#sorry sprout's is covered a little

[leefi]

love being in charge of thanksgiving dinner i taste tested the turkey and went god damn this is the worst bird ive made to date by far but no skin off my back. then dinner rolls around and people are begging me to open a restaurant

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x f! reader, perv! Steve, best friend! reader Masturbation(m), voyuerism (f) implied PIV sex, very teeny tiny mention of body horror. Nothing graphic I prommy. WC:2.7K

A/N: Pervy Steve being pervy once again. Reader's a bit of a weirdo herself. Enjoy!

Steve's already beginning to regret his decision.

It's a sobering realization as he tries to think back on the last time he played ball with the team. Or with anybody for that matter. A long long time ago, he gulps.

The thing was, stacking VHS tapes at Family Video was certainly a far cry from the kind of exercise he used to do back in Highschool. Barely breaking a sweat. His breath remaining controlled and nowhere near labored.

And now here he was, damn near wheezing as he tries to catch up to you as your jog ahead of him, although if there's one thing that's making this hellish jog tolerable its that he gets to watch your ass bounce underneath those little shorts of yours.

"Just two more blocks, Stevie c'mon", you called over your shoulder at him as he sourly trudges on, making a mental note to never get roped into one of your fitness kicks again.

Throat hoarse, knees shaky and sweat aplenty, he manages a thankful smile at the sight of your house, the both of you agreeing to stop there because it was much closer than his own place.

Both his and your Nike's crunch over the gravel that fills your drive way, now much prettier lined with your mother's hydrangea bushes in full bloom. Fresh bunches of pastel blues, purple's and yellows attract buzzing bees and fluttering butterflies alike. It's beautiful enough to make Steve forget about the way his ankle clicks with every step after jogging up the slope that lead to your home.

"So, what are you going to stitch these onto next?", he gestures to the hydrangeas and your whole face lights up ecstatically. "I'm not sure just yet but I can't wait until I find something good enough".

It was no secret that you liked florals, most of your clothes featuring some kind of posy, big or small. But for the items that didn't have any, you learned quickly with a needle and some thread, embroidering all kinds of flowers onto your clothes and other belongings - cushion covers, tote bags, the pockets on your jeans, pillow covers and whatever else you could leave your mark on.

Walking up to the porch that wrapped around your house, the windchime tinkles above your heads as you work your key into the lock, the sound reminding Steve of clinking champagne glasses together which in turn reminds him of how positively parched he is.

When you get the door unlocked and step aside, you let Steve walk ahead of you this time, sensing his impatience as he heads into the kitchen, pouring the both of you a tall, chilled glass of ice water each.

You thank him and sip at yours, amused at the sight of Steve chugging his down. Well, not just amused. A rivulet runs down his chin and snakes down the length of his throat as his adams apple bobs up and down, dampening the sweat soaked collar of his shirt even more.

Putting your empty glass down, you discreetly turn your back to Steve, bringing your hands up to pinch your cheeks hard, as if it might help force out the weird but not exactly unpleasant feeling that sprouted as you watched him trying to quench himself. It wasn't the first time it's happened either. Just a side effect that came with being friends with the former King Steve you supposed. It was during times like this that you could see why so many wanted his attention.

Steve on the other hand hasn't noticed your reaction, only that the pleasantly chilly relief that washed over him is short lived when it comes time to head up to your room. It's on the second floor so Steve frowns at the sight of your oak staircase, slowly but heatedly ascending it, cussing all throughout the way. You're just so tickled by it, his silly disdain making you giggle.

Feeling sorry for him, you insist on letting him go in and shower first because it was the polite thing to do. There's a little back and forth exchanged between you two when Steve begins to feel a little embarrassed and suggests you head in first seeing as it was your bathroom but you press on until eventually you get him to give in.

"Alright alright. I'll be out in ten" he tells you, picking up his duffle bag containing a fresh pair of clothes for him to change into, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

He sticks to his word, making sure to wrap up in under ten minutes because he hated keeping you waiting. But perhaps most importantly because he didn't want you to think he might be doing something he shouldn't.

It's something he's always been cautious about for a long time now. Many a time he's showered in your bathroom, carefully observing all of the products that make you smell as nice as you do. It's all innocent except that he can never shake knowing how you shed your clothes in here. How you work in your cranberry shampoo in your hair. How you squirt your cherry blossom body wash onto your loofah and run it over every inch of your body - your legs, between your breasts, your belly your --

Whipping his head side to side just in time like that might help eject the thought from his head entirely, he's able to snap out of it, toweling off and shoving his clothes on before taking a moment to compose himself.

Coming out, Steve nearly walks into you when he interrupts you in the middle of pulling off your socks and dropping them into the wicker basket by the bathroom door.

"I'll just be a couple of minutes" you tell him but you both know it'll be a little longer than. You weren't one to skip over your haircare and skincare routines. Not that Steve minded.

When the door clicks shut behind you Steve lays down on your bed, the soft mattress feels like heaven on his back after that cursed jog and it's all made even better because your sheets and your pillows smell like you.

He could have dozed off right there if he wanted but his mind keeps working. It makes him wonder. Having spent the night a few times he knows you throw on a pair of modest shorts and a wrinkled sleep shirt two sizes too big for you. But was that how you always tucked in for the night?

Were you the type to forego the shorts? maybe leave on a pair of panties under that billowing shirt? or did you discard that too? panties and nothing else. Or maybe you took those off too if the conversation he'd overheard you having with Robin was to believe.

"I feel like I'm on the menu, man. Barbeque all day. I pretty much live in my shower when I get back home that I might have to start paying rent for it", Robin comments on the heat.

"Shit, me too. Nights are the worst though", you reply, using a leaflet someone had handed you out on the street to fan yourself.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I don't even towel off and that's how I get to sleep. No clothes, no covers. Just praying it doesn't get hotter. And that I don't wake up in a pool of my own sweat in the morning, you know?"

Oh fuck oh god no.

Steve stares down at his sweats, horrified to find the very evident outline of his cock tenting between his legs. And what's worse, he knows all too well that it won't go down on its own unless he takes care of it himself. It's always been this way. His dick is anything if not persistent.

He looks around your room in panic, surveying carefully. He knows he can't finish the way he usually does, messy streaks splattered on his soft belly. He needs something to clean up the mess without you finding out. That's when his eyes land on the dirty laundry hamper you'd used not even fifteen minutes ago.

Steve scrambles off the bed, approaching your hamper of dirty laundry. He can still hear the shower running inside, letting him know that he probably still has a little more time left.

Looking thoroughly, Steve figures you must have done your laundry recently because all that's there is a couple of t-shirts and...

He picks up one of your socks as it lays at the very top of the little pile, slightly damp but still plush and soft, a little sprig of lavender embroidered near the top by the Nike logo.

Just knowing you'd worn it makes his dick twitch and though it's a couple of sizes smaller than some of the socks Steve's used for the very same purpose, he guessed it'll be a tight fit but possible.

Quietly shuffling back into your your bed, Steve's quick to pull the waistband of his sweats below his cock and his ass.

He spits into his hand to slick it up and down his length, finding even more embroidered items neatly spread in every corner of your room -- a row of sunflowers running up your curtains, fuchsia colored tulips on your blanket, daisies on the robe you've left folded over your desk chair.

He thinks himself rotten for doing this. Using something of yours to help get him off. Especially something of yours which you'd gone through the trouble of making look nicer.

Although, if he's being completely honest, knowing that kind of makes him want to do it so much more.

To corrupt. To taint. To claim.

Steve gently, but with a sense of urgency, pulls your sock over his length. Groaning, he guessed right about it being a tight fit but that just makes the sensation all the better.

The slippery slick fibers makes him think of your mouth - your pretty lips when you're both outside, trying to beat the heat with a couple of cherry popsicles. Your red tongue always wrapped around the sweet treat in a way that Steve could never do but watching you suck at it and take it in inch by inch down to the bottom was just as good to watch too.

There was no dry chafing as he kept at it, precum soaking into the cotton too to help keep things wet and glide his cock through. Looking up at the ceiling he thinks of you on top of him. What he'd give to watch your tits bounce in front of his face, to hear the springs beneath your mattress groan and strain the harder you bounced on his cock.

"Oh Jesus, fuck", eyes squeezing shut. At this point he knows he's getting close, and all wants to think about before he cums is you coming out of your bathroom, draped in your bathrobe. The black satin one, although if you were emerge in that thick baby blue one you seem to favor you'd get no complaints from Steve about it.

His hand pumps harder and harder, picturing you undoing the sash from around your waist, pulling it open and letting it fall to the floor and pile there. The little pink Dahlia you'd stitched into it still visible where it sits on the floor.

"No clothes, no covers", Steve recalls you saying and that's exactly how he pictures you, draping himself over your nude body, touching and kissing you all over. Surrounded by the scent of you, pressing his nose to your pillow. He wants to know what you smell like if you were to let him bring his face between your legs. The soft scratch of your bush tickling his nose, the warm tangy slick collecting on his tongue as he runs it up between your folds, never forgetting to kiss your clit before he sucks it.

And that's what does it. Hips twitching, toes curling, eyes so close to rolling back into his head. Steve empties himself into the sock, filling it with the thick, sticky cum he'd much rather pump into you if you'd ever let him.

"Well, thanks for cleaning up Stevie"

He shoots up in your bed, horrified at being found out like this -- for fuck sake he's even still got your soiled sock fitted over his cock.

"I didn't hear the door open..." he wants to crawl out of his own skin and slip into somebody else'. Literally anyone else who isn't him would do.

"Oh don't worry about that. I caught an eyeful peeping through the keyhole." you walk over in your cotton shorts and t-shirt.

"So, what were you thinking about"? you cock your head to the side all inquisitive.

something about the way you're composing yourself tells Steve that you're neither mad nor trying to embarrass him. So there's no point lying at this stage is there?

"You", he admits shamefully. Like a puppy who'd chewed up the furniture.

"Oh yeah?", you inch closer to him, eyes dropping for a second to get a look at his limp cock still stuffed to the brim inside your sock.

"Would you like to feel the real thing? if your friend isn't too tired to come out and play that is", you wink at Steve who can only look back at you with his mouth agape.

"Yea-Ye-sur-yup. Yeah, I can do that", he sputters, cock already turning stiff again.

"Good, now lets get this thing off", you carefully peel the sticky sock off of his cock, stringy blobs of cum left behind.

"Wow, that's a lot. Have you always cum this much?", you ask with amazement, collecting some of it onto the pad of you index finger before rubbing it against your thumb. So slippery. still warm. so tempting to suck it right off your fingers.

"Only when I think of you", Steve confesses with a smile and it makes you feel ecstatic to hear it.

"Okay. Prove it", you grin, challenging him. Jumping on to Steve's lap where you can feel his dick already springing up again.

"Oh, you're really in for it now", he grins back, determined to leave you so sticky that you'll both need another shower to wash it all off again.

---

Morning comes, sunlight pouring in from between the curtains and he finds himself alone in your bed, alarm bells about to ring when he sits up to find you busy at your desk.

"Morning", You smile at him and it makes Steve feel a little silly for thinking you might have walked out on him.

"What you got there?" he tries to peer at the desk and you swivel your chair towards him, holding up a black t-shirt Steve recognizes as his own.

"Like it?" you look at him hopefully, finger tapping at the pocket on the left.

His heart begins to cartwheel, doing all kinds of gymnastics in his ribcage when we sees it. A bunch of powdery blue hydrangeas looking like they're emerging from inside his pocket.

"it's beautiful", he tells you honestly, pulling on his boxers to join you at your desk, running his thumb along the pretty stitching.

"So...would you mind if I made one to match?" you ponder cautiously, afraid it's too soon. Afraid of scaring him off.

"Yeah? you want everyone to know you're my girl?", he grins right in your face, his nose brushing yours. Exactly the opposite of what you'd feared.

The butterflies in your stomach delight in being referred to as his girl, a whirlwind of them fluttering their wings wildly.

"Mm...maybe I'll just stitch your mouth closed instead", you sass him just for fun rather than inflate his ego.

"Hm...but then I wouldn't be able to eat your pussy the way you like it", he counters easily.

That makes your face feels warmer and warmer, like you'd been standing out in a sunbeam without an umbrella.

"Fine. Wouldn't want a perfectly good mouth go to waste", you shrug.

"But one wrong move and it's the needle for you, Harrington", you point the sharp end at him, blue thread still looped through the other end. Your threat merely jest and nothing more.

"I'd be happy even if one day you decide you'd like to stitch us together". he says plainly. Not at all like the other remarks when it was more than clear that he was joking with you.

It shakes you for a fraction of a moment but the corners of your mouth pick up into an enamored smile. There's a big difference between wanting to be with someone and wanting to be attached to someone. You know he doesn't mean it in the literal sense but fucking hell, do you love the sound of it. To share the same blood coursing through your veins, to share the same flesh, to share the same scars once the stitches dissolve away.

No one without the other.

"Okay", you lean forward to press your lips to his. "That can be arranged".

[paradlselost]

ֹ ⑅᜔ ׄ ݊ ݂ CINNAMON GIRL ۪ ֹ ᮫

DOCTOR PHOSPHORUS x FEMALE READER

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ this is part two of ULTRAVIOLENCE and should be read as such ! also i love lana for him , it’s perfect . i just watched the new episode and you can tell near the end lol . i tried to explore a bit more of his needing of love as well as the readers ! also i had to get creative with the smut due to him not having a dick so sorry </3

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ monster ! reader , religious / catholic trauma trauma and guilt . depictions of body horror and violence . blood and burning , mentions of cannibalism , imposter syndrome and disassociation . non graphic depictions of death and injuries . smut : pining , pet names ( puppy + princess ) , sub - ish phosphorus , clothed rubbing and fingering ( ? m receiving ) , male moans ( yay ! )

3 . 2 k words ++ not beta read

A hero.

It was a strange feeling, being praised the way you were. It wasn’t like anyone outside the bubble of the castle cared, but those inside hailed you and the other creatures as saints. Perhaps it would feel a lot nicer had the others been able to look at you with something more than hesitancy.

“Good work.” The Bride had said, Flag following with a similar sentiment, but you could tell how empty the words were behind gazes that wouldn’t meet yours. Even among animals like Weasel and robotic parts strewn around the grounds like GI, despite the Bride’s nature and Nina’s gills you are nothing more than a monster.

God, and Phosphorus. Things had been little short of awkward with him since the night you had shared. Despite his request that you not talk about it to avoid situations like silently standing beside each other in a lineup and trying to forget about his handprint being burned into your thigh, they still happened. You cannot blame him, though, for the way he avoids you as much as he possibly can.

Flag had wanted monsters for this mission, but it seemed you were too much. It isn’t like you can remember; practically pleading with Nina to tell you what had happened had left you with the bare minimum, but it was something. The gunshots had no doubt set you off and witnessing GI being torn apart hadn’t helped. In your absence had been a monster, eyes glazed over and rolled back into your skull as downright demonic claws and wings sprouted from your flesh, body contorted to allow the growing of the appendages. Bullets fired at you had been expelled from your skin like they were being spat out and the wounds simply grew back as if nothing had happened.

“They had to pull you off a body…” She informed you as gently as she could, though an air of fear surrounded her, as if her words would set you off again. They might, day by day it felt like you were losing yourself to this monster. More and more of you disappearing, you didn’t know what would make you volatile anymore. “Well, Phosphorus was the one to volunteer.”

Her words did little to ease the guilt that bubbled in your chest. The thought was nice, that he had been the one to take initiative and guide you back to your normal state; though part of you couldn’t help but assume that was because he didn’t want anyone else to observe the branding he had given you and connect the dots of your night together. You can’t blame him for anything it seems, not how he avoids you and not how he tries to cover up the things you’ve done together. You’re unworthy of love, aren’t you? That’s what they had said when you were just a girl.

Bruised knees and bleeding palms, the sharp end of the rosary’s cross digging into your palms and making indents as if to replicate that of Christ himself. You’re little more than the thieves that hung beside him on that day, representative of the one who laughed in his face and was hence discarded from the kingdom of God, never to see the pearly gates or beautiful lights. Judgement day would not be kind on you, you had heard the nuns and priest whisper from behind the monastery walls. What had you done to be cursed in such a way? Was simply being born enough to cast you from God’s light? It’s not like you had chosen that.

You’re quiet, far too much so for the others to consider it normal, but no one says a thing. Perhaps they’re too worried about setting you off, maybe they want to distance themselves. It seemed everyone grew a little closer from this mission, but you are just as alone as ever. The plane ride back is bumpy, Weasel curled up into a ball beside you. He was the only one who didn’t seem to care what you were or who you could become. Somethings never change, like the way you card your fingers through the coarse fur that coats his body.

You can feel his gaze on you, the radiation that pools from his body is difficult to shut out. Daring to lift your eyes to meet his, you don’t miss the way he quickly adverts his gaze as if he was ashamed of having been caught. God, you hated this. You could deal with the others avoiding you, you hadn’t expected them to try and be your friend after this regardless, but him? Could you forget how sweet he had been to take care of you after you had slipped? No, you don’t think so. Besides, those pretty whines and mewls that had spilled from his mouth still weighed heavy in your mind.

Arms crossed as the plane landed, back in handcuffs and escorted to the cell you had spent so long in. Your taste of freedom was over, done with. It was back to the slop they had the gall to call food and the endless sound of waves that now pissed you off more than it soothed you. Things seemed to be getting on your nerves more frequently, since he had brushed you aside and told you it would be better like this.

It doesn’t feel better. How can he be right about your situation when his hand burning into your flesh had felt so good? You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you sit on the thin mattress in the cell assigned to you. The lights had gone out for the night long ago, the freedom you had once felt in the large room of the Castle was now gone. Back to the same old routine, back to being captive. Back to the power dampener around your neck.

You want to lay down, to close your eyes and at least try to get some rest, but the same looping sound of crashing waves and the soft green glow from far down the hall only served to stress you out. How could he brush you aside like that, had it truly meant nothing to him? You were well aware of his tendencies, the psychopathic nature of him, but that night had felt; well, like something. Like he cared despite his apathy.

Maybe you were thinking too deeply into this, maybe it was nothing more than a simple fling to him. Maybe your touch starved mind had crafted this narrative that he truly loved you and was just hiding it. It had been far too long since anyone but your own hand managed to touch you like that, to slip past the layers of monstrous intent and simply find you. Even if it wasn’t real, if he truly didn’t care, at the very least you would have that to remember. And for now thats okay.

For now.

Because the next morning you are forced to see him, forced to have all the feelings from the last few days pile up in your gut and make the stupidly large power dampener you wore feel even more foolish. You sat at one of the tables, lazily picking at your plate of food when you were interrupted. A hand swiped your tray off the table, knocking the mushy pile of stuff they dared to call food to the floor.

“Whoops, were you eating that, dollface?” No, you weren’t, but the asshole who picked a fight with you didn’t know that. Another monster, another creature who was far too vile to be put onto the team. Why shouldn’t you indulge just a bit?

Blood. It’s all you can taste. It suffocates you as you lay in a pool of it. Trickling down your nose and coating your mouth. You cannot quite tell whose it is, yours or the beast laying dead beside you. It’s nice, though, rich and far more delicious than the slop they feed you here. The electric shock had hurt, but not awfully so. You don’t feel angry that you’ve allowed the monster control over you once more, just bliss.

Ending up in the medical wing had not been on your itinerary, though. Head pressed back against the cold, sterilized pillow that was as thin as paper against the hard as a rock mattress. You’d hardly call it nice, if the hums of medical machinery hadn’t been soothing as white noise; you could almost get used to it. Your eyes flutter shut against the cold atmosphere, taking a deep breath to let the serene moment wash over you, its truly a nice break.

Till the doors open and you’re greeted with that familiar green glow basking over you for a moment before being harshly shoved into the bed besided you. You let out a soft sigh, sitting up and rubbing your eyes slightly. He wont look at you, clearly pissed off about something, and as the guards leave the room he shoots them the middle finger before finally catching your gaze.

“What are you looking at?”

“You. Why are you in here?” You can’t help it as the question slips through your lips before you can stop yourself. You shouldn’t engage with him, it’ll only serve to make you upset over the little predicament the two of you find yourselves in, but it comes out nonetheless.

“The guy you killed’s dickweed friend decided to pick a fight in his honor. You know that’ll go on your sentence, right?”

“What does it matter? I’m already in here for life.”

He simply hums in response as you card your fingers through your hair. You suddenly feel tired, as if being around him is draining. Putting up this act of nonchalonce about your feelings towards him is more taxing than you had originally expected. He weighs heavily on your mind, taking up valuable space that could be used for other mundane things in Belle Reave like finding new shapes in the texture of walls you’ve stared at for years.

The room is quite now, far more than you like. The humming machinery now acts as a nuisance, a reminder of how hes doing everything but talking to you. While you can’t blame him outloud, you did just kill someone over him, does he feel anything about that? Does he even know how your mind runs circles around the thought of him all day? God. You sound like a love-sick schoolgirl with her first crush. Whats next? Will you write little anonymous post-it notes for him?

Regardless, you can’t stand the silence anymore, looking back over at him you tilt your head to the side to come across as non interested as possible. As if the question you’re about to ask him is one you’ve just thought of and not one thats been on your mind since that night.

“When we-... God, this sounds stupid outloud but why did you not take off your pants? Do you not have anything… down there?”

The awkwardness is palpable in your tone and it fills the room. Mentally, you curse yourself for asking such a dumb question. If he had eyelids, he’d most certainly be blinking over and over out of sheer confusion.

“Uh no. Its just the pelvis. Look at me, I’m just a skeleton and have you ever seen a skeleton with a dick?”

“No, I guess not…” Theres a pause, eyes fluttering away from his awkwardly. You shouldn’t have even brought it up and you really didn’t want to listen to his sarcastic answers.

“Do you want to see?”

Again with the sarcasm, you roll your eyes slightly and look back over at him with a frown, about to retort before you realize he isn’t joking. No, he’s looking right back at you, skeletal hands fiddling with the buckle of his pants. A sheepish blush coats your face as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. Sure, you two had had a very intimate encounter before, but this was different and it made you second guess his seriousness in telling you the two of you should pretend that night never happened. Without another thought you nod, almost a little too quickly.

“Yes. Please.”

“Eager now, aren’t ya pup?”

“Pup? Where’d that come from?”

“I mean, you looked like a starved dog with a piece of prime rib in its mouth when I pulled you off that guy back in Pokolistan.”

“Don’t bring that up right now.” A huff falls from your lips as your blush darkens, shaking your head slightly to push the imagery out of your mind. Had you really acted so barbarish that he deemed it fit to call you such a name? And are you out of your mind for liking it in some way? He simply chuckles as his hands continue to play with the button of his prision pants before he finally simply pulls them down and cocks his head to the side at you.

“See? Told ya.”

“Oh. But- you can still feel as if it were there?”

“I guess. I wasn’t just faking those noises to make you feel better.”

You can tell by his tone that had he had eyes he would’ve winked at you. A grin that you can’t see etched into the permanent smile of his skeletal face as you slip off the bed you were in, stepping over to him and gently running a hand over the orange fabric of his shirt as he lets out a soft, shuddering breath. For him, as well, it had been far too long since anyone looked at him the way you did.

After the death of wife and kid and being burned alive in his own machine meant for good, after taking over the Thorne crime ring and subsequently being taken down by Batman he has been looked at as nothing but a monster. Maybe, in a way, he is. The radiation addled his brain, the death of his family heavy on his consious. Had he been good before? He can remember a time where he tried to help, but was that out of kindness or need for recognition and praise?

Perhaps he doesn’t deserve it, the way you look at him as if hes someone special, as if hes done you some favor. It makes some part of him feel sick, while the other part relishes in the feeling of your touch, even if it has to be over fabric. A soft sigh emitted from him as he grabbed your hips, careful not to touch your skin even if he had before, and pull you ontop of him while he laid back in the bed.

He relished in the blush that coated your features, hands moving up to gently graze over the power dampener you wear, he resists the urge to burn through the metal and instead matches your gaze, a hum.

“You like this position, princess?”

“Oh its princess now?”

“Don’t avoid the question.”

Somehow he manages to get laughter out of you, coaxing it from your pretty lips and letting it fill the room. He almost feels stupid with the giddiness that fills his chest, tilting his head back against the headboard to get a good view of you. For every awful thing thats happened to him, hes almost glad they all did because they led him to you. He could deal with the worry of burning through everything if it meant you’d be by his side forever.

His sappy thoughts are cut off by the sudden feeling of pressure against where his cock had been. Your sleeves had been rolled up over your palms, providing a barrier that allows you to knead against his pelvis like some kind of cat. He can’t help the way his hips thrust up slightly, back arching into your touch. Its euphoric, sweet, and he’s letting explotives fall from his mouth like they’re a prayer to you. Like you’re some sort of God.

“Oh, ffuck princess, just like that.” His head tilts back farther, soft huffs emitting from him as he tries not to dissolve into a moaning mess in your hold. It’s been far too long, and even the night you shared couldn’t compare. He feels like an idiot for telling you it would be better to ignore each other now.

You keep a steady pace, hands moving against his pelvis to create some kind of friction, relishing in the clear way he fights back the moans creeping up his throat. Its almost beautiful, like a symphony of choked sobs and wanton moans. You couldn’t help but grin, humming softly as your eyes focused more on the exposed bones of his lower half.

“Phosphorus?”

“Alex. fuck - please call me Alex.” His words are a bit sudden but the way he practically pleads with you makes it difficult to think twice. His name, though, just knowing it feels intimate.

“Alex. I’m gonna try something, okay?”

Its a warning that slides right past him, indecent moans filling the room as he simply nods feverishly, though begging with you that whatever you’re going to do you don’t stop making him feel like this. You’d be a fool to stop now, anyways, with the way the radiation on his body hightens like a solar flare its all the sign you need to tell hes close.

You almost hesitate as this is probably a bad idea but you don’t give yourself time to dwell on the consequences of your actions as one hand stops kneading and instead moves the fabric of your shirt sleeve off, quickly pushing past the barrier of radiation and tracing your fingers over the inside of his pelvis.

It burns, pain bubbling up in your body and at the same time the reaction from his is almost like a man possessed. His moans gain volume at the feeling, urging you to push past the pain and continue to rub along the bone. He squirms and thrusts his hips up, arching his back yet shying away at the same time. It’s too much for him, the wires of his brain getting all crossed between feeling so good and overstimulated at the same time. It doesn’t take a genius to know that he was orgasming.

He falls back against the thin bed with a huff, panting to catch his breath. You sit up straighter on his lap, pulling your hand out and cradling it in your other one. It hurts, stinging as large burning wounds take up the majority of your hand. He sits up as well, apologies spilling from his mouth before your skin begins to heal as if nothing has happened.

You blink, knowing he probably would be as well before you simply rest your head on his chest. Theres an unspoken thing, now, an idea that perhaps the two of you don’t have to be as careful as originally thought, especially if your body had a healing factor even with the power dampener on. A content hum emits from him at the thought, tilting his head to look down at your form thats nuzzled against him. No doubt the cameras have caught all this, but the thought doesn’t seem to run through your mind so he wont worry you with it.

“If thats what we could do with that collar of yours on, imagine what we could do with it off.”

“Hmm does this mean no more ignoring me?”

“Who said I was ignoring you in the first place, princess?”

[billiereid]

Spell It Out: Sherlock x Reader

Warnings: Rated R. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years and older. Minors, do not interact.

Contains: Established relationship. GN!Reader.

Summary: You and Sherlock had been dating for a while, and you both thought that your affections for each other were fairly obvious. However, when John found you slipping out of Sherlock's bedroom one morning, you realized there were several people he neglected to inform.

Sherlock is your boyfriend. This is a fact that you know. And you’re pretty sure that he knows it, too. 

What you never realized before was that you two were the only people in Sherlock’s life who knew. You always thought it was fairly obvious to those around you. You were at Sherlock’s flat constantly. He always had you near him, even if he was never one for public displays of affection. And besides, John was Sherlock’s flatmate and best friend. Surely Sherlock had at least explained it to him, right?

Now, though, you found yourself trapped between Sherlock’s bedroom door and the washroom in your pajamas with John, of all people, staring at you as if he’d never seen you in his life. 

You stood there, frozen, wearing only the most comfortable oversized t-shirt you own and a pair of shorts that were much too short for anyone but Sherlock to see you in. It felt like several minutes passed, though it was only a few seconds. 

“Y/N?” John asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What–what are you doing here?” he asks, not exactly sure how else to respond to the situation. 

“I stayed over,” you answered, as if it should have been obvious. But the wayJohn was looking at you felt like he was trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle. “I’m sorry, what are you confused about?” you asked, gently tugging your shirt down to try and cover a little more of yourself.

John didn’t answer. He only shook his head, as if to try and clear the thoughts from his brain. “Nothing,” he said, realizing that everything about the situation is pretty much obvious. You had stayed the night, of course, but the part that he couldn’t get over was the fact that you obviously slept with Sherlock.

You blinked again to try and refocus yourself, and you slipped into the washroom, locking yourself inside and leaning against the closed door for some kind of support. Why was John looking at you as if you’d sprouted an extra head? Was he angry that you’d stayed over? Did Sherlock not tell him you were staying over? You didn’t think it mattered that much, but you supposed it was a likely explanation. 

After taking care of your business in the bathroom, you quickly slipped back into Sherlock’s bedroom to try and work out what had just happened in the kitchen. 

“Does John not know about me and you?” you asked after shutting yourself in the bedroom with Sherlock. 

Sherlock, in the midst of dressing himself, answers, “If he doesn’t, it’s his own fault.”

You blinked a couple of times and sighed. “Did you ever tell him?” 

Sherlock turned to face you, tucking his shirt into his trousers. His brows were furrowed, his head tilted slightly in apparent confusion. “Why would I?” he asked, as if that should have been the logical response for both of you.

You rubbed your temples for a moment. “Because he’s your flatmate,” you explained, your arms now crossed over your chest. “Because he’s your friend, and he deserves to know.”

“And he would know, if he actually paid attention to his surroundings,” Sherlock said, almost with a bitterness toward John, even though you knew it wasn’t real. He moved now to put on his suit jacket, looking sharp as always.

You sat on the bed and rubbed your eyes for a moment, trying to wrap your head around Sherlock’s unwillingness to actually come clean about your relationship. “So… you didn’t tell him out of… what, spite?” you asked, not exactly angry or frustrated, but just trying to understand Sherlock’s reasoning for not wanting to say anything to John. 

“No,” Sherlock answered, as if it should have been obvious all along. “I simply didn’t think I would need to spell it out for him.”

With that, Sherlock opened the bedroom door to go to his usual spot in the lounge. John was sitting in his armchair, as per usual, reading something. “So…” John said, his tone slightly teasing, though not in a way that Sherlock would usually pick up on. “You and Y/N?” 

Sherlock, from his own armchair, answers, “You really need to start paying attention.”

[the-s1lly-corner]

Hi i have a request! Like reader gets injured—do you know the 'do you have any ibuprofen? I got a headache' meme so thats readers injury a severe injury on the head and have all the boy toons react?

Various toons when reader gets a head injury

Max amount of characters per request is 4, sorry!!/nm

Characters: cosmo, goob, looey, astro

Notes: gn toon reader, written on mobile, post game, partly lighthearted joke post partly serious, like dark humor kinda?, short post

CWs: mentions of injury and gore (duh/lh)

COSMO

He's basically throwing cookies at you- he's hoping to god that it's enough to patch you up. Or at least to hold you over until a plan can be made...

So so so much panic- sure this isn't the first time a toon has been injured in a run but he's never wanted you to get hurt. Not like this... your current situation is on the worse side too

He doesn't even really take in your request for ibuprofen, maybe it's panic... maybe he just chalks your request up to senseless rambling caused by the nature of your injury

GOOB

Its... almost funny how he tries to hold your head together with his hands. As if that would do anything to help you... it'd probably make things worse because of how tightly he's holding you together

Wraps his arms around you... rocks you back and forth. Is it to comfort you, or himself? It's hard to tell

He starts asking everyone for ibuprofen the second you request some... even if you clearly have more than a little ache

LOOEY

When he turned around and found one of the twisteds he was distracting missing... he's obviously nervous. And it turns into horror when you casually stumble to the elevator with a chunk missing from your head

He genuinely can't tell of your request for ibuprofen is genuine or not... but regardless of if you have a history of trying to break tension he's going to be freaking out

DEMANDS everyone calls the run quits to bring you back up to treat you as best as possible. He doesn't know what to do... can a bandaid really fix this? He doesn't pick up healing items for himself... he's nearly begging everyone else to cough something up for you.. not a good time- he can't keep up his optimism :(

ASTRO

He knows he's always urging you to get some rest... but he's going to keep you awake until your condition is stabilized and sorted out

Oh he is definitely going to be taking you to sprout as soon as he's able to.. until then you're not going to be leaving his side. He's genuinely considering using his blanket to cover up the bleeding if there's no bandages on hand. It's not the best solution but it's something to slow it down.. he has more blankets anyway...

He gets this scrunched up worried look as you causally ask for ibuprofen. Yeah.. you're definitely going to sprout as soon as the elevator opens again...

[captainsharkyy]

Drops this off and goes back into hibernation

Puppy Princess (Hot Freaks)

ShrimpoxReader fluff!!!

Tags/warnings: bullying, violence, gore, blood, mentions of swearing, injuries, fluff, kissing, cuddling.

Toon!Reader!

This took me more than a week and it's not even that long!? Also I'm working on a new format hope you like it. I seriously love Shrimpo like this is no joke gulps😣

You stood still in shock, shivering in place while listening to the laughter of the toons who had done this to you: Glisten and Tisha.

You never were able to figure out what went wrong between you and Glisten. For whatever reason, he just never liked you. Soon enough, he had roped Tisha into his sick little games with you too. That brings you to where you are now, your walk back to your room from Brightney's book club having been interrupted by Glisten, an empty bucket, and a sick joke.

"Sorry," he sneered at you, "You looked like you could've used a shower. I thought you liked cold water," Tisha laughed along side him.

You didn't exactly have the best day today. All you had for breakfast today were cold eggs and a single piece of burnt toast, Sprout had snapped at you for accidentally getting Cosmo cut by grabbing his attention while he was using scizzors, you had fallen off a ladder while putting some books back in the library and hit your head too hard for your liking, and now having been splashed with freezing cold water. Frustrated with the events of today, you could feel your emotions coming up, up, up, until you felt your eyes sting and hot tears poured down your face, your shoulders bouncing with your hiccups.

Glisten and Tisha's mouths formed into wide grins, "Awe, are you crying? Don't be so dramatic," Mocked Glisten.

"God, just-" you sniffled, "leave me alone!" Running to your room, you slipped and nearly fell if only you hadn't grabbed your doorknob to pull yourself up and locked your door tight once inside. You slid down against the door until you were sitting and hugged your knees close to your chest and cried for a bit, still shivering. Just a few seconds later you finally registered that you were freezing. You sloppily wiped away your tears and the water, the majority of your face still soaked however, and got a fluffy towel out of a drawer and stripped out of your soaked clothes to scrub yourself dry and then changed into some comfy clothes. You hugged yourself with a small smile, already feeling a bit better.

You violently jumped in place when incredibly loud, violent banging came from your door. You turned to the noise with a pout,

"Go away, Glisten!" Came your sullen voice. "I already told you to leave me alone." All you wanted to do was curl up under the covers of your bed and sleep until tomorrow came.

You heard a growl of frustration from behind the door before a familiar voice spoke, "Glisten doesn't bang on doors, idiot!" You blinked one, twice, at the door in surprise. What would Shrimpo want with you at this time? Internally, you dreaded the idea that Glisten had gotten him to pick on you with himself and Tisha and that did not want to make you open the door. But, you figured you might as well see what he wants, maybe that would make him go away faster. With a defeated sigh you unlocked your door and cracked it open so you could poke your head out.

Behind your doorway stood Shrimpo with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with a sharp glare. Your relationship with Shrimpo had been a bit of an enigma for a long while now, he always said he hated you and whatever you did, just like he did with all the other toons, but after a while he seemed to get the slightest bit less bothered by your existence. Sure you were nice to him, always wishing him a goodmorning or a good day or a goodnight with a warm smile, and you never really saw him in any bad light despite his short temper and frequent dendencies to be both narcisisstic and a bully, but that was just the good samaratin within you. However, deep down you wanted someone to truly call a friend. Every toon in Gardenview had someone to call a friend, however nobody seemed to deem you worthy of that title.

You did know that the same could be said for Shrimpo, however for more obvious reasons. Truly, you hoped that one day the two of you could be friends. Although, as of recently, you would be lying if you said you didn't like him more than as a potential friend. More than once you had caught yourself thinking of how cute he was.

"What is wrong with you?!" Shrimpo shouted, and you whinced a little. "I hate hearing you cry!"

You blinked, "oh," your voice was small, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, Shrimpo." Shrimpo's room was next to yours, you wondered if he could hear you cry at night whenever your feelings overwhelmed you. "It's- It's nothing, really." While slinking back inside, an orange hand forced your door back open.

"I hate secrets! Tell me what happened, now!" He demanded.

You swallowed a lump in your throat, "I... Glisten, uh, threw some water on me. But, I'm fine now!" You smiled, yet you knew he could see through your thinly veiled façade, "really..." You could hear Shrimpo's throat rasp in a growl. "Have a good night, Shrimpo."

Your back pressed against the door with a yawn, and you heard Shrimpo stomp off. You let out a tired hum and dove under the soft covers of your bed and snuggled against a pillow before closing your eyes. Only a few minutes later you awoke to the sound of glass shattering and muffled yelling and cussing and other chatter. You got up, rubbing your eyes, and left the comfort of your room to investigate the noise.

You stopped only a few steps into the hallway leading to the kitchen. Surrounded by half of the other toons was Shrimpo beating up Glisten, and you could see Tisha to the side was targeted as well. Was he doing this because of what Glisten had done to you earlier? The thought made your heart thump a little faster and your face flush with a soothing warmth no blanket or jacket could ever offer.

"Shrimpo!" However, you couldn't just let this happen. "Shrimpo, stop!" Glisten was bleeding, blood stained the wooden flooring, the liquid coated his attacker's fists. Glisten was terrified, and Shrimpo was not relenting at all. "Please, that's enough, Shrimpo!" He could have killed him.

You had to physically drag the crustacean away from Glisten, and as soon as you did the others flocked around the flashy toon concerned and loud. As you looked at Shrimpo's face, you could see that he wasn't unscathed from this encounter, as he had cuts and some bruising around his face and arms. You also noticed how his seething expression in the fight softened to a more tame angry one once you got him away from it.

"Come on," you spoke, your arms wrapped around one of his, "I can take care of your wounds." You would much rather deal with light scratches and bruising rather than deep gashes that bled profusely. Your heart was pounding from having taken in such a gruesome sight, yet also because the one who caused it was allowing you to touch him and bring him to your room.

Closing your door and flicking the light switch on, you prompted Shrimpo to sit at the edge of your bed while you got a spare med-kit from a drawer in your bathroom. You quickly returned to your main room and sat next to Shrimpo, who looked at the floor with a softer expression that seemed more annoyed than angry. You coated a cotton ball in antibacterial alcohol and turned to the crustacean,

"Can you look at me, please? I'd like to clean your wounds," you said. He complied after a moment more of staring down your floorboards and turned his head to look at you. With a gentle hand you cupped the side of his face, "this will hurt a bit," and you softly dabbed the wet cotton ball at an open cut, earning a hiss of pain from the toon. "Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay." You couldn't help but comfort him despite the little damage he had taken. "You're gonna be okay." He had earned it, you think.

Finishing up on his face, you moved down to dab the alcohol over the cuts and bruises on his arms. With this, you failed to notice how red in the face Shrimpo was.

"Shrimpo," your voice was soft, "why did you... beat up Glisten?" You discarded the cotton ball and reapplied the alcohol onto another and dabbed the cool liquid over a mean bruise.

"Because I hate him!" You expected that answer. "I hate his face! He's always so mean to you and you never stick up for yourself! I really hate that about you!"

The cotton ball dabbing against his knuckles came to a hault, and you moved your head to look at him,

"You were... sticking up for me?" You asked, genuinely surprised.

Shrimpo's eyes widened after landing on your face and he looked away at your floorboards, his face looking reminescent of a tomato, "W-Well, of course I was!" His voice lost its personally unique angry and loud tone as he further went on, "of course I would- do- uh, I mean- I would-!!!" He promplty shut himself up.

You smiled at him, awfully flattered and sharply aware of your increased heartbeat. "How sweet of you, Shrimpo." You leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss on his cheek. The toon stilled in response while you moved to return to cleaning his knuckles, you were pretty sure he stopped breathing for a bit too. You hummed while putting away your supplies back in the med-kit, going to your bathroom to return the med-kit and discard of the dirty cotton balls.

Your feet padded against the floor before stopping by the end of your bed next to Shrimpo who sat stiff as a board and still studied every atom of your floorboards, "It's very late, so I don't want to keep you," you informed, yet the other toon made no effort to move. "Oh, wait!" A lightbulb came into your mind, "Astro's hosting a sleepover tonight!" Your voice turned somber, "but, he forgot to invite us, again..." Being sleepy all the time could lead to forgetfulness, you knew. But you weren't stupid, you knew that he hadn't forgotten to invite you and Shrimpo.

A smile crept onto your features and your eyes locked onto the toon beside you, "hey, Shrimpo, why don't we have our own sleepover?"

Said toon shot his head up to you, burning with anger, "I hate that you want to do something with me!" He exclaimed. You tilted your head as he went on, "and I hate that I really really want to, as well!"

Instantaneously, your face lit up with a bright smile. "Really? I'm so glad!" You slept better having someone beside you and knowing you weren't alone, anyway. You flicked the light switch off and opened the covers of your bed after sliding to one side, patting the open space beside you. Shrimpo plopped himself down beside you with a small huff and got comfortable on his side, closing his eyes. He even slept with an angry face. Too cute!

"I'm still awake!!!" Had you said that out loud? That totally wouldn't haunt you till your final moments. Swiftly you got comfortable on your side, facing away from Shrimpo.

"Um, goodnight, Shrimpo." You heard him mutter angry nothings to himself before quieting down again. Just as you were beggining to feel sleep take you for the night, arms wrapped firmly around your middle and a face pressed against your back. You sluggishly moved a hand over one of his with a sleepy smile. You should have sleepovers more often.

If you notice any mistakes, feel free to let me know. Hope you enjoyed!

[yokumirumerafan]

Could you do one where the kny characters have been gone for a mission for what felt like eternity (1 week) and the second they come back Y/N jumps to them and gives them a hug and a kiss and says how much they’ve missed them

🌸 KNY Characters Reacting to Reader Hugging & Kissing Them After They Return From a Week-Long Mission (That Felt Like Forever)

🔥 Kyojuro Rengoku

He steps off the crow-taxi like "YEAHHH! I'M HOME!" And then suddenly—

“KYOOOJJUUUROOOO!!!”

You're sprinting full speed, tackle-hugging him mid-air. He catches you with the biggest grin and spins you around like a Disney movie.

“AHAHA! My love, you missed me that much?” “Yes, you dramatic flamehead!! ONE WEEK WAS TORTURE.”

He plants a kiss on your forehead with a burning warmth that melts your soul. He's just as clingy as you, whispering how your hug is better than any victory.

❄️ Giyuu Tomioka

He quietly returns at dusk, covered in scratches, eyes heavy— And suddenly you launch yourself into his chest, sobbing “I missed you so much…”

He freezes… slowly wraps his arms around you like you're fragile sea glass, and mumbles:

“I missed you too. Every day.”

You kiss his cheek and he stands there stunned, looking like a glitching PS2 character. Later, he buries his face in your shoulder and just holds you all night, not letting go.

🌸 Shinobu Kocho

“Oh? What’s this? Did my darling sprout wings just to fly into my arms?”

You jump her the second she appears at the Butterfly Mansion gate—she pretends to be surprised, but her fingers are already gripping your waist tight.

You kiss her nose, and she turns pink behind that teasing smirk.

“A week apart… how dreadful. I suppose you’ll have to make it up to me~”

Spoiler: she missed you more than she lets on.

⚡️ Zenitsu Agatsuma

He screams when you jump on him:

“W-WAIT IS THIS A TRAP?? AM I DREAMING???”

You squeeze him tight, kissing his cheek rapidly like a love-starved chipmunk. He’s sobbing instantly.

“I WAS SO LONELY!!! I WROTE POETRY ABOUT YOU!!! MY HEART NEARLY GAVE OUT!!!”

Expect clingy Zenitsu attached to your leg like a koala for 3-5 business days.

🐗 Inosuke Hashibira

You hug him? He screeches like a feral raccoon.

“OI!! WHY ARE YOU CLINGING TO ME?!? WAIT… NO NEVERMIND, DO IT AGAIN.”

He freezes when you kiss his forehead and whisper “I missed you.” Goes stiff for a second, then suddenly BURSTS into a dramatic pose:

“OF COURSE YOU MISSED ME, I AM AWESOME. NOW CLING TO ME FOREVER.”

His heart's thumping so loud you can hear it. He’s SO proud and flustered.

🐉 Tanjirou Kamado

He’s literally glowing when he sees you running toward him.

“Y/N!! Are you okay?? I’m so sorry I was gone so long—”

You silence him with a tight hug and a soft kiss. He holds you like you’re the most sacred thing he’s ever touched.

“I missed you too. Every moment.”

He won’t let go for at least a solid hour. Might cry a little into your shoulder. This boy loves hard.

🧨 Sanemi Shinazugawa

He tries to act grumpy when you jump into his arms like

“Oi, stop bein’ clingy—!”

But you kiss his scarred cheek and say "I thought about you every night."

Dead silence.

This man short circuits and buries his face in your neck to hide his flustered red face.

“I thought about you too, dumbass.”

He holds your waist tighter than anyone ever has. Doesn’t let you walk on your own the rest of the day.

🐦 Muichiro Tokito

He blinks when you crash into him, squishing your face into his shoulder.

“Y/N?”

You nod, murmuring, “I missed you so much…” And give his nose a lil kiss.

He goes quiet. For a long second. Then—his arms wrap around you slowly, tightly, protectively.

“I missed you too. I kept thinking of your smile.”

You just made this cloud boy’s whole year.

[razzlerdazzler]

Hi!! (●’◡’●)ﾉ! Can I request some hcs for Jack Frost having an s/o that's a guardian and the spirit of spring? Thank you and have a good day/night!!<33

Jack Frost x Spring Spirit Guardian Reader Relationship Headcanons

Hello, I'm sorry this took so long, I hope you like it :)

Since both of your seasons are so close together, you both see each other very often

Sometimes he visits an area that you've already been through and makes a little snowstorm so the children can have another snow day and he gets to see you again and spend more time with you even though you just spent time with him very recently

He likes to call you nicknames, especially ones that are related to your season like petal, sunshine, dewdrop, sprout he uses this one to tease you, especially if you're tall or short

You both like to watch and play with the new baby animals that are born during spring

Whenever you two spend time with the other guardians, he likes to watch you interact with the people that he considers family, and they're all happy for the both of you

Bunnymund likes to tease Jack about your relationship since both of your seasons are very different, however this usually results in him covered in snow

If you have any little helpers or companions, he loves them and loves to spend time with him and will treat them as if they're his children

If you allow it, he'll even let them join him on his adventures while he brings winter to different parts of the world

He tells you about his sister and how he died protecting her

He likes to go sledding with you and making snowmen with you

Every little while he likes to make a snowball and toss it at you, causing you two to have a snowball fight

He also likes to make flower crowns with you, and he even makes some out of snow and frost and gives them to you

He loves PDA and loves to just hold you and cuddle with you

Whenever you two are cuddling or just being affectionate with each other like holding hands, he always notices how warm you are compared to him and his heart just melts everytime, he loves how warm you are compared to him

He absolutely introduces you to Jamie

He likes to make images of stuff you like on frosted window panes, usually it's your favorite animal, flower, or anything that reminds him of you

He worries about you and is protective of you, even though he knows that you can defend yourself, he can't help but worry a little bit, especially after dealing with Pitch and his past of not being believed in, he doesn't want anything bad to happen to the person he loves

He'll absolutely help you with whatever you need, whether it's helping you stay believed in or even if it's just comforting you or giving you moral support, he's willing to help you however he can

He'll always listen to any of your problems and whenever he sees that you're upset, he'll comfort you, either by cuddling you or by distracting you to get your mind off of whatever you're upset about, even if it's just for a little bit

He likes to ask you questions about the flowers and plants he sees, and loves to watch your eyes light up with glee as you answer his questions. He loves watching you get all excited and passionate

If anybody looks over at him while he's around you, they can't help but notice him looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky

[roseandxanderfics]

“Safe Haven” - SingleMum!reader x Roy Kent

Summary: Roy Kent never expected to fall for a single mum and her kid, but somehow, he’s become the grumpy protector of both. He’s got a reputation to uphold—except when it comes to you two.

---------

It started with a tiny hand tugging at his sleeve.

Roy had been minding his own fucking business, stretching in the gym, when he felt it—a small, insistent pull at the fabric of his hoodie.

He looked down.

A kid.

A tiny kid.

The little boy, no older than two, stared up at him with wide brown eyes, his small fingers still clinging to Roy’s sleeve like he had no fear at all.

Roy blinked. “Uh. Hello?”

The kid blinked back. Then, with all the confidence in the world, he reached up and poked Roy right in the chest.

Roy scowled. “What the fuck?”

The kid grinned, completely unbothered. He poked again, right over Roy’s heart, and giggled like he’d just won a game only he knew about.

Roy exhaled through his nose. “Right. Okay.”

This was happening, apparently.

He squatted down, bringing himself closer to eye level. “Where’d you come from, then?”

The kid didn’t answer. He just tilted his head, inspecting Roy with the kind of serious curiosity only toddlers could manage.

Roy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He really wasn’t built for this shit. “Alright, mate. Where’s your mum, eh?”

The kid just pointed at him. “Big.”

Roy snorted before he could stop himself. “Yeah, well, you’re small.”

The kid grinned again, apparently pleased with that assessment.

Roy huffed, glancing around. The gym was empty—no sign of a frantic parent, no staff looking for a lost kid. He had no fucking clue where this little guy had come from.

“Alright,” he muttered, standing up. “Come on, then.”

Without thinking too much about it, he bent down and scooped the kid up with one arm.

The boy settled against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world, chubby fingers curling into Roy’s hoodie.

Roy definitely wasn’t thinking about how warm and small he was.

Nope.

Not at all.

With a gruff sigh, he started walking, scanning the halls of Nelson Road for anyone who looked like they’d misplaced a fucking toddler.

It didn’t take long.

Just around the corner, Roy spotted you—pale, frantic, spinning in circles like you were about to lose your mind.

“Oi,” Roy called out. “This yours?”

Your head snapped up so fast he thought you might get whiplash.

The second you saw Oliver in his arms, your whole body sagged in relief.

“Oh, my God,” you breathed, practically running toward them.

Roy, eyebrows raised, let you take the kid back.

The way you held him—clutching him like he was your whole fucking world—did something weird to Roy’s chest.

“I—I’m so sorry,” you stammered. “I looked away for two seconds, and—”

“S’alright,” Roy muttered, watching you press a shaking kiss to Oliver’s curls. “Found him poking at the dumbbells in the gym.”

Oliver wiggled in your arms, turning to point at Roy again. “Big.”

Roy smirked. “Yeah, yeah. We covered that already.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the kind that was still half panic, and looked up at Roy.

And for the first time, he really looked back.

At the exhaustion behind your eyes, at the way your shoulders sagged under a weight he couldn’t see. At the quiet strength in the way you held your son, like no matter what, you’d never let go.

He recognized it.

Understood it.

And fuck if that didn’t scare him more than anything.

——————————

Unexpected Circumstances

By the time you managed to strap Oliver into his car seat and drive home, the weight of the day had fully settled on your shoulders.

You’d been two seconds away from a heart attack when you lost sight of him at work, and now, with the adrenaline fading, exhaustion hit you full force.

Just as you were about to pull into your driveway, your phone rang. You sighed, glancing at the screen before answering.

“Hello?”

“Ms. [Last Name], I’m calling from Little Sprouts Daycare—”

Your stomach dropped.

“Is everything okay?” you asked quickly, already fearing the worst.

“I’m afraid not,” the director said apologetically. “There was some severe flooding overnight. The building’s completely water-damaged, and we’re going to need extensive repairs. We’ll have to close for at least three weeks.”

Your grip tightened on the wheel. “Oh.”

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,” the director continued. “We know how important childcare is, and we’re happy to provide references for any temporary facilities.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep the panic at bay. “No, it’s—it’s fine. Thank you for letting me know.”

When the call ended, you just sat there for a moment, staring at the dashboard.

Three weeks.

Three weeks without daycare, and no family nearby to help.

You glanced at the rearview mirror, where Oliver was happily babbling to himself, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding in your mind.

There was no other option.

He’d have to come to work with you.

⸻

Day One: An Interesting Start

“Are you sure this is okay?” you asked, shifting Oliver’s weight on your hip as you stood nervously outside Rebecca’s office.

Higgins smiled kindly. “Of course. We’ve had stranger things happen here. You’d be surprised how many employees have had to bring their kids in.”

You tried to relax, but the idea of your two-year-old running around a professional football club still made your stomach twist.

Oliver, of course, was completely oblivious to your stress. He clutched his stuffed dinosaur in one hand and played with the collar of your shirt with the other, utterly content.

“Come on,” Higgins said cheerfully. “Let’s get you both settled.”

⸻

By the time lunch rolled around, you were already on edge.

Oliver had spent the morning exploring every inch of the building he could reach, and you’d spent the morning trying to keep him from causing complete chaos.

So when Roy Kent—gruff, scowling, and undeniably intimidating—walked into the cafeteria and plopped down across from you, your brain short-circuited.

You blinked at him. “Uh.”

Roy grunted, stabbing his fork into his food. “What?”

Oliver, seated in his high chair next to you, perked up. “Big.”

Roy sighed. “Still fuckin’ big, mate.”

You let out an exhausted laugh, shaking your head. “Did you… did you sit here on purpose?”

Roy gave you a flat look. “Nah. Just magically appeared in this chair.”

You huffed. “I meant—why?”

Roy chewed, swallowed, and said simply, “You look tired.”

You blinked. “That’s because I am tired.”

Roy shrugged, like that settled it. “Figured you could use someone who won’t piss you off by talking too much.”

Your lips twitched. “…Fair point.”

Oliver, meanwhile, was happily smacking his hands on the tray of his high chair, staring at Roy like he was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Roy stared back.

Oliver giggled.

Roy narrowed his eyes. “What’s so funny?”

Oliver pointed. “Big.”

Roy exhaled through his nose, looking deeply unamused. “You’ve got one word, and you’re stickin’ to it, huh?”

Oliver just giggled harder.

And to your absolute shock, Roy’s mouth twitched.

Just barely.

But you saw it.

Your own smile softened as you took a bite of your food. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

——————————

It took less than five minutes for everything to go wrong.

One second, you were finishing up an email at your desk, and the next—Oliver was gone.

Panic shot through you as you shot up from your chair. “Oliver?”

No answer.

Your heart pounded as you turned in a frantic circle, eyes darting around the office. He had been right there. Right there.

You rushed into the hallway, scanning left and right. “Oliver?”

Higgins poked his head out of his office, brow raised. “Everything alright?”

“My son—he wandered off,” you said, trying to keep the terror out of your voice. “I just looked away for a second.”

Higgins immediately straightened. “Let’s find him.”

He took off down one corridor, and you hurried down the other, pushing open doors and peeking into rooms. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, the fear growing with every empty space.

Then, just as you were about to really start spiraling, you heard it.

A tiny, familiar voice.

“’Becca.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet as you followed the sound—right to Rebecca’s open office door.

And there, sitting happily on the couch across from the owner of AFC Richmond herself, was Oliver.

His dinosaur was in his lap, his little legs swinging, as if he belonged there.

Meanwhile, Rebecca—powerful, composed, intimidating Rebecca—was watching him with something close to amusement, her tea cup paused mid-air.

You exhaled hard, gripping the doorway for balance.

“Oh my God,” you gasped. “I am so sorry.”

Rebecca turned her gaze to you, smiling slightly. “Don’t be. He’s been keeping me quite entertained.”

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to catch your breath. “How did he even get in here?”

Rebecca lifted an elegant brow. “The door was open.”

You groaned, rubbing your temple. “I swear, I looked away for one second.”

Oliver turned to you, beaming. “Mama!”

“Yes, Mama is here,” you said, stepping forward and scooping him into your arms. “You cannot run off like that, baby.”

Oliver patted your face with sticky hands. “’Becca,” he said again, pointing at Rebecca.

Rebecca chuckled. “He is rather charming, isn’t he?”

You sighed, shifting him on your hip. “Too charming for his own good.”

There was a low ahem from behind you, and you turned to see Roy standing in the doorway, arms crossed. His dark eyes flicked from Oliver to you, then back to Oliver.

“Didn’t take long for him to start running the place,” Roy muttered.

Rebecca smirked. “He does seem to have that effect.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I should probably get him out of your hair before he starts making business decisions.”

Rebecca gave Oliver a little wave. “Come back anytime, little one.”

Oliver waved back. “Bye, ’Becca.”

You shot Rebecca one last apologetic smile before turning on your heel and carrying Oliver out, Roy falling into step beside you.

There was a brief beat of silence before Roy muttered, “Lotta guts, breakin’ into the boss’s office.”

Oliver just grinned at him.

Roy shook his head, but you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

You sighed. “It’s gonna be a long three weeks.”

—————————

Coach Roy vs. The Two-Year-Old Striker

Three days into Oliver’s unexpected training ground residency, Roy found himself in a situation he had never anticipated.

He was standing on the pitch, staring down at a very serious-looking toddler.

Oliver had his feet planted firmly, his tiny body standing as straight as a two-year-old could manage. His dinosaur plush sat discarded on the grass, replaced by a miniature football Jamie had sneakily handed him that morning.

Roy, arms crossed, scowled down at him. “Right. If you’re gonna keep runnin’ around out here, might as well learn something.”

Oliver blinked up at him. “Okay.”

Roy exhaled sharply. “Alright, kid. First lesson—kicking. You wanna kick with the inside of your foot, not your toes, yeah? Gives you more control.”

Oliver nodded solemnly. Then, without hesitation, he lifted his little leg and sent the ball rolling… straight past Roy’s boot.

Barely moving.

Roy blinked. Then looked at Oliver. “That was shit.”

“Oi!” you called from the sideline.

Roy groaned. “Fine. That was not good.”

Oliver nodded again. “Not good.”

Roy sighed and bent down, rolling the ball back toward him. “Let’s try again. Inside of the foot.”

Oliver took a deep breath—like he was absorbing the weight of the moment—then took a few careful steps and…

Toe-punted the ball directly into Roy’s shin.

For a second, there was complete silence.

Then Jamie—who had been watching with way too much interest—burst out laughing.

“Oi, little man’s got power,” Jamie cackled. “Good job, mate.”

Roy turned his glare on him. “Shut up, Tartt.”

Oliver beamed, clearly very pleased with himself. He turned to Jamie, eyes wide. “Good?”

Jamie grinned. “Real good, bud.”

Roy groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “This is a fuckin’ disaster.”

“Roy!” you called again.

He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Right. Not a fuckin’ disaster. Just a regular disaster.”

Oliver was still grinning, looking up at Roy with so much excitement that—for a second—Roy forgot how much of a nightmare this was.

He exhaled sharply. “Alright, kid. We’re doin’ this again.”

Oliver clapped his hands. “Again!”

Roy shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see if you can actually listen this time.”

From the sidelines, you watched with an amused smile. This was already turning into the best entertainment of the week.

And maybe—just maybe—Roy wasn’t hating it as much as he claimed.

——————————

Oliver’s First Chant—And Roy’s New Biggest Fan

Roy liked to think he had a decent amount of patience when it came to football.

With adults.

With actual professionals who should know what they were doing.

With a two-year-old? Not so much.

It had been a week of Oliver tagging along to training sessions, and somehow, the kid had managed to worm his way into every corner of Roy’s day. He was at breakfast with his mum in the lounge, in Rebecca’s office babbling at her while she pretended to take his opinions on club management seriously, and now, he had a designated seat on the sideline.

Roy hadn’t thought much of it. The kid had a short attention span—he figured Oliver would get bored and go running back to you in no time.

But today, just as Roy was shouting for the team to stop acting like dickheads and fucking run, a little voice rang out from the sidelines.

“Woy!”

The entire training ground went silent.

Roy turned around slowly.

Oliver was standing on the grass, beaming.

His chubby hands clapped together once before he repeated, even louder, “Woy!”

There was another beat of stunned silence.

And then, the entire squad erupted.

“Oi, boss has a fan club!” Isaac cackled.

“First time anyone’s ever said his name without soundin’ terrified,” Jamie teased.

“Can’t even say his ‘R’s properly, but somehow, it still works,” Sam laughed.

Roy ignored all of them. His attention was fixed on Oliver, who was now bouncing on his little feet, as if he somehow understood he’d just delivered the most devastating blow to Roy’s entire reputation.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Roy muttered under his breath.

Oliver, oblivious to the effect he was having, clapped again. “Woy!”

“Yeah, yeah, I fuckin’ hear you,” Roy grumbled.

But despite his scowl, his voice wasn’t quite as gruff as usual.

And when Oliver toddled back to you, absolutely delighted with himself, Roy was already bracing for the next round of teasing from the team.

Little shit was his biggest fan.

And worst of all?

Roy didn’t actually mind.

————————

Roy didn’t do lunches with people.

He tolerated team meals when necessary, scowled his way through the occasional club event, and had exactly three people in his life he’d voluntarily share food with.

Somehow, Oliver and his mum had snuck onto that list.

Not that Roy was making a big deal out of it. It had started when you’d been too tired to go off-site for lunch, and Rebecca had insisted you use the executive lounge. Roy had gone in to grab a coffee, only to find you balancing a squirming two-year-old on your lap, trying (and failing) to keep him from kicking the table.

Roy had meant to just grab his drink and go.

Instead, he’d found himself dropping into the seat across from you with a gruff, “Kid’s gonna kick that plate straight onto the floor.”

You sighed, shooting him a wry smile. “I know. He’s got too much energy.”

Roy snorted. “Takes after Jamie, then.”

And just like that, lunch had turned into a regular thing.

Now, a week later, Roy was watching Oliver demolish a peanut butter sandwich with absolutely no regard for the mess he was making. Crumbs everywhere, sticky fingers, little bits of crust getting mushed into the table—Roy was horrified.

“You’re raising a menace,” he grumbled, nodding at the destruction.

You rolled your eyes, handing Oliver a napkin. “He’s two.”

“No excuse. Look at him, he’s deliberately making it worse.”

Oliver, as if sensing Roy’s judgment, grinned directly at him and smushed his sandwich half into his face.

Roy narrowed his eyes. “That was personal.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I think he just likes you.”

Roy blinked, thrown by the casual way you said it.

Oliver likes him?

Him, Roy Kent? The man who terrified the entire Premier League for over a decade?

Before he could figure out what to do with that, Oliver clambered off his chair, sticky hands reaching up expectantly.

You sighed, but before you could intervene, Roy—on instinct—scooped the kid up.

Oliver settled against him like it was normal, like Roy always carried him around.

And Roy… let him.

Even when his tiny, peanut-butter-covered fingers latched onto his sleeve.

Even when you gave him an amused look like you knew this was a big deal.

Even when he muttered, “Yeah, alright,” like he wasn’t already completely fucked when it came to you and your kid.

———————————

It took precisely three minutes for Roy to realize the kid was missing.

One second, Oliver was sitting happily at your desk, stacking some stress balls into a precarious tower while you finished up an email. The next, Roy walked past your office again, and the little menace was gone.

He didn’t think. Didn’t question it. Just muttered a low, “