words and laughing eyes, shaking around her face as though she were a child receiving reprimands.

He was smart, too. More than Mina had anticipated. They had only spoken for ten minutes at maximum, and somehow, he had caught onto the fact that she was bred of wealth and money. 

It’s embarrassing, really, just how obvious she was. 

It’s not like she’s unaware of her privileged stature, and how that may show in her day-to-day life, just as Jack’s upbringing made itself evident in his lack of hesitation in physical contact. A lack that never existed in the refined, self-contained world she came from, built off the bars of self-restraint. But, still, she thought she wasn’t so spoiled that her upbringing immediately swivels its ugly head upon her first interaction with a person.

And, Lord, was she wrong about that. And about how much of an adventure this would be. Instead of getting a taste of freedom, she’s been declared a burden whom the crew plans to unload two stops from now – in just a month and a half. And then, she’ll have to deal with the chaos of trying to get back home. How lovely.

And to pour salt into the wound, rubbing and fingering until she’s practically seething in pain, she’s so ridiculously seasick. 

On her fourth day of vomiting profusely over the edge of the ship, wincing as it splatters along the side, her face twists in contempt when she hears Jack’s laughter. It’s a familiar sound at this point – rough, low, coated in silk. She absolutely despises it, for it makes her feel small and weak. She’s accustomed to walking with the confidence of her family’s roots following behind her like a dark shadow. Here, though? She’s stripped bare of it, left with nothing but the painful self-awareness of just how incapable she is. A fact Jack never fails to remind her of. 

“Need me to hold your hair back, princess?” he taunts, his strong arms hanging off the edge as he watches her thoughtfully.

She ducks her head down, her guts tightening under the weight of his stare. “No, thank you.”

“You sure? Would hate for all the time that went into those tresses to go wasted,” he muses, lifting a long finger and twining it about in the hair hanging by her shoulder.

She sneers, leaning back from his touch, nearly shivering when the rough skin of his fingertip scrapes against her cheek. “I suppose you find amusement in such luxuries.”

“I would, but it does make for pretty things like you, so I can’t find it in myself to complain.”

She rolls her eyes, trying to stifle the flutters raging in her stomach from knowing he actually thinks her pretty. She should not, absolutely not, grow any sort of affection or attachment to any of the crew members here. She is to leave in six weeks, not to mention the fact that they’re unkempt, roguish, always mocking her, belittling her and laughing at her expense. She cannot believe she once thought she’d manage multiple months here, months that in her idealized thoughts, were anticipated to be filled with euphoria and all sorts of freedom. 

Instead, all she’s getting is a total of two months on board. And as of now, it seems it’ll be nothing but seasickness and writhing, aching shame from being the common joke.

“Don’t flatter me,” she rasps out, pressing a cloth, scented with lavender, to her nose.

“Do I really appear that disingenuous?” he drawls out, his head cocked at her.

“You steal for a living,” she deadpans. “Of course I don’t store faith in your ability to be genuine.”

“And yet, you came here, anyways.”

She stiffens, acutely aware of the hypocrisy that turns her thoughts so rancid.

“Why?” he prods, his eyebrow raising. His tone isn’t mocking, for once, but genuinely earnest. “Was it curiosity?”

Torn between wanting to answer just to be rid of him versus the desire to seek some knowledge from the years of experience he clearly has obtained, she answers. “It was too difficult to remain at home. I wanted to experience something entirely different, something on the other end of the spectrum.”

“You thought I would keep you on the ship to give you that?”

A twinge of embarrassment blooms in her chest and she grinds her teeth down. “For longer than a mere two months.”

He sighs, extracting his gaze from her in favour of the horizon. “I can’t do that. You’re of no use here.”

It’s strange, for it’s not like she’s been relishing in her time here. All her five senses have been plagued with some new form of torture since her first day, she has become something of a laughing stock, and being amongst people so damned efficient only highlights how little self-sufficiency she’s sustained over the years of spoils and riches. But, still. To hear herself be rendered to something useless that they cannot afford to keep because she provides that little help – it stings something terrible.

“I’m aware,” she bitterly grits out. “I just wanted a chance to–”

“Seize some freedom?”

When she says nothing, he taps his long fingers on the railing, eyes seeming glazed over as he speaks slowly, as though carefully selecting every word. “I understand that feeling. I was not, well, born to this lifestyle.”

When she sends him a questioning glance, he scoffs. “No, I was not blue-bellied. My father was a merchant. But, a traditionalist, nonetheless.”

“One who I suppose didn’t take kindly to…” she trails off, her eyes falling over his body.

“No. One who indeed did not take kindly to it,” he confirms, his eyes steady and cold like steel.

Yet, somehow, admirably enough, he doesn’t sound angry. Despite the injustice of having to succumb to piracy in order to live his life as he pleases, he does not sound bitter or sour about the ordeal. In his tone, there is the tired edge of resignation, paired with the sharpness of resolve. As though his father’s rejection only further refined and solidified the basis of his determination. 

“Do you ever imagine how it would be if things were different?” she asks quietly. While her parents grate her to no end, she cannot possibly imagine having a life outside of them. The only concerning aspect of that notion is that she’s unsure if it’s due to genuine affection or having never possessed the choice of an alternate path.

“When I was younger, more innocent, perhaps.” He shrugs, as though the topic is one of little consequence to him, though she can see the way his lips purse together. “As a child, it used to frustrate me to no end. I was convinced that as his child, he ought to be proud of me for mirroring him. In fashion, in stance, all of that. When I saw he gave none of that approval to me, but to my brother, it made me seethe with envy.”

She feels a pinch of sympathy in her stomach, her eyebrows drawing together in focus. She supposes she understands that. Even growing up herself, femininity was only permitted to present itself in very specific, self-contained ways. There was no creativity she was allowed to take with it, no freedom, no broken expectations. There was a regime, a certain path to follow in order to prove herself a woman. She fought and fought, but eventually, it became easier to be lured into complacency. To snap at the maids who tore her dress, to angrily throw an outfit at the wall when it became mud-stained. It’s those little moments of rage that give her some comfort, some relief, while still managing to uphold the front that she is on the correct path to womanhood.

“I understand,” she mutters, the words tasting foreign when said towards Jack. “My family is difficult regarding appearances and identity, too. Though, I suspect our problems are quite different. But, I…” she trails off, hoping he will not laugh at her. “I’m sorry, nonetheless. I can imagine how angering it is.”

He’s silent for a few moments, and she dares not look at him, humiliation beginning to swell in her. How stupid it is to compare her experiences to his. Any pain she’s felt has probably been thrusted upon him tenfold.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, absentmindedly scratching at his forehead. “I’m fine now, though. It was once angering, that’s for certain. But, I have grown to detach from it.”

“How long does it take to accomplish that?” she asks, clenching her teeth together.

“Years. But, don’t rush yourself. Feeling that sense of hopelessness should be the last resort.”

“I’m already teetering on the edge of it.”

He huffs an amused laugh. “I can tell. Sneaking onto a pirate ship for a world of adventure? It’s the stuff of fiction.”

She glares at him, instinctively smacking his arm. “Well, fiction has been a constant companion for years.”

“Huh, that makes the lack of personal boundaries more understandable,” he muses, giving a pointed glance to where she just hit him.

“You’re one to speak! You were barely an inch away from me when we first met!”

“And are you to tell me you truly didn’t enjoy that?”

Mina splutters from the screeching shift to flirtation, feeling as though her mind becomes crushed into something malleable, unable to weave together proper sentences. Jack is watching her carefully, like a predator lurking within the bushes, peeking at her unabashedly through the leaves and vines. As though she’s for his taking.

She clears her throat, trying to ignore the almost nauseating roll of anticipation that courses through her stomach. “I did not. You’re a stranger.”

“And? That doesn’t stop me from feeling something of a… carnal nature for someone.”

Her eye twitches. “That’s because you were most likely raised to perceive sex as anything other than the meaningful union of two people in love.”

He chuckles, the timbre of it so smooth and husky, like the dollop of caramel that was planted on those cakes that had been served upon her seventeenth birthday. She wonders how such a sound would taste solidified – if it’d be just as smooth and thick as the sweet nectar that had seeped into her tongue those years ago.

“It’s meaningful, but something can be meaningful without love.”

“Coming from a pirate – typical, but unsurprising.”

The dimple by the corner of his mouth deepens. And as does his mischief, it seems, for he steps closer to her, the weight of his body a steady heat against the breeze of the ocean.

“You are to tell me that if you had the chance to experience such touch, even once, before the wedding night to a man you’ll inevitably one day be forced into the arms of, you wouldn’t take it?”

She gulps, keeping her head pinpointed down, gaze honed in on the rolling, crystal blue waves. “Yes.”

She stiffens as he moves closer, his mouth edging to her ear, breath warm and moist as he breathes, “Not even one night of pleasure?”

“Not even a night,” she mutters, her voice beginning to tremble.

“Nor even hour upon hour of slow kisses, wet touches of a tongue, fingers that can reach places you didn’t even know existed?” he husks, his breath tickling the lobe of her ear and making a jolt of a shiver shoot down her spine.

She tries to suppress it by stiffening her posture, keeping herself upright lest her hips twitch or her body tremble. “Nor that.”

Out of spite, she almost wants to mention that she’s found every spot possible, and does not need his assistance, but she’s well-aware that revealing that will be to her utter demise. And so, she gently sinks her teeth into her tongue, holding back.

His fingers skim along the opening at the back of her dress, loosened from the usual confines her mothers insist on wearing. His fingertips are dry, slightly scratchy with calluses, and they’re infinitely tender along her soft skin. And somehow, that makes it harder to ignore. If he was rough, manhandling her, she could shrug him off, yell at him, dismiss him as a brute unworthy of her time. But, these gentle, soft touches promise a night of patience, one where he’d handle her body with something akin to reverence. 

It’s hard to resist the anticipation of that. Not that the rougher touches don’t have their merit too.

God, why did she think of that? Now, thoughts of Jack groping her are spilling through her mind, his large hands sinking into her ass, grabbing her by the tits to yank her forward. Pressing into her jaw, like he did on that first day, while he hovers on top of her, leering and smiling.

His hand splaying out, palm pressing into her back, is what awakens her from the stream of lewd thoughts and she jerks away, sending him a sharp glare. Though, snapping her head at him momentarily sends their noses brushing, which makes her reel back. God, even the mere tip of his against hers has her face feeling like it’s set aflame. 

“You seem very sure,” he mutters, eyes roving along her features as though they have all the time in the world.

She scoffs, pulling away further. “Well, I am.”

She absolutely, irrevocably is not sure. 

–

Jack is certain she isn’t either when one night, he has a pretty little thing on his lap, his breath moist on her neck, hands squeezing at her thighs beneath her skirts. For one second, his eyes are tracking her plunging neckline, skimming languidly along the dip of her cleavage, and then, he’s spotting Mina, peeking through the open entrance of the tavern.

He spots her so quickly that he doubts she notices, ensuring that his gaze flicks back to the woman taking residence on his lap. He wants to see just how long he can draw this out and wring out her innocent curiosity. Though, deep in his gut, he’s slightly impressed that she actually had the gall to sneak off the ship.

While he’s certain that Mina believes him to be a cruel dictator for deciding she only gets to leave the ship upon the second port they stop at since her arrival, he has his reasons. One of them being that the first port they’d reach, the one they’re currently stationed at, is much too dangerous to secure Mina a safe passage to her home city. And secure Jack plans to, an additional part of her departure he hasn’t told her of yet. He has to keep her on her toes somehow. Spoiled thing she is, she deserves the punishment of nervous anticipation. 

He had firmly told her earlier that she was to spend the rest of the evening on the ship, with the spare men who chose to stay back rather than spend a spirited few hours in town. She had frowned and stomped, demanding for a night off of what she called “this stifling, suffocating ship,” but he hadn’t faltered, simply patting her cheek and ordering her to stay put.

Judging by the insolence she’s currently embodying, he supposes he ought to have been more stern on her. Lord knows what could have happened if she had run into the wrong sort of company and had gotten harmed. The tavern isn’t far from where the ship is docked, yes, but in this town, any distance is harmful if you don’t have the correct skills to protect yourself. And judging from Mina’s lack of motor skills whenever the ship sways or bumps, constantly tripping over her skirts and tumbling to the ground, she very much does not.

The only benefit is the molten desire beginning to stir in his stomach, pooling low and making him throb. The knowledge of her being there, eyes caressing his form as he takes care of the woman giggling in his lap and rubbing the tight muscle webbed in the back of his neck, has him biting back a grin. It was crystal clear from their talk a few weeks ago that deep inside, perhaps even past the bounds of her own awareness, she desired sex. It was clear in the way she downright trembled from his touch, goosebumps erupting over her skin when he muttered low in that way he knows has people writhing. 

He’ll give her some satiation. Just a bit for tonight. Though, he’d be lying if he said putting on a show for her was solely for her own sake. 

With a harsh clearing of his throat, trying to minimize the bubbling laughter rising up his throat, he presses his face deeper into the woman’s neck. His lips hanging open, he lathers soft, wet kisses to her neck. She releases a sweet gasp, the arm looped around his neck tightening as he places more pressure on the tender skin, his open-mouth kisses hard and pointed. When he reaches a spot under her ear, he pauses, his mouth encircling the patch of skin and sucking it slowly, his eyes shutting in concentration as her deep breaths soften into a long whine.

Meanwhile, his hand buries further under her skirts, slithering into the warm crevice between her thighs. He hisses when the tips brush against the tight coils of her hair, idly toying with them as he skims his teeth along her jaw. He loves this – methodically tugging out every small, uncontrollable noise, lavishing his attention until someone’s body becomes utter puddy, subjected to every overwhelming sensation he instigates. A canvas just waiting to be painted with marks, brushed over and stroked until a flaming array of colours are set to life behind squeezed eyes.

And knowing Mina – fiery, stubborn, petulant Mina – is watching it all unfold has his arousal strengthened by a tenfold. His thoughts drift to the wetness that must be seeping against her folds, the way she must be rubbing her thighs together as she watches them.

It pushes him on further, the hand cupping the woman’s waist raising to sink a finger between her chest and the fabric tightly enclosing it. He stubbornly tugs until her breasts lunge out, a deep groan rumbling in his chest at the sight of her perky nipples. He ducks down, taking one in his mouth, lips fondling the bud while his fingers rub delicately at the other. He can feel her beginning to rub her ass down on her lap, hips moving in slow circles as he toys with her sweet, sagging tits.

He can’t resist the urge pulsing through him, and mouth still on one tit, his eyes flutter open, locking right onto Mina.

Who is staring directly at him, hand pressing down to her mound. 

This time, he lets his gaze linger long enough to give her a few seconds to register having been caught. Her eyes bulge out, lips parting as she freezes in place, the slight movements of her arms immediately halting. He can sense her humiliation, her gaze beginning to skitter about, as though she’s torn between meeting his stare or slinking away into the dark night.

When she chooses the latter, concern shoots through him and he grits his teeth. Still causing him trouble, the menace. 

After ushering a very dissatisfied woman off his lap, murmuring a quick apology, he wipes the smear of wetness on his trousers, rushing out of the tavern.

As soon as he steps out, the cool air coats his skin, rubbing it until it’s tingling to the touch. His eyes carefully scan the street, panic beginning to flip in his guts as he searches through the night crowd buzzing along the lanes, laughing and engaging in all flavours of debauchery. Fuck, if she’s lost, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. 

When his head swings to the side and he finds her braced against the outside wall of the tavern, he feels his shoulders sag in relief. He rolls them before moving towards her, a prickling sense of self-awareness beginning to surge through him now that the heat of the moment has dimmed. 

“Why’d you come here?” he asks, halting right in front of her, hands settled on his hips.

“Why? Did I interrupt your time with that woman?” she snaps, eyes burning with fire as she stares at him pointedly.

He snickers softly, satisfaction trilling through him. Her meaning is clear as a summer sky, shining on him and casting him under the heat of her jealousy. “I’d much rather know what you’re up to out here.”

“Oh, so I’m a second option – is that it?”

His mouth twitches. He’s never able to resist draining pleasure from her rage. It’s simply too attractive to behold, and instigates a strong itch in him to discipline her. “There’s no competition happening here. This was simply an exchange of pleasure you caught sight of.”

“You are disgusting,” she spats out. “An exchange of pleasure? Is that all sex means to you?”

A twinge of irritation flickers through him, disliking the conclusions she is leaping to for yet the second time. Despite the days they have spent together, filled with banter and the occasional, more intimate conversation, she is still, by all means, merely an acquaintance. One who doesn’t possess the level of knowledge required to make such an accusation of him. 

“Not always. But, when I am spending a single evening off the ocean, finally surrounded by women other than my crewmates who I’ve known from years–”

“You haven’t known me for years.”

Jack’s frustration is stomped out with a spark of mischief upon her argument, which seems to have slipped out of her mouth without permission, judging by the way she immediately clamps it shut. 

“I’m aware,” he chuckles, taking a step closer to her, his chest brushing hers. God, it’s so shapely, hugged just right by that obnoxious, lace-trimmed dress she insists on wearing no matter how long she’s been on the ship for. “No crewmate of mine has ever been on the receiving end of so much ogling from me.”

Her throat, so lovely, so tempting to be marked, moves as she gulps. 

When it seems she’s been stunned into silence, he moves even closer, his body pressed firmly into hers, coaxing her back to fully plant against the wall. “And do you not consider yourself a hypocrite? Accusing me of my exchange of pleasure, when as I recall it, you, too, derived some pleasure out of it?”

Her breath hitches in her throat. “I–I did not–”

“You did,” he husks, his face slowly tipping towards hers. “I could see that haze in your eyes, that eager little hand. You were wanting, were you not? Playing a third to that woman and I?”

“I am no third–”

His hand gently closes over her throat. “Shut up.”

A breathless little moan is wrenched from her, and his smile curls up wickedly. Ah, there she is.

He squeezes gently, the dip of his nose pressing into her cheek as he greedily sucks in her scent. It’s a mix of saltwater, musky sweat and sweet perfume. He could get drunk off of it, sniffing it until it’s soaked into his mind, tinging every thought with her presence. 

“If I knew this is all it took to get you to quiet,” he muses, licking a warm, wet stripe along her cheek, “I would have choked you a lot sooner.”

Her body stutters when his other hand gropes her ass, nails digging in through the layers as he kneads the plush skin of it. He continues to plant, sloppy, dripping kisses across her cheek, down her jaw, the ministrations producing wet little squelches that have his stomach tightening in anticipation. 

“Ah,” she whines, her head lolling back, lightly thumping against the wall.

He slides his hand from her neck, cupping the back of her head to cradle it from the rough concrete as his soft little kisses draw closer to her mouth. Right as his breathing ghosts over it, the warm puffs from her mouth intermingling with his, he whispers, “Is this alright?” Beneath the lust, hot and aching in him, is the underbelly of concern. He knows she can’t be too experienced – in fact, perhaps she has none beyond her own hands. 

He leans back, carefully peering at her. 

She nods eagerly, licking her lips.

With a deep chuckle, he captures her lips in his. She’s immediately making her desire for him known, the folds and dips of her body molding into his as she wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him close to her. One hand still buried in her skirts, clutching onto her ass, his other arm wraps around her torso, holding her close as his mouth languidly explores hers, tongue slipping through to lick into her mouth, rubbing along her teeth and meeting her clumsy flicks with smooth, massaging strokes.

She eagerly bucks into him, her hips jolting forward without rhythm, and something in his chest swells. She’s like fresh fruit hanging low on the branches, so easy for the taking. 

“Someone is eager,” he drawls, his voice raspy with desire and his mouth moves back to her neck, nipping at the juncture where it curves into her shoulder.

She cries out from the prick of it, nails scratching at his back through his shirt and vest. “You’re so rude to me, so undignified, I hate– mmph,” she moans as he forces her into a bruising kiss, shoving his tongue into her mouth.

“Something tells me you need someone to treat you in all sorts of undignified manner,” he hisses against her mouth. “Just dreaming and aching to be taken as something other than fragile.”

Before she can respond, he’s silencing her with another harsh kiss, his teeth sinking into her bottom lip, chewing and sucking until it’s pink and swollen with his rough toying. And she’s all the more pliable, panting desperately against him as he tarnishes her mouth, turning it into a filthy pit of spit and teeth as her tongue chases him, drool spilling from the corners. It’s so slippery and wet, making him feel dizzy, and he parts from her to circle his lips around the pink muscle, sucking on it until her eyes are drifting shut, high whines creeping up her throat and tumbling out. 

When his hand strokes from her ass to her thigh, beginning to rack up the fabric of her dress, she freezes against him.

He immediately clenches tighter on her dress, pulling away to search her face for any signs of discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

Her gaze shifts to behind him before returning to his face. When he leans in, head tilted in curiosity, she whispers, “I want us to be alone.”

That sends a possessive bolt pulsing through him. Fuck, she wants them alone, away from any prying eyes – only belonging to each other in the throes of their pleasure. Only he will get to see her this way, and judging by her earlier anger, she most likely wants him only for her. The notion doesn’t make him feel even close to being controlled – rather, it makes him hot with desire. He very much likes the idea of belonging to her. 

Many long, seemingly everlasting minutes later, filled with Jack squeezing her ass and igniting hot, angry glares from her, they’re stumbling into his room, mouths clashing together. His rough hands are immediately at her dress, tugging at the stubborn laces and willing them to free her body to his ardent gaze. Everytime his knuckles brush along a sensitive spot on her body in the process of doing so, she releases another short-lived, sweet noise into the heat of his mouth, which later latches down to her neck, sucking bruising marks.

When he manages to get through the tight ribbons of her dress, unsheathing her body to his hungry gaze, he feels his mouth grow watery at the sight of her breasts. They’re so pretty, the weight to them giving a bounce that has his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head, mind whirring with thought of how they’d move when he fucks his cock into her.

And her nipples – God, they’re both erect in the chill of his room, swollen and wrinkled slightly at the edges. His lips tingle in desire for them, thumbs reverently brushing them, testing the waters to see how sensitive her untouched body is. When she twitches, he ducks down, taking one into his warm, wet mouth, tongue flicking along it until it’s dripping in his spit.

Her torso immediately juts out in response, her eyes squeezed shut, as though she cannot bear to see him making love to her body. She writhes delightfully from the light strokes from his tongue, clearly sensitive and unable to tame her reactions. But, he can sense the tension in her shoulders, the way her body is stiff and upright. 

He eases in close, his hands roaming over her tummy, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Kissing her cheek, he whispers, “You are a sight to behold.”

Her skin grows textured with tiny bumps, a shy laugh flowing from her lips. It makes him swallow hard, unaccustomed to hearing a noise so pleasant and vulnerable from her. It’s so different from the fiery, unattainable brat he’s come to know these past weeks, and it softens him to realize how much trust she’s storing within him to be this open. 

“It’s true,” he quietly insists, nibbling on her earlobe, soothing the sting with his tongue. “I’ll take good care of you.”

She shivers hard, and he pulls back with an amused quirk of his mouth. 

“Does someone like the sound of that?” he hums, coaxing her steps backwards, so that knees hit the edge of the mattress and send her flying into the luxurious, plush blankets. She curls into them like a cat, clearly having grown to miss such fine treatment when she’s in the duration of her sharing a room with the rest of the crew. He shrugs off his vest, smiling down at the sight of her so content.

“No,” she murmurs, the word so lazy that there’s barely a lick of conviction in them. He knows she’s just being a brat for the sake of stubbornness. 

“No?”

The question seems to jolt her out of her relaxed reunion with a bed. Propping herself on her elbows, the spitting image of ruin with her dress shoved to her waist and her tits popped out, she tips her chin up in defiance. “No.”

He rolls up his sleeves. “Oh, we’ll see how well that holds up.”

In a matter of seconds, too fast for her untrained eyes to anticipate, he has her pressed stomach-down into the mattress, his fingers holding onto her dress with a death grip as he drags it down. She whines into the pillow, her hips wiggling in what he assumes is a split between eagerness and humiliation. Pressing his face in the spot between her shoulder blades, licking long stripes along the skin until she’s sheen with his mark, he tugs the dress down, pinching her undergarments along the way, moving and moving until she’s completely nude. 

His hands are immediately on her ass, massaging and pushing the cheeks together and apart. His thumbs dip into the gap, using the grip to open up her ass, licking his lips at the sprinkle of hair running down her ass and then spreading wide at her pussy. And fuck, her pussy. It’s coated in arousal, glinting under the dim light of the night sky, practically begging to be fucked whole with something.

“God, you’re so desperate,” he mumbles, his thumb pushing down to playfully brush at her folds.

She bucks against the mattress from the touch, her words shaky as she mumbles, “It’s not my fault, you did this to me!”

He smirks at the accusation of her tone. “Do I have to bend you over my knee to get you to shut up?”

Face half-pressed into the pillow, she sends him a wide, doe-eyed look.

His hold on her ass tightens painfully at the revelation, eyes hooded and trained on her. “You’re such a whore, I swear.”

“And you’re such a–”

He doesn’t give her the time to finish, his palm coming down to deliver a sharp smack to her ass, sending the fat of it jiggling. When she cries out, her eyes screwing shut, his voice softens to a coo, murmuring, “Sweet girl, I’m sorry. You’ll do better, right? Make sure I don’t have to do that again?” As he speaks, his hand strokes at the hot patch of skin.

“You think I’m just going to– ah!”

Her words shatter into a loud wail as he smacks her ass again, this one harder and sending the noise bouncing off the walls. He takes an utter, shameless delight in how she crumbles under his harsh touches, so pliant in how she sinks further into the blankets, burying her face into the pillow as she keens. She’s impossibly endearing – such a sharp, stinging mouth, but so easy to turn into complete mush, malleable and weak to influence.

Before she can talk, he gives her two more consecutive ones, darkly laughing from the way her body gets so tender from it, wriggling as tears gush from her eyes. He takes a sadistic sort of satisfaction in seeing her finally broken down like this, her insistent attitude finally crumbling to a complete stop. And how goddamn sweet it is, seeing Mina, his Mina, soft and sensitive, entrusting him to look after her and give into all of her needs, no matter how dark and salacious. He wants to relish in this success, as well as for her to fully embrace it – embrace both the loss of control and her great pleasure, which is perhaps one of the only times she’ll experience it in her lifetime.

The thought makes his jaw clench, but he shoves it away, choosing to lean into a very different idea that flares to life in his mind.

“Roll on your back, then sit up,” he commands, kicking off his boots.

And finally, to his deep pleasure, she obeys.

–

Mina’s back to Jack’s chest, he keeps her legs spread open, grabbing her jaw and coaxing her to look at herself in the reflection of the mirror across from them. She immediately squirms at the sight, her tummy clenching in pointed embarrassment. Her pussy is absolutely drenched, creating silky strings of liquid along the tuff of hair there, clinging to the pad of his finger as he draws the digit along her pussy, dipping it near her hole. She clenches on nothing feeling her insides scrape with the desire to be filled.

“You want it?” he mutters close to her ear. 

Her hips shift instinctively on the bed, excitement thumping through her body as she feebly nods. She’s only ever had her own fingers inside of her before. But, Jack’s consistent concern throughout the evening has her more relaxed than she ever thought she’d be capable of during her first time. A first time that was always envisioned with the shadow of a man, face blocked out, downright unbearable for her to look at.

So different from Jack, whose face she wants to drink up so badly that she’s willing to face the sight of her own in the mirror.

His long finger sinks in just barely, prodding gently. His nail just barely brushes the rim of her hole, making her hips flinch in want. She just wants him to sink, bury and claim her. Her mind is almost delirious with the want of it – it’s scary, terrifying even, to be so clouded by her own bodily desires, shameful and depraved. But, every nerve in her is so drenched in the need for it that she cannot even muster enough self-deprecation to stop him.

His finger slowly inches in her, passing through her tight entrance and filing out her hole, which immediately latches onto him, as though her body is urging her to trap him inside forever and never let him go. The unfamiliarity of someone else’s finger in her has her squirming, the lack of guidance she holds over the act making every movement inside her feel all the more important, her body caught off guard with every twitch and push. 

When his finger has fully slid in, the tip already pushing into that special spot tucked deep away in her, he groans right in her ear, “There you are.”

The words, purred with equal measures cockiness and pleasure, have her tightening around him immediately. His long, thick finger in her has her burning with the ache of it – but, it’s not bad, not at all. In fact, it has the deep ache that’s been pumping through her pussy finally sated. And the relief is immense.

She thinks it can’t get better until he starts rocking his finger inside of her, her walls sucking him in each time he dips back in, pleading for him to stay. But, he never strays too far, his finger still half in her before plunging again, getting harder, less relenting, with each thrust. The throb of it has her whining, her head laying upon his shoulder as he wraps an arm around her tummy, bracing her to his steady body as he fucks her languidly. 

When his second finger is met with resistance, he hums coyly. “Someone hasn’t toyed with the rules much, has she?”

“Well, with my schedule, I– oh,” she breaks into a moan when his second finger begins nudging her entrance, “it’s hard to manage time for exploration.”

He leans over to his bedside table, pulling out a screeching drawer. “And what exactly are you doing in this busy schedule?”

When she doesn’t answer, lost in the flex of his shoulders as he leans over the bed, he rebukes her with a rough jerk into her pussy.

She bounces from it, a staggering gasp shooting from her lips. “I–I attend business meetings with my father, I arrange events with my mother–”

“Very lively,” he mutters, using his teeth to pop the knob off.

“It is,” she defends. Though, she doesn’t add that it’s only lively to some, her being excluded from that group. While it keeps her busy, most definitely, it is the kind of occupation that leaves her empty at the end of the day. Nothing fulfilling is tied into it, no real, authentic joy derived from the meetings and engagements bordered by social regime.

He kisses the back of her neck, and her mouth twists in emotion, the gesture feeling like a silent apology, a sympathetic link tethering them to each other, just as that first tender conversation they shared.

When he eases his finger out, spilling on it what she now realizes is oil, his touch is kinder, two fingers pushing into her slowly as she wraps tightly around him. A breathy moan escapes her lips, suddenly notching to a higher pitch when his other hand lowers and begins to rub on her clit, helping her through the sting. When it’s finally faded to a dull ache, she finds herself seized with the urge to have him take her carnally the way he once mentioned. She doesn’t want her body to be treated sweetly with the pity of someone who knows she has a lifetime of unhappiness ahead of herself. She wants to be fucked and debauched thoroughly. 

“That’s the best you can do?” she goads, her tone velvet-wrapped in arousal.

He snarkily laughs, the noise making her head spin. “Don’t insult me.”

His fingers begin jamming into her with a brutal intensity, making her release a strangled cry. With each severe, pointed press into the spongy spot buried deep in her, the tingles racing from her pussy to the rest of her body deepen, mind numb with pleasure.

“Look at how well you open up,” he rasps against her ear. “Like this cunt was made for fucking.”

She cannot bear to look at the mirror, his words humiliating despite being so, so good. His hand grabs her jaw, fingers smacking gently into her cheek, sending the skin rippling. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone stupid just from two fingers,” he mumbles lazily, kissing her cheek.

Out of sheer determination, she forces herself to look at the mirror, nearly gasping at the sight of his two girthy fingers pumping into her steadily, her hole completely swallowing him as sticky white streams of her arousal begin to wrap around his knuckles. Her entire body is painted with a thin layer of sweat, and she can feel it gathering in the crease beneath her breasts, sticky and wet. 

The nastiest squelches are coming from between her thighs, and his middle and ring finger rhythmically slide in and out of her, abusing her swollen, rubbery spot. When his other hand braces against her lower tummy, flattening to create a warm pressure, she jerks up in response. And God, does she look wanton in this state – hair sticking to her forehead, tongue lolling out, eyes half-lidded as he pushes every limitation. And the sight of Jack doesn’t ease her arousal at all – his face is contorted in stone focus, jaw clenched as he works her pussy as though he’s been exploring her body for years. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, meeting her wide-eyed, jittery gaze in the mirror, his own focused and direct. “You look so pretty like this. Such a pretty, wet little cunt. All she needed was some fingers, huh? And look how sloppy she’s getting.”

The sudden surge of dirty talk has her spiralling into unknown bouts of pleasure, her mouth falling open, unable to even begin meeting him halfway.

Just as everything, Jack picks up on it immediately, sending her a proud grin through the mirror before his hand starts groping her tits, pinching and flicking at her nipples mercilessly. “Such a mess, aren’t you? And here I thought you were so prim and proper. All you needed were some dirty hands fondling your tits and cunt, and you just turn into a downright whore.”

His words make her pussy cling onto him tighter, a thin liquid beginning to stream from her hole, slithering down to her ass. She can’t even respond, her body a rapid whirlwind of aching, throbbing, tightening, loosening, needing. Fuck, she needs him in any way possible. Oh, why did she say ‘fuck,’ that’s so–

His palm starts bumping steadily against her clit and she flails in his arms, tongue hanging out as she begins to teeter on the edge of her orgasm, grazing the edge and moments away from falling into the pit of it. It’s familiar, but so different when it’s someone else in control, predicting the course of her pleasure, taking care of her, predicting every move without her permission or knowledge.

He seems to sense her impending climax, biting her cheek, egging her on. “Are you going to come? Spasm all over my fingers, show me what a slut you’ve been all these years when locked up in that town? You’re going to arrive back home completely ruined, a lowly pirate having fucked you over–” he thrusts harder, “-- and over again.”

Those words send her tumbling over, a loud scream flying from her mouth as the tension in her tummy shatters into pieces, the remnants of it streaming through every muscle in her body, ringing it of all its strength as she becomes completely consumed with pleasure, with release, with Jack.

As she comes, the runny liquid comes pouring out, spilling along Jack’s two fingers and drenching his blanket. She knows she isn’t urinating, but the sensation has the same kind of release, a floating feeling encompassing her as she lets it gush from her pussy rather than hold back. Jack talks her through the entire thing, fucking her through it and panting, “Leaking so much for me. So wet, so good, so fucking sweet.”

As she twitches in the aftershocks, she sags back into him, one arm of his immediately circling her and holding her close. 

“I– might I..?” she trails off, gazing up at him curiously.

He seems to understand her question, his chest shaking with amusement. “Not tonight.”

She nods – while part of her would have enjoyed touching him, she understands his lack of desire to receive right now.

As their interaction simmers to silence, she fidgets. She does not know the rules that pair with these sorts of encounters. If they were in love, she would ask that they sleep in this bed together and that he hold her close for the night, the two of them exchanging gentle kisses and giggling over what had just transpired.

But, Jack is not a lover. And while that notion would have brought her relief a month ago, now it leaves a bitter burst in her mouth. For she would like to settle into his arms, listen to his heartbeat and memorize the pattern of his breathing as they fall into mutual slumber.

Suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of curling deeper into him, then being slapped in the face with rejection, she slowly peels herself away, muttering, “Well, I should–”

Not a second passes before his arm presses against her ribs, holding her to the bed. “Where are you going?”

“We’re done, so I assumed...” Now, she feels even more embarrassed. What if her dismissal had hurt him? What if doing this is even odder than simply seeking affection from him post-coitus? “I’m sorry.”

He says nothing for a few moments, but she can feel his thoughtful gaze lingering on the side of her face.

Then, finally, a kind, soft, “Come here.”

He tends to her without hesitation, easing her to spread her legs so that he may wipe her clean with a soaked rag, changing the blanket that became soaked through, and then shrugging off his shirt and pants, leaving himself in a loose undergarment that hangs around his crotch. The entire time, she cannot bear to look at him, the domesticity and softness of the moment making her more unnerved than the sex itself. 

Just as before, his kindness makes it harder to resist, harder to think of leaving and soon no longer being by his side. She chews on her bottom lip, eyes burning as she forces her gaze to remain on the door handle. Just a few deep breaths, that’s all. She will not dare cry in front of him.

As it turns out, she also lacks the courage to avoid gazing upon him as he folds his clothes and tosses them into a corner of the room. His body, so handsome, so precious, is smooth in its motions as he slinks under the blanket. She finds herself bashful at the newfound intimacy of this. Both of them naked, lying in bed together, with nothing to fill the cup of this interaction but bodily touches that are warm, comforting and without ulterior motive.

To her surprise, he stretches an arm out, his dried lips blooming into an expectant smile. “Well? You will not leave me by my lonesome, right? That would not be very gratuitous of you.”

She laughs weakly, the familiarity of their banter a modicum of relief in this foreign territory. She hesitates, fear pinching at her mind, whispering in a dark, gravelly voice that this will only make things more difficult. That laying in his arms for the night will leave her with only more short-lived memories that haunt her.

But, as her eyes skim the rise and fall of his chest, she’s captured by the feral urge to rest her ear on his heart, and have the lullaby of it rock her to sleep. She craves him in a way that surpasses his skilled fingers and lewd words. She wants him just as he is now, in this casual state of undress, where all he can offer her is his company.

She shifts, then lays her head upon his shoulder, marvelling at how warm and toasty he feels against her. Her bare breasts squish into his side, and their legs tangle together, hairs intermingling as her toe brushes his shin and sends an obvious shudder up his spine. She pockets that information for next time.

Right as she is about to submerge herself in the pond of rest, his voice quietly comes through. “It would not be too bad, though.”

“What wouldn’t be?” she groggily murmurs, wanting to bite him for interrupting her sleep.

The steady pumps of his chest still for a few moments before he finally says, his voice stained with affection, “Another mouth to feed on the ship.”

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Fic Present!!!

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays! While I am not posting it on AO3 until the whole fic is complete, I wanted to give you guys a festive gift, so please see below the cut for the first chapter of Heads Will Roll.

Siblings in Slaughter

1.

"When the wind blows from the East, expect the new and set the feast."

James Potter cleaned his dagger in the river when the deed was done.

His comrade-in-arms griped at him for it, but Sirius was right to complain. Neither he nor James were wielders of cheap steel, or the kind of workmanship which might deserve to be plunged into a river and shaken out to dry once removed. That particular dagger had been forged in the guild of the Hephaestans, who were the grandmasters of their trade. With an edge so sharp that it could cut iron and a blade imbibed with elven enchantments, it was entitled to the same attention that Sirius lavished upon his own weapons of a dry summer evening, when he would arch across his sword as if in prayer, applying oils and buffing indiscernible marks with the tender care of a parent who nurses their sickly child.

The more James relied upon rivers and lakes to cleanse his blade, the sooner he would find himself in need of another.

But they'd just slain a cockatrice, and an angry one at that.

The battle had worn on for what felt like an eternity and grew no easier once James had taken care of the beast's eyes to leave their way clear. Upon finding itself blinded, the sound it let out was bone-chilling, and it thrashed like hell unleashed, swiping viciously with its barbed tail and lunging wherever it heard sound. Its last earthly accomplishment, before Sirius lopped its galline head off with a clean swipe of his sword, was to gouge its rage into James's shoulder with a talon that was sharper than his wits.

The wound it left was not deep, and it would heal before the sun arose tomorrow, but his inertia had no immediate solution. The beast had taken a full day to track, and James was tired. Bone tired. Too tired to tend to the dagger, or his sword, or the silver tipped arrows that rustled in the quiver on his back. He made a shoddy attempt at wiping the mud from his boots and hauled himself atop his horse with Sirius's admonishments wafting over his head, too lethargic to properly hear them.

No doubt he'd repeat them tomorrow. He almost always did.

The ride back to Thorney Pass was a quick one, barely five miles, but sitting upright and awake felt like a struggle until they reached the inn, blood-stained but victorious, with a monster's head swinging from Sirius's saddle, and were treated to a hero's welcome by the small number of townsfolk who had remained there to wait—without much hope, perhaps—for their return.

"Bed," he mouthed to Sirius amidst the hubbub, and his brother nodded his understanding. It would be Sirius who collected their payment from the town elder and saw to it that the horses were settled for the night this time, while James retreated to their lodgings to rest. The inn was one of the nicer establishments in town, and their room a cosy space with two plush feather beds and a spacious copper bathtub, which the innkeeper—recently widowed by the cockatrice, whose head he would now mount upon his wall—was only too happy to have filled. Once alone, James divested himself of his weapons and clothing and sank into the steaming water with a grateful sigh, eager to scrub the stench of death from his body before turning in for the night.

When he awoke, what must have been hours later, the water he lay in was cold and he was shivering, while Sirius slept soundly in one of the beds, his slow, even breathing lending the room an air of peace that their occupation so rarely allowed them to enjoy.

He had cleaned and polished James's dagger and sword; they lay on the low wooden table beneath the window, next to a neatly-folded pile of clothes that James had earlier cast off and strewn haphazardly about the room.

In the moonlight they gleamed pristinely, vivid in their splendour, siblings in slaughter, alert like living things.

James needed, he reflected, to start taking better care of his weapons.

And himself.

He needed to take better care of himself.

*

"I've lined up another job for us."

"Another one?"

"In Upper Hangleton."

"The place with the library?"

"Yes, Upper Hangleton," Sirius repeated through a mouthful of blood sausage. He cleared his throat when he swallowed and ran his tongue along his top set of teeth, checking for imperfections. "About a day's ride from here."

The words were innocuous, even expected, but they curdled in the ear like sour milk.

The inn was bustling that morning, and while James would have liked to attribute that solely to the excellent breakfasts that the innkeeper had presented them with, he had lived this precise situation enough times to know that he and Sirius were the attraction of the hour. Word of the cockatrice's death would have spread overnight, as it always did, and the townsfolk were as curious as townsfolk always were, crowding the inn in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the mysterious, travelling heroes who had saved them from the beast who stalked their homes. The attention that surrounded their booth was palpable enough to run a blade through, and it was a tale as old as time itself after ten years on the road. The disbelief and uncertainty that greeted them at every new location would soon give way to grateful, ardent fawning, to cheers and gifts and victory feasts, even to fathers who offered their maiden daughters as brides, and saw not how they were monsters in a rather different sense. Each town to which they were summoned became a copy of the one that went before it, after a fashion. Only the beasts would vary.

James's mother had once warned them both that consistent adulation could ruin a man who wasn't prepared to nurture a healthy sense of shame, and while his younger self had paid her no mind, lapping up praise like praise alone could keep him breathing, the man that he had become felt as if those very same words were stitched into his soul.

He was tired.

Not in body. He was twenty-seven years old, in excellent physical condition, and a healthy sleeper.

But the rest…

"We can't take another job, we're going home," he reminded Sirius. This had been their agreement when they consented to take on the cockatrice.

"Yeah, I know," Sirius agreed, his demeanour unconcerned, "and Upper Hangleton is on the way."

"Give or take a detour of about thirty miles."

"What's thirty miles in the grand scheme of things?"

"In the grand scheme of things," James growled through his teeth, gripping his knife as he sawed through his breakfast with vigour, "you promised that we were going home after this job, and the job's done. Now is when we go home."

"We will go home. Mother and Father aren't shuffling off the mortal coil just yet, they can wait a little longer to see us."

"Maybe they can, but I can't. I'm bloody exhausted."

"The letter arrived this morning, while you were still asleep; they must have heard that we were here." From within an inner pocket of his aged leather overcoat, Sirius withdrew a shortened sheet of parchment and placed it in the centre of the table. "From the library's custodian, no less."

James spared the letter a brief glance and resumed his frustrated attack on his bacon, which was cooked so well it was almost burned black, resting on a slab of thick, warm bread and creamy butter which had been freshly churned—or so the innkeeper assured him—that very morning. Just how he liked it. "I don't want to see some silly library."

"A library that houses the largest and most diverse collection of books in the country is not some silly library," his brother coolly retorted, "and the letter—"

"I don't care about the letter."

"Just read it, alright?" Sirius slapped his palm down on the letter with such emphasis that their tankards rattled, and pushed it towards James. "Read it and then make up your mind."

There was very little arguing with Sirius when he got the bit between his teeth, and James could have stormed off, but his breakfast was the price he'd pay for his desertion, and this might have been the last good meal he'd get to enjoy for days. Not every inn they frequented served up food of such a high standard.

He picked up the letter with a hearty scoff and skimmed it, swiftly bypassing the usual pleasantries, the writer's apologies for having disturbed them, and his description of the town, until…

Hah.

He looked up from the letter and searched his brother's face for the punchline, incredulous.

None came.

"A hellbeast," he flatly read aloud, in case he had imagined such stupidity. "You think a hellbeast is on the prowl in Upper Hangleton?"

Sirius crossed his arms beneath his chest and smirked.

"Can't be," James insisted.

"Could be."

"It can't."

"You're no fun. What kind d'you reckon it is?" his brother asked, ignoring his scepticism completely. His eyes were alight with the kind of excitement that only an unknown, potentially undefeatable enemy could stir within him. "A Cerberus? A Cù-Sith?"

"Yeah, you're right, what would I know? Could even be a Black Shuck," James dryly suggested, more interested in his breakfast than in entertaining this nonsense. He put the letter down and pushed it back across the table without finishing it. "Or it could be an overdramatic murderer who disguises their kills as the act of one of the rarest monsters in existence."

"Yeah, it could." His smirk undiminished, Sirius tapped the bottom half of the letter with two fingers. "But there was a witness, so eat up and let's get moving, princess."

He leaned back in his seat and threw a wink at some of the women who were watching them from the bar and in whom, James knew, he couldn't have been less interested, because that was just the kind of shit-eating git he was. Sirius wasn't interested in anyone, but they flocked to him in their droves, entranced by his pale, pouty-lipped beauty, by his inscrutability, and by the fantasy of capturing the heart of a handsome monster hunter. The most that anyone could hope to get was a night of indulgence in his body before he coolly sent them on their way, alongside their disappointed hopes. He had no appetite for romance and little capacity for affection; he loved the job, loved their parents, and loved James best of all, but that was all he had room for.

No more, no less.

But it certainly would have suited James much better if Sirius could love the job a little bit less.

"I need a break," he helplessly pointed out. There was no victory to be found here. Sirius would get his way, as Sirius always did. "We both agreed that we needed a break."

"But this is a hellbeast."

"It probably isn't!"

"And what if it is?" Sirius challenged. "And what would Mother say if she knew we'd ignored the summons?"

Knowing well what his mother would say, and not stupid enough to fall into that trap, James fixed him with a flat stare and shoved a hunk of bacon into his mouth.

"One more job. Just one. Then we'll go home for a few months," his brother wheedled, utterly unconvincing in his attempt to look sympathetic, so James continued to stare and chew and stare, and Sirius held up his hands as if in surrender. "We will, I mean it this time."

It was a pointless endeavour. An imminently wasteful journey.

There was no hellbeast in Upper Hangleton. Couldn't be.

But if there was…

Well, fuck.

Because what if there was?

"One of these days, Sirius," he sighed, slumping over his breakfast, weary with defeat. "One of these days I swear I'll kill you."

"Stop moaning," Sirius chided, and flashed his gleaming teeth. "You know you love it really."

James's response was to grumble wordlessly into his eggs.

*

As much as James would have preferred to return to London and sleep for a complete lunar cycle, whenever he committed to a job, he committed to that job.

There was no hellbeast in Upper Hangleton.

Of this much he was certain.

There was a beast to contend with, however, and it had claimed several lives, and that was enough.

So here he was, in Upper Hangleton, a small East Anglian town contained almost entirely within the outer fringes of a thick, expansive forest named Corvid Copse; a town so sleepy it was practically comatose; a town that had nothing of note to boast of but a library of some renown, and where nothing much of note had ever happened until now.

Here he was.

Committed.

The promise of a delicious supper from the widowed innkeeper had kept them in Thorney Pass for longer than expected, so they rode through the night and reached their destination the next morning, stopping first at the famed library to meet the man who had summoned them.

James came to realise, when they arrived, that he had expected quite a lot of the library without ever consciously considering it—marble statues or intricate paintings, or a great domed ceiling, perhaps, something grandiose to mark its reputation—and the medieval battlement that housed it was certainly imposing, but once inside, they found themselves confronted with a library that was a library in the most macabre sense, a library with thick stone walls, stone floors, and no windows to speak of. The crenelles which had been notched into the walls centuries back allowed for only draughts and meagre threads of natural light to struggle through, so fireplaces and long, tapered candles were doing most of the heavy lifting, and glass-encased lanterns were provided to those who wished to explore among the shelves, or stay and read a while.

It was with a low whistle that Sirius took one of the lanterns and promptly wandered off, leaving James to talk to the custodian. Speaking with the public was the only part of the job that Sirius didn't relish with a reverence that inched close to worship, but James could coax a conversation out of a tree if it took his fancy, and played the role of interviewer gladly.

The man's name was Remus Lupin, a tall and rather slight fellow with a closely cropped beard and light brown hair that fell to his chin. He looked to be around James and Sirius's age, which seemed young for a head custodian, but people had been saying that about them both since they first took up the sword at seventeen, so James was of no mind to assume that his capabilities were lacking.

Lupin also shared his scepticism in regards to the creature.

"I thought it all a bit far-fetched, to be frank, but Mrs Abbott insisted that she knows what she saw," he disclosed, having invited James to take a seat at his desk near the entrance. "There hasn't been one confirmed sighting of a genuine hellbeast in England in centuries, from what I could uncover, so at first I thought it more likely to be an Acromantula, perhaps even an Erymanthian boar, although goodness knows how one of those could have found its way to a place like this."

"You seem to know your monsters," James remarked, impressed.

"Oh, I don't particularly, this is all a result of some cursory research, after the first few attacks," admitted Lupin, shuffling through some papers that were littered across his desk. "Of course, that was when I assumed that the attacks would be more frequent, but as they are…" His fingers stilled over a sheet of parchment, upon which several notes had been written in a neat and precise hand, and he let out a short, sheepish breath of laughter. "My apologies, I forget who I'm talking to. You likely need my opinion on this matter about as much as I need yours on antique book restoration."

James grinned. "Is there much profit in antique book restoration?"

"I profit in spirit, if only that counted."

"If I knew how you could profit financially, I might have an opinion," James returned, with a laugh of his own. It was a shame that Sirius had wandered off; this bloke was sharp. "But I won't take offence if you want to share yours."

"That's quite alright, I shall leave the hypothesising to you, but I have written down the facts as I was given them, if that might prove useful." Lupin lifted his sheet of notes. "Unfortunately, there have been two more attacks in the time since I first wrote."

James reached out for the sheet of parchment and Lupin handed it over. "In one night?"

"One last night, another the night before, which makes for three consecutive attacks, the same as last time."

With a quick nod to indicate that he was listening, James read through Lupin's list of victims, leaning close to a flickering candle to better see.

First attack - Mr Clive and Mrs Elsie Bishop - night of May 4th or morning of May 5th - bodies discovered at Nethermere on the morning of May 5th

Second attack - Mr Aethelred Green - night of May 5th or morning of May 6th - body discovered at Nethermere on the afternoon of May 6th

Third attack - Master Alfred Nott - early morning of May 7th - attacked in the rose garden of Nott House, witnessed by Miss Margaret Nott from her bedroom window - the distance between the window and the rose garden is approximately 120 yards and the attack was witnessed in darkness - Miss Nott described the creature as dark and gigantic - body was left in the rose garden

Fourth attack - Mr Richard Abbott - night of June 3rd - taken by the beast while returning from the Old George, yards from his home on Thackery Lane, witnessed by Mrs Anne Abbott from the front door - witness described the creature as enormous and dark with sharp claws and glowing red eyes, claims that it was speaking in demonic tongues - creature used its mouth to drag the victim away as he struggled - body located at Nethermere on the morning of June 4th

Fifth attack - Miss Winifred Calvert - night of June 4th or early morning of June 5th - body discovered on southern forest trail to Nethermere on the morning of June 5th

Sixth attack - Mr Archie Faircroft - night of June 5th or early morning of

James looked up at Lupin, who was watching him closely. "This one is unfinished?"

"I was updating it as you arrived," he said, "but there wasn't anything new to report. It seems that every victim was taken whilst outdoors, despite the curfew we've enacted, because there were no signs of struggle in any of their homes, and the body was found at Nethermere like the majority of the others, in much the same state as the rest."

"And what state was that precisely?"

"Ripped apart." Lupin's voice was impassive, but one hand was resting sideways on his desk, and the fingers that curled tightly into his palm told a different story. Whatever he may have been feeling, he saw the importance of a dispassionate retelling of facts. Too often, James and Sirius were confronted with witnesses on the verge of hysteria, witnesses who misremembered and exaggerated their experiences. That may still have happened with Miss Nott and Mrs Abbott, but Lupin had at least attempted to condense them into a form that made logical sense. "Limbs missing. Chunks torn from flesh. Bloodless," he added, with a slight, barely perceptible shudder. "Completely bloodless."

"Can I grab that quill?"

"Go ahead."

James, who never seemed to have a quill on him, reached over the desk, plucked Lupin's from its inkpot, gave it a quick shake and scribbled some fresh notes in his own, untidy scrawl. Dismembered. Drained. Consumed. "And Nethermere is?"

"The lake. It's a popular beauty spot with the locals for fishing, bathing, picnicking and such—at least it was—located about a mile from here if you take the western forest trail."

"Does the southern trail also lead to the lake?"

"It does, although it takes a little longer."

"And Nott House." Common kill site. Den? Ritualistic? "Is that close to Nethermere?"

"Nott House is an estate in itself," Lupin explained. "The front of the house overlooks the lake, but from the opposite bank. Alfred was…" His jaw twitched, then tightened resolutely, and he directed his gaze towards something to the left of James's shoulder. "His death was a particular shame. He was only fifteen years old, you see. Had a sweetheart in town, Jenny Smith, and we think he may have been sneaking out to see her, which would explain why he was in the rose garden. He often brought her flowers."

"Are you close with the family?"

"In a sense," he said quietly. His efforts to curb his emotions concerning the child's murder seemed to have won out, but barely. "I was his tutor for a time, and the family trusts me—more than they trust the parish constabulary, in any case. The Notts are responsible for paying your fare, in fact. The constabulary is under the impression that it can get to the bottom of the matter without outside interference, but there isn't much confidence in their ability to do so, and the Notts want to know what killed their son."

James cast his mind back over his and Sirius's overnight ride to Upper Hangleton, and to the way the star-dotted, inky black sky had looked when Sirius pointed out Canis Major, as he was frequently wont to do.

He wrote one final note at the bottom of the page.

"So they asked you to hire us?" he asked Lupin.

"When the attacks began again and it became clear that the constabulary were out of their depth, yes, they'd learned that you were nearby and asked me to write, along with several other neighbours and friends."

"Right," said James, scrunching his nose to one side. "You seem to have a lot of people relying on you considering, well…" He gestured across the desk. "Unless you're a centuries-old alchemist with the secret to eternal youth, surely you're a bit young for all of that?"

Lupin's mouth twitched like he wanted to smile. "I had my twenty-seventh birthday in the spring."

"When exactly?"

"March."

"I had my twenty-seventh birthday in March."

Lupin pointed to his own chest. "The 10th. You?"

"The 27th," James returned, and they exchanged upwards nods in the way that people often did when acknowledging that common ground had been discovered, no matter how inconsequential the similarity might have been. "Mind you, I don't doubt your capability at all, but is it not a bit unusual for a man our age to perform duties that a town elder would usually take on?"

"Well, my father was the town elder for fifteen years," said Lupin, "and very popular, but he passed away in the autumn and afterwards it seemed to fall to me to shoulder his burdens, somehow."

"I see."

"They still haven't appointed another elder, so it seems that the matter is settled," Lupin continued, candlelight dancing across his freckled face, "though I'm sure that if they did, I'd miss the qualifying mark by a solid thirty years."

"The only reward for competence is more work," quoted James.

"I've never heard it put that way before, but you're quite right."

"Can't take credit for that nugget of wisdom; it's something my mother always says. I'm quite daft, really."

"Monster hunting expertise aside?"

"That aside, yeah. My genius is confined to killing manticores and ghouls." He patted the scabbard that hung from his belt. Contained within was his sword, buffed and polished with a devotion and expertise that James did not deserve any credit for. "We'll get rid of that problem for you easily enough, by the by. The last kill site hasn't been cleaned up yet, has it?"

Lupin's gaze lingered on the sword's pommel for a few moments, then he shook his head.

"No," he said. "The constabulary sent volunteers to clean during the first spate of attacks but the Notts have exerted their considerable influence to prevent that from happening, so you'll find the way clear for an examination."

"Perfect. We'll make our way there once my brother returns from his travels."

"Quite right," said Lupin tightly, his attention falling to the sword pommel once again. "I'm sorry to ask, but…is that Haphaestan-forged?"

He did look sorry about it, sorry and uncomfortable to have dared to ask a simple question, which was really quite funny, but James didn't want to insult his hospitality by laughing at him.

He bent forwards and placed the quill back into the inkpot instead. "My sword?"

"If that was rude, I apologise, I just—"

"Nah, it's not. Their guild in Tower Hamlets handles all of our weapons, actually. Well spotted."

"Ah," said Lupin on a breath. Possibly a relieved breath. "I thought I recognised the maker's mark."

"They're the best around."

"So I've heard. And is—is the blade inlaid with silver?"

"See for yourself, if you want," he said, rising to his feet to withdraw the weapon from its scabbard and place it lengthways on the desk.

He would not have done it if his new acquaintance hadn't seemed such a decent sort, and probably shouldn't have done it regardless—Sirius certainly would have told him off for it, were he not neck deep in dusty tomes in an attempt to escape human contact—but it felt like the right decision, and the immediate, almost childlike excitement that sprang up in Lupin's eyes from the moment the blade tasted air and he sprang to his own feet, leaning forwards to bring his face closer to the sword, his hands braced on either end of the desk, felt gratifying in the same way it was gratifying whenever James made his brother laugh so hard he spurted ale out of his nose.

More gratifying than killing something with it, in any case.

"It's a fine weapon," Lupin breathed, openly drinking in the sight of it. "Excellent craftsmanship. Damascened in silver, yes?"

James nodded. "Some of master Ollivander's finest work, that."

"What's the story behind the scene depicted?"

"No idea," James admitted, staring down at the central panels on the blade, which depicted a stag and doe together amongst the woodlands. "Ollivander doesn't take suggestions, he crafts a sword that 'best befits you' and won't tell you why."

"And it handles well? Good balance?"

"It handles beautifully." A rather reckless thought occurred to him. "D'you want to swing it at something?"

For a moment, Lupin looked up at James as if all his birthdays had come at once, but there was an ominous creak, and suddenly the library's entrance hall was bathed in brilliant sunshine. Someone had thrown the door open on the perpetual twilight which seemed to exist within this odd building, someone who snapped the custodian's spine into a ramrod straight position in an instant, as if the very desk he was leaning over had spontaneously burst into flame.

"Miss Booth," he muttered faintly, looking rather as if his face had burst into flame as well.

Ah.

The glance James tossed over his shoulder was rather pointless, as the sunlight made it impossible to make out much beyond the visitor's silhouette, but he didn't need to see her properly to know that she would be pretty. For most living, breathing mortals, there was no better distraction from an item of importance than that of a pretty face, though Sirius would claim otherwise and James had learned to form an immunity against silly romantic notions years ago. This Miss Booth proved his theory right within seconds by advancing upon the desk as the door creaked shut with a lilting, "morning, Remus," and a bust swathed tightly in a cunning yellow bodice, her dark hair falling to her waist and catching the candlelight like a waterfall of silk.

She was, as expected, very pretty.

And as for the custodian, he was fortunate that his blush was shielded by the return of semi-darkness, but the sword was quite forgotten.

"Good morning," he managed to return without a stammer. "What a pl—what a surprise to see you back so soon."

Miss Booth slipped a book—The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling—from beneath her arm and placed it on the desk. If she was taken aback to see a sword there, it did not show in her face.

"Oh, I know," she sighed her agreement, "but Mama simply couldn't put it down. I think it's these monsters that have been prowling about, you know? She can't sleep a wink for worrying, and when she can't sleep, she reads. Voraciously."

All of this she said without a whit of concern in her tone, as if her mother's panic was more ridiculous than it was relatable. Either she was naive enough to think she had nothing to fear from a creature that had already murdered seven others, or she was a seasoned monster killer herself, and she certainly wasn't that. James would have known her if she was.

"She'll rest easier soon, with any luck." Lupin gestured to James. "Our monster hunters have arrived."

James nodded at Miss Booth, whose coolly appraising eyes swept over his entire person before she smiled politely.

"Is there more than one of you?" she asked him.

He gestured towards the endless rows of dark and shadowy bookshelves in response. "He's looking at books."

"Well, you're both fortunate to have Remus as your guide to Upper Hangleton," she gushed, turning a much warmer, far more genuine smile on Lupin. Perhaps his obvious affections were not entirely unreturned. "He certainly made Mama and I feel very welcome indeed."

"You're a newcomer too?"

"Not so much a newcomer now," said Lupin quickly. "I don't think?"

"Mama and I moved here in March," she explained to James without looking at him, holding Lupin's gaze throughout. "We took that lovely old cottage by the wishing well at the end of Baker's Lane, though it was left in such a state that we've had quite a time fixing it up, but we're feeling quite at home now, and Mama loves the library, of course."

Lupin nodded along to every word she said. His whole body was as rigid as a board. "Does she want another book?"

"She would like another by the same author, if he wrote any?"

"He did, he did." He spared a brief glance at the scramble of papers on his desk and made a hasty attempt to sweep some of them into a neat pile, which must have been a hard job, given that he could hardly take his eyes off the woman in yellow. "I almost—I should have put it aside for you, really, but I didn't expect you for another few days, so I'll just fetch it now."

"Oh, no, I'm sure I can find it!"

Lupin stopped gathering his papers and held up a placatory hand. "No, please, I know precisely where it is, I'll be back in a tick."

"Only if you're sure?"

"I'm certain."

Miss Booth cocked her head to one side, practically preening. "You are such a darling, Remus."

With a couple more nods, some blustery words and an awkward attempt to move away from his chair without catching his foot behind the leg of the desk, or something equally disastrous, Lupin grabbed hold of a lantern and retreated in the same direction that Sirius had gone earlier.

"If you see my brother skulking around," James called after him, "tell him to get his arse back here, would you?"

The custodian waved a hand to indicate that he had heard this instruction, then he turned behind a bookcase and vanished into the dark. This left James alone with Miss Booth, who rocked a little on her heels and hummed Bessy Bell and Mary Gray under her breath, evidently quite at ease, so he picked up his sword and sheathed it. If Lupin couldn't fetch Sirius, James would sniff him out himself. It was high time for them to get going and inspect the murder site, which would potentially confirm if James's current suspicions were true.

"You're very handsome," said Miss Booth all of a sudden.

James stared at her.

She stared back in the same serene, appraising way in which she had first looked at him—not cold, but not particularly warm either—as if he were an antique chalice that needed to be valued. It was an observation, not a flirtation, and James had been told that he was handsome by young women quite a few times in his life, but never with what seemed to be so evident a design to gain absolutely nothing from the interaction.

"Er," he said. "Thank you?"

"Of course, a monster hunter really should be handsome, don't you think?" she pondered aloud, ostensibly to herself, toying with a pendant that hung from a thin silver chain around her slender neck. "There's a certain romance that lends itself to the profession—from the outside looking in, at least. I imagine the reality of the job is quite a lot of pissing in bushes and lurking around in swamps, no?"

If he weren't so used to the various shocks and surprises that the job she was describing entailed, James might have done a double take.

Young ladies—or at least, the young ladies he had met—did not talk to strangers about things like pissing in bushes.

"Rescuing pretty damsels in distress must be the upside to it all, however," she continued without waiting for an answer. "Are you fond of helpless maidens? I imagine there are quite a few of those here in town, should you wish to indulge your desires."

Amusement was rolling into her voice like an oncoming wave, her lips picking up slightly at the corners to form the barest suggestion of a smirk, as though she and he both were in on a joke together. Or as though she took pleasure in making others uncomfortable. James certainly didn't feel at ease with this sudden and familiar line of questioning.

"Not really my type," he muttered.

She barely blinked an eyelash. "Helpless gents, then?"

"I like maidens just fine," he stonily responded. What business was it of hers? Furthermore, why was he answering her questions? "It's the helpless part that doesn't really appeal."

Women who were in need of rescuing from every minor setback (or, as he occasionally encountered, women who pretended to be in need of rescuing) were considered quite a treat amongst many who took up the sword, but they'd never appealed to James because he'd never been given the chance to find them appealing. There had never and would never be a greater, more accomplished monster hunter than his mother, Euphemia, who even in her retirement was famous and revered, and she had trained him in her trade since he was old enough to walk. As a mother, James adored her, as a hunter, he strove for her approval, and as a woman, he admired her far too much to have ever sought out the opposite for himself. There was nothing to despise or disrespect about a girl who did not share his mother's strength and self-reliance, but the ones he'd fancied in his youth were never helpless. His mother was not helpless.

Maitane certainly hadn't been helpless.

Not until the end.

"That's very reassuring," came Miss Booth's enigmatic response, her necklace twinkling in the candlelight as she twisted it back and forth. "And here's Remus! That was quick!"

Her demeanour changed instantly as Lupin jogged back to the desk with a vellum-bound book clasped in his hand, her sly amusement melting away in favour of a warm, almost adoring smile, and with such ease that it set James's instincts to prickling. Something about this woman wasn't quite right, but it wasn't his job to worry over why people acted the way they did, it was his job to dispose of monsters.

Which he needed to hop to, once Sirius reappeared.

"You were so kind to get this for me, thank you," she cooed at the custodian, who pressed the book into her outstretched fingers a little breathlessly, as if he had run to fetch it.

"Not a problem at all. Your brother is choosing some books to borrow," he added for James's benefit as he set his lantern down, "and then he'll be out."

James harrumphed between his teeth. "Trust him to worry about books when we have a mass murdering monster to kill."

"More than one monster now, I suppose," Miss Booth airily remarked.

Both men stared at her.

"Well, didn't you hear?" She clutched the book to her stomach and blinked at Lupin with wide, innocent eyes when he shook his head. "Mr Pettigrew's been insisting that he saw a demon in the forest."

Lupin's brows drew together above the centre of his nose. "Peter's back?"

Miss Booth nodded. "He got back yesterday. Apparently he fancied a stroll to the lake and saw a demon performing some sort of sacrificial ritual on Miss Calvert's remains on his way there, so he ran the whole way back to his house."

"When did you hear this?"

"In the post office, not fifteen minutes ago. He's telling anyone who'll listen."

"I didn't—Peter is a friend, but he's been in York for at least six weeks because his mother was gravely ill," said Lupin to James, looking stricken. "I didn't know her address or I'd have written to warn him. I had no idea that he was coming home so soon."

James narrowed his eyes on Lupin's face. "He's not the type to hear of a beast on the prowl and let his imagination run away with him, is he?"

He could have asked if Lupin's friend was the type who made up lies for attention, because that was what he really wanted to know, but that kind of honest questioning generally didn't go down well with even the most helpful witnesses, particularly where their friends and loved ones were concerned.

A demon, of all things.

There was no demon in Upper Hangleton, just as there was no hellbeast. That didn't mean that Mr Pettigrew had not seen something else, but James was not particularly in the mood to waste his own time if all the man had seen was a nosy villager with an interest in grisly murder scenes.

But Lupin merely shook his head. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

Bugger.

"And he's in the post office now?" asked James, addressing Miss Booth this time.

She shrugged. Not even a trace of her earlier, burgeoning smugness remained in her attractive, olive-skinned face, nor was there so much as a whisper of worry. Apparently, demons and monsters both were no match for this peculiar woman and her teasing sense of humour. "I imagine he's left by now, but he mentioned to the postie that he was heading right home."

Lupin snatched his quill from the inkpot and turned over a sheet of parchment that was covered in notes of some kind. "Peter lives on Kings Road, about a quarter mile east of here," he said, sketching out a crude map of the area, hunching over the desk as his hand flew across the back of the parchment. "If you cross the bridge near the post office and head south, his is the house with the hawthorn tree in the garden."

After a moment or two he straightened up, folded the parchment in half and handed it to James, who took it from him and tucked it into his belt.

"My brother and I will talk to Mr Pettigrew before we examine the kill site, and we'll report back to you as soon as we can," he promised the custodian. "In fact, I should go and find him now, or else we won't see him again before daylight."

Lupin gestured for him to take up the lantern he'd laid down. "Good luck, and thank you for taking on the case."

"My pleasure." He picked up the lantern and nodded his polite farewell at the woman. "Mr Lupin. Miss Booth."

Miss Booth dipped into a neat little curtsey. "James."

He turned away and headed into the dark.

[narutothoughts]

Au where sasuke brings his brother back to the village and Naruto thinks he’s been in a relationship with Itachi for years.

But when they never once kiss or have sex naruto gets anxious as fuck that there’s something wrong with him or that itachi lost interest a long time ago and has stayed with him to spare his feelings/ not embarrass him.

He even briefly wonders if their whole relationship is a ploy for itachi to reintegrate in the village better but he knows itachi better than that. Can feel the longing in his chakra. But they’re already in a relationship so what exactly is he longing for?

And why doesn’t he act on it?

Naruto refuses to push him into something he might not want to do or insist on it but maybe a little…nudge would work?

So Naruto gets some lacy clothes, lies down on his bed with just the sheet covering him, and waits for itachi to inevitably come looking for him.

when itachi finds him he stares for a long second, chakra rippling with something, then turns around and closes the door wordlessly.

It’s enough to make Naruto’s breath catch as a heaving sob breaks its way past his lips. His whole body bows with it because itachi really doesn’t want him.

He was such an idiot. Of course he doesn’t want Naruto of all people.

———

Meanwhile, itachi has had a crush on his little brothers friend for a very long time now and wishes beyond all things that he could have him.

But Naruto is endlessly kind (of course he is, who else would have mercy on a returned clan killer and befriend them of all things?) and itachi refuses to tarnish that and risk what he already has

So he ignores his own feelings and lets himself do as naruto wishes but nothing more. That doesn’t mean he never seeks him out though.

When he finally locates Naruto in his apartment, itachi wasn’t ready to see him in bed wearing lingerie with a flush high on his cheeks…waiting for someone.

Itachi wants to kill whoever it was that managed to get Naruto’s attention like this. Wants to pluck their eyes out like one of his summons and squeeze their liver with his bare hands as blood streams down their undeserving face

But he doesn’t.

He just closes the bedroom door stiffly and forces himself to walk away from the perfection that just graced his eyes.

He regrets not having the sharingan on when he went in, but they’re certainly on now. The bloodlust makes it feel impossible to turn them off.

Whoever got Naruto to lay in bed for them like this, got him blushing like a young bride on her wedding night so damn eager to please with the white lace making the hard edges and sharp lines of muscle look soft and fragile and so so easy to bruise—whoever made naruto wait alone in his empty room—Itachi was going to kill them.

He would hunt them for sport. Make them so dizzy from genjutsu they won’t be able to remember their own name let alone all the ways Naruto allowed their unworthy eyes to see him. Feel him.

They already lived longer than they deserved. Even a glance from Naruto is all the love a man was entitled to and then some. If they died tomorrow no one could say they didn’t live life well. They got to see Naruto looking like that after all. For Kami knows how long or how many times. They were a dead man walking, of that itachi was certain.

But who was it? Kakashi? Tenzo? One of those damned Konoha 12 brats?

Was it sasuke?

Well if it was…he already spared him once didn’t he?

He can’t be expected to do it all the time is he?

itachi hears a sob behind him and his thoughts abruptly go silent.

nothing in the world could have stopped him from opening that bedroom door again

[novashelby]

Adjustment-Jonathan Crane x Reader

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader Warning: spanking Word Count: 711 Summary: Dr. Crane hates his students and one needs a little adjustment. Thank you for playing! Just one more drabble to go.

He hated having to teach a general education course. Psych. 101. It was pathetic for a man of his ranking to get stuck in such a predicament. He hated them. All of them. That was his thought one day leaving class with his briefcase in hand. Dr. Crane looked over the sea of students, hurrying out for their weekend fun. The girls. Fresh and doe eyed. They were the fucking worse. So snobby, sitting there in their small outfits, chewing on their pens. Thought they were so smart for just doing the bare minimum. As he reached the door that day, one called his name and from then, she was the biggest pest. 

In his office near the end of term, she came in with her report. “It’s due tomorrow,” he said, looking over his own work, hardly acknowledging her. “You don’t get extra credit-”

“No!” she spoke up, nervously. He sighed, looking up at her, pushing his classes back up. “Actually, I was hoping you could look at-”

“And give you special, undivided attention?” he asked, a bit condescendingly. He stood, his chair screeching against the floor. She swallowed, backing a bit up towards the bookcase. Jonathan slowly walked over, plucking the report from her fingers and slowly looked over it. 

“You don’t have to-”

“It’s the standard,” he said, looking up at her and when her eyes raised, pleased. “Of the class. Low level, unspecial, simple minded, and mediocre. I can’t wait to suffer through all one hundred and eight this weekend.” She frowned and sighed. 

“You know,” she said, reaching around and grabbing her paper. “For psychologists, you’re quite unhappy and miserable. Have you thought about exploring the other side of the therapist clip board?” Before she could walk out, he felt some build up inside. He grabbed her arm and spun her around, forcing her to lean against his desk. She yelped about to protest when his hand went around her neck. 

Jonathan pressed up against her. “And if you want anything more than mediocre D, you’ll reexamine your entitled attitude.” He smiled slightly, feeling her heart rate race against his fingers. He pressed a little more. 

In a hoarse voice, she said, “and if you don’t want me to go to the Dean, make me.” 

He let go of her neck and waited for her to take the next step. She grinned, tossing her paper to the ground and pushed down her tight leggings to her ankles. “Maybe I need some old fashioned correcting?” Reaching over, she grabbed the wooden ruler and pressed it against his chest before hoisting herself over the desk. 

Jonathan felt himself tighten in his pants watching her be so eager to please him. Which in return, made him hate her a little less. Stroking his ego, he actually found her redeemable. He stepped forward, fingers hooking around her panty hem. “And if you’re going to be punished, how do you expect the full effects with your underwear on, hm?” He pulled them down under her ass and raised the ruler, landing it hard enough to cause a snap.

He expected her to cry out, but was pleasantly intrigued when nothing, but a long, sweet moan slipped her lips. “I guess we will be here all night, hm? You seem to be enjoying it too much. That’s no good for punishments.”

She looked over her shoulder, and grinned, “the spank me harder…like a real man.” His face hardened, his ego shriveling. 

Jonathan threw the ruler down next to her and roughly grabbed her by the neck, flipping her on her back. He leaned over her, squeezing as he got real low in her ear. “I don’t know what sense of entitlement you were granted, but it ends here. Understand me? I may look like someone that you can run over with your shitty antics, but I’ve made criminals go insane. So, I suggest if you want to leave this office with nothing more than a bruised ass and an orgasm, you keep your little mouth fucking shut. Are we clear?” 

“What if I want to go insane? What if I’m sick of being so conformed?”

Jonathan released her throat and pinched her chin, “you wouldn’t last a day.”

“Try me, Dr. Crane.”

[twistedbloodstain]

vincent de gramont x historian!reader: spring breaks loose, but so does fear | sweetness and bitterness within

plot: the one where the both of you are within your walls.

warnings: marquis is different here to canon, expect oc behavior but like all fics he’s gonna be cruel museum worker! reader, entitled af french boi, unreliable sibling relationships/dynamics

masterlist

the rain pattered against the glass windows, ringing through the empty halls of the museum. you sat there deep in thought in front of your desk while the storm raged outside. the moon that had look delicately beautiful earlier had disappeared when flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder replaced the serene scenery, you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here but surely it hasn’t been that long.

where was he? he should be here by now, you pondered.

a knock snaps you out of your thoughts.

“ma’am?” your assistant calls out as he peeks his head through the door.

you look back at him but your lips stay still, not making a word but silently urging him to continue with the rise of an eyebrow.

“he’s here again, requesting a private viewing,” he informs.

oh. you almost forgot about that.

the constant visitor of the museum for the past few weeks was none other than the eccentric and affluent, marquis de gramont. recently, he frequented the museum for a private viewing for some of the rarest and beautiful pieces of art in french history. not that you’re complaining since he paid good money for his private viewings but his persistent requests to have a historian around him, explaining what the intricate histories and symbols drawn beneath the surface were an inconvenience sometimes.

truthfully, there’s no bad conversation with him. you’re quite eager to answer any additional questions or arguments he imposes upon you but judging by the exhibition of his wealth and power, don’t they teach these things to nobility at a young age?

you pull your feet up and drag them towards the door, your assistant gives you a weary smile knowing how long your discussions with the marquis would usually go, for hours on end. 

the walk to the private room was filled with footsteps, your previous thoughts emerging once again. your brother.

 he was supposed to be here to join you for lunch but he hadn’t shown up. lunches shared with the both of you were also your bonding and catch up time but as of late he missed at least four lunches in six weeks. you could understand that maybe it was just his busy schedule but the fewer times you saw him, he seemed anxious and jumpy with sweat beading on his forehead. as if he was always in a hurry, you consistently persisted in the lunches in an effort to get him to open up his problems with you, after all what are siblings for?

you approach the door cautiously, taking a deep breath to polish your mind before stepping into the role of gracious historian, a person that’s ready to deal with the marquis.

entering the room with an eager smile on your face, you greet the marquis who was sitting on a plush white leather couch, donning another dark blue suit with a jacket and tie to finish the look. he doesn’t offer any greeting in reply and comments on your lateness right away.

“you took a while to get here, mademoiselle.” he mutters, checking his watch.

“i apologize for my tardiness sir, i had matters to attend to.” you force a smile. he stares at you carefully, an amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips before waving it off.

“let’s get started then.”

the marquis is a difficult person to impress, especially in keeping him engaged in a conversation. more often than not you find yourself exerting a lot of information out of your brain just to keep up with him. you don’t know why you always push yourself to be somewhat superior to him in terms of knowledge but perhaps that’s just what his aura demands of you.

“and that is the final painting for your private viewing today, sir.” you recite familiar lines you’ve been saying for the past six weeks, “are there any questions you have in mind?”

he eyes the painting cryptically before glancing at you and shaking his head, looking somewhat satisfied with the answers you’ve given him. you smile at him once again before speaking.

“if you require any refreshments or desire to make an appointment in the future, enzo will take care of it. thank you for coming to the louvre, sir.” you bow your head before leaving, knowing that the marquis liked to be alone.

once you make it back to the office, you see your phone light up and vibrate. you immediately make a beeline for it and before the ringing ends, unfortunately the call ends before you could answer it but a wave of messages floods your inbox, all from your brother telling you he was at the entrance of the museum.

you hurriedly run out of your office straight to the entrance when you see a faint silhouette by the large doors. you call his name out and he turns to face you, a faint smile on his lips.

”where were you? i’ve been waiting for you the entire day, are you alright?” you immediately assume the worst and begin to fret over your dearest younger brother, gripping his shoulders and checking his face for any possible injuries.

your brother is a good person. you know that. you watched him grow, you watched him become the man he is now but still a small whisper remains in the back of your mind that you are losing him to something , and you can’t do anything to help it.

you can feel it. it  started with the distance and excuses, how every single word that leaves his mouth feels less and less genuine and more like a set of lies meant to calm you down. you want to help him but he won’t let you.

”i’m fine, i just got caught up at work.” he verbally reassures you but pulls away from your touch. you bite your tongue from asking more, afraid of scaring him away. a fight is not what you need right now.

”oh…um” you mumble, taking a small step away from him, feeling your insides crush to the lack of familial warmth from a brother. he stands there unfazed by your movements, the small smile gone in front of you. instead, an uneasiness replaces his eyes and stares at the ground, seemingly too busy to deal with your emotions right now.

“do you want to have dinner together? i know this nice sushi place downtown.” you eagerly offer, his mouth opens to reply but a brief hesitation takes place.

”i can’t.” he replies.

“why?” you ask, annoyance in your tone.

”work, as usual.” he states with a humorless chuckle, worry still present in his face, “i’m here for a favor.”

“what is it? did you get in trouble? you know you can tell me anything right?” you gasp.

“no! no! i just need to borrow some money for this month’s rent. my new job doesn’t pay until the end of the month, my landlord said i’m way overdue for the past three months and he’s gonna kick me out if i don’t pay within this week.”

a silence takes over the conversation as your process the information you are given right now. the excuse feels flimsy and careless.

money isn’t really an issue for you right now. you’re not insanely rich but you are financially stable, yet you feel uncertain about giving your brother money. your brother’s landlord, a strict but yet a sweet old man often texts you whether or not your brother has paid his rent in each month and so far you’ve received no messages from him lately. 

”oh..yeah sure. it’s no problem, i can send it to you later.” you smile for his comfort, making yourself feel approachable to your own blood.

monitoring your sibling’s rent status is definitely odd but with what you’re dealing with right now, to be completely honest you’re just making sure your brother’s alright, there’s nothing wrong with that.

”come on in, it’s raining outside.” you grab his arm and pull him in.

”no, seriously, it's alright. you might have some people inside-“

”it’s closing time, at least sit inside and wait for me, please?” you plead.

”okay, i’ll wait for you.” he smiles.

”good, because if i have to deal with another stubborn asshole under this roof, i’m going to lose my mind.” your brother chuckles and takes a seat by the door.

”dinner’s on me.” he adds, wiping the raindrops gathered on his forehead.

“on you? you can’t even pay your rent!” you jest.

”it was a one time thing!”

the amusement slowly dies down when you hear a large number of footsteps echoing through the halls, the door opens and it reveals the marquis. you immediately straighten up and face his direction, slipping in the professional manner that he is accustomed to.

”good evening, sir.” you greet.

the marquis doesn’t reply but instead whispers an instruction to his guards which they nod to and walk ahead of him. the marquis approaches you carefully, briefly eyeing you before glancing at the person behind you.

”it is quite late, don’t you think?” he starts.

”ah, yes it is. the night staff and i are closing the museum for the night, we were simply waiting for your departure. perhaps, you enjoyed your private viewings much longer than usual, sir.”

”you cannot fault me for that, miss. what hangs on the walls of this establishment is history, glory and beauty wrapped in one.”

”that we agree on.” you reply, “will you be here tomorrow? at the same time?” he looks at you again.

”for what reason are you asking?” he raises an eyebrow.

“so enzo and i can immediately arrange for your appointment and room, sir.” 

he pauses and a silence takes place, his eyes wander all over your face trying to see something through you. you keep your gaze on him, composed and calm. as it should be. you get a feeling he relishes on weakness especially people who have a lower pay grade than him or maybe that’s just how he is with everyone.

narcissism was a major takeaway you observed from the marquis the first time you met him, quite self-centered might you add and somewhat snobbish but then again his attention is not something to be exhilarated about.

”yes, miss. i will be here tomorrow.” a small smirk curves his lips.

”you are quite fond of the art around here.” you start.

”yes, what of it?”

”how come you never bought any of it? i’ve heard from a few auction houses that you have quite the art collection. i’m sure it is much more convenient for you, having the art within the comfort of your home.” you reason to him.

more reason to see him less in your life. you think.

“you are not wrong in that. it would be much more convenient.” he agrees.

so buy it then.

”if that’s the case, i must inform you that there are plans to auction that rembrandt you are so eagerly fond of, perhaps you might be interested in joining?”

”i will have to turn that down, miss. as much as i enjoy the comfort of my home, i appreciate the aura of the louvre, it brings a sense of fulfillment and eagerness to me. i would be a fool to rob myself of that. also, the people around here are not so bad.” his eyes rake over your frame carefully, you wonder if he’s looking at your brother. 

you look back and surprisingly no ones there. you shake it off when you hear a car engine nearby.

”oh, well it doesn’t hurt to try.” you begin to walk towards the door and he follows, outside his car sits with a bodyguard on standby waiting for him.

”i appreciate your service, miss. my private viewings have never been a dull moment during your enlightenments.” you lower you’re head slightly at him with a polite smile.

“i, as well must thank you for your service and approach. i tend to enjoy the art much more than when i am with myself.” the marquis remarks, extending his hand towards you.

”my pleasure, sir.” you respond as you shake his hand.

and it’s warm.

”will you be requiring a ride home? i am more than happy to offer it to you.” he offers when you pull your hand away from him.

”thank you for the offer sir but i will be here for later hours.” you retort.

“i do not mind staying here for a little longer.” he insists, you notice his line of sight eye your hand that shook his hand earlier. the cold rainy breeze must have taken control of the warmth of your palms and the marquis could have noticed the coldness of your hand. the marquis fidgets with his right hand as if it was itching to do something.

”it is not needed sir, i am more than capable of bringing myself home.” you state firmly.

”nonsense. i’ll send a car for you. it would be unfortunate if my favorite art historian was harmed in any possible way, how will i survive my viewings?” he urges with amusement in his tone but once again not wanting to back down.

”i would hate to waste your time and effort sir-“ you politely refuse again.

”it is late and unsafe for a woman of your caliber to be alone in the streets of the city. you will not have a choice in this, mademoiselle.” he states firmly this time as his voice hardens and makes it clear it’s not an offer.

it’s a command.

the marquis’ attention is not to be relished on. in this private viewings, the both of you have always maintained a polite and professional demeanor between client and host although there was some casual conversation here and there but you’ve never outright refused him, desiring to keep his temper from exploding and having his unpredictability in your space.

the marquis always gets his way. having private viewings at any time he desires with whatever piece of art he decides to have his eye on and more importantly taking up your time whenever he comes by at the louvre.

in the recent months you’ve spent with him, compliance is all he knows from you so it’s not unlikely that it’s easy for him to shut you down at the first hint of refusal. not to mention, he does not hesitate at confrontation. any small slight against him is somewhat remembered the next time you meet him.

complaints about making him wait slightly longer than usual for his viewings, comments about the apparently poor maintenance of the paintings  and your tardiness to attend to him are the most prominent experiences you remember from him.

the marquis feels entitled to everything within the walls of the louvre.

and that includes you.

another entitled rich snob that thinks he understands art more than you do is not a first time experience, but his insistence of having you brought home because of him somehow brings a chill to your spine.

entitled rich snobs can come to your work any time and however they like but the moment they try to step into your life, well it’s time to push them back. you have no interest in them unless it’s something to do with your job.

unfortunately, you don’t have the strength to do that right now.

“next time.” you think to yourself, “but never again.”

you back down and thank the marquis for this offer as his body guard opens the door to his vehicle, he flashes a small but pleased smile for your gratitude and bids you a safe trip home.

you return a smile at him and watch him leave until his car disappears from where you stand. exhaustion settles back into your nerves when you realized how late it is again.

oh and your brother.

christ. give me strength to deal with this tomorrow.

you sigh and walk back inside to close up.

later, when you get dropped off by the driver assigned to you, doubt starts to creep into your senses whether or not you told the driver where you live. after thanking him and shutting the door, you tilt your head idly at the car and think deep and hard.

”did you or did you not?” you ponder.

groaning heavily you shake it off as exhaustion for your lack of remembrance.

still weird though.

author’s note: kickstarting another series when i’m still not done with four reqs and one series…anyways enjoy and please feel free to like and reblog!

[midnight-black2]

dom!reader x farleigh that begs to touch

her— like he’s so needy he literally cries if he can’t and basically he’s a super mega munch !

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅

pairing : farleigh start x reader

synopsis : farleigh has to be able to keep his hands to himself for a night in order to reap pleasurable rewards

disclaimers : smut, sub!farleigh, dom!reader, fem!reader, whiny!farleigh, reward..system...? (is this a warning? idk but i'm putting it anyway), p in v (pretend there's a condom k?), fast-paced

note : y'all i hope this isn't ooc bc i made him like very whiny and needy but...either way, hope you enjoy !

farleigh whined the second you mentioned it--the fact that he wouldn't be able to have his hands on you.

"it's a formal dinner, farleigh. you know how it is," you said, finishing your eyeliner. he sighed dramatically, before appearing behind you in your vanity. "i mean, minor touches are fine, but i don't want everyone to get the wrong thought."

"but Y/N, it's just how i am!" he argued, crossing his arms over his chest.

"no buts, this is non-negotiable farleigh," you replied, in a firmer tone. this was important, you wanted the cattons to think highly of you. after all, it was their house and they had the ability to kick you out whenever. he sighed once again, before leaning down so his face was next to yours.

"please?" he pleaded, kissing your cheek, giving you puppy eyes.

"i'll tell you what, if you can go the whole dinner while keeping your hands to yourself, then i'll reward you," you proposed. he seemed intrigued, as he quirked a brow.

"reward me how?" he queried, looking at you curiously.

and that's how it began, a deal that was too difficult for farleigh to pass up. i mean, why wouldn't he want to be fucked dumb later?

the dinner went relatively well. the family was impressed by you. you were witty, smart, and eloquent. they liked you, and that was the most you could ask for. so, as promised, as soon as you and farleigh reached your room his lips had crashed onto yours. he had waited the entire night, you didn't expect anything less. however, you were still a bit taken aback. once you finally pulled away, the two of you were panting heavily.

"a little eager, are we?" you teased.

"oh shut up," he replied. the threat was meaningless; simply a fruitless attempt to cover up just how needy he really was. he rushed to sit down on the bed, pulling you on top of him. you kissed him with fervor, and he sighed into it, clearly enjoying himself. maybe you had made him too entitled, but he needed it so badly.

your hand traveled down his body, sending a shiver up his spine. you slowly lifted up his shirt, and over his head. your hand continued its odyssey down his body. when your fingers grazed his nipples, he swore he could have came just from that. his hard-on was only growing.

"what do you want, farleigh?" you asked, smiling at him.

"what-what do you mean?" he questioned, breathily.

"well it's your reward, so tell me, what do you want?" you repeated, your hand nearing where he needed you most.

"i want to be inside, please. you know this, please," he begged, body squirming in anticipation. you hummed, and started at the zipper of his pants. you slowly undid it, and pulled down his jeans. he helped you in the action by lifting his hips up. you then removed his boxers, and watched his cock spring up. he seemed painfully hard. pre was oozing out of his slit steadily, he was a mess.

you sat up, straddling his lap, and you could see him glowing with excitement. i mean, it's farleigh, he's always excited for sex. but deprived farleigh was a different story.

you undressed yourself, feeling his eyes boring into you. he wasn't so subtle about literally anything, so it wasn't much of a surprise that he practically stared at your cunt, before you sunk down on him, engulfing him whole. he let out a loud moan, furrowing his brows in content. you felt so good around him, warm and inviting.

"there it is, you did so good for me tonight, farleigh," you cooed, brushing his curls away from his face so you could see his features contorted with pleasure. he whined, throwing his head back as you fucked him slowly, yet slightly rough. you let out a low groan, grinding against him.

"f-fuck Y/N," he whimpered, shutting his eyes closed. it was heavenly, too much yet not enough at the same time. you grinned at him, he looked divine like this. crying out your name as he writhed beneath you.

"i know you've been waiting for it baby. bet you're glad you did so, hm?" you said, with a chuckle. he nodded, letting out another frail moan.

"oh my god, s-shit," he cursed, as your pace increased. you moved up and down, back and forth.

"fucking hell farleigh, you're so big," you muttered. he smirked, but it quickly melted away when you kissed his lips softly. it continued like that, but not for long. he had been holding it for awhile, and he knew he wouldn't last long.

"fuck, Y/N i'm gonna cum."

"cum whenever you want, farleigh. this is your reward," you answered, feeling yourself near your orgasm too. he whined as you dug your nails into his skin slightly, fucking him at an animalistic speed.

"c-cumming!" he choked out, meaning in the process. as he filled you up, your high came as well. he was shaking gently underneath you, muttering a string of curses along with your name.

"there you go, that's it," you said underneath your breath, as you coaxed him through it. you planted a feathery kiss on his lips.

"thank you," he breathed out, eyes still closed. you smiled.

"my pleasure."

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 © 𝐤𝐲𝐚-𝐢𝐬-𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐥

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲? 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

[youremyheaven]

DATING TIPS for all my girlies ✨

1. just because you agreed to go on a date with a man does not mean he's entitled to touch you anywhere

You don't have to kiss, hug or whatever

Don't feel pressured into thinking that "omg I'm on a date I HAVE to kiss him whether I want to or not" 🚫 a date is just two people meeting and talking, nothing more

2. You can be celibate and still date

People think dating = sex but you can meet as many people as you want and have a meal with them (or whatever u wanna do) and never sleep with them or even see them again lol

You don't have to date to have sex. You can date to meet and hang out with people

Obviously if you want to bang, you can.

3. If you want to hook up with people, be clear about that but be realistic

A lot of women get their feelings mixed up. You're not in love with this guy, you just enjoy being intimate with him. Being intimate is not the same as being in love. Men especially have no emotional attachments to sex , so be prepared to never see him again or for this to never lead to a regular fling or more. Sex does not promise anything. Be mature about it. A guy having sex with you is NOT him saying he wants to be with you.

4. Date multiple people at once

Again, for me this involves zero sex so I literally just mean going out to meet many different people. This makes me less attached or fixated upon any one guy bc I know that I have other people I can meet and spend time with.

Don't be desperate 🙏 they're just men 😭, if one goes, another will come 😭

5. Weed out the creepy men

If you go out with a guy and he's just sleazy and super sexual, then don't see him again. Don't spend 5 dates with someone who you should have cut off after 1 date 🙏 a lot of women have trouble saying no, so they just keep going out until it gets unbearable?? but you don't have to do that??? just cut him out

6. You deserve princess treatment bc it's actually just how any woman should be treated

It's normal for a guy to pick you up and drop you off

It's normal for him to pay

It's normal for him to give you gifts

I'm sure the other stuff like holding the door open, pulling the chair out, helping you cross etc is basic essential stuff that u guys are already familiar with

With the pick up and drop off thing, if he's a stranger that u met on a dating app, don't send him ur address and have him come to ur house or anything 😭😭 just meet somewhere close but far enough from your place and have him pick you up there/drop you off there. And that's only if you want to, I'm sure some of y'all are uncomfortable with the idea of a man picking you up etc which I get but I don't drive so I like it lmao 🤭🤪

One thing I tell them about dropping me like 1.5kms away from my house is that I don't want my neighbours to see or that people in my neighborhood will talk and this excuse (which is actually not an excuse at all) goes a long way in India 🤪

Just because the guy is paying doesn't mean you should order the most expensive things on the menu. Just get what you usually get. Don't seem eager to take advantage of someone's generosity. Act normal.

7. Don't go on a trip with him until you're completely comfortable with him and trust him !!!!!

Being alone with a guy in a different place is risky. So be 100% sure he's not a creep or an asshole before you go on trips.

I'm not a 50-50 girl so I expect the man to pay for everything but I understand why some of y'all would feel guilty about it 😔 but you're literally giving him your time, energy and company and if it was his idea to go on a trip, then it's his duty to take care of the expenses ✨

Trips ≠ having sex every minute

Obviously trips generally imply having sex but you're not obligated to turn into a sex machine. It's literally just the experience of being with someone and having a good time (sightseeing, eating, swimming etc) . Obviously this will also depend on the man you're with but like I said, don't travel with a guy you don't trust and know well enough ✨

Anywayyyysss I hope this was helpful 🫶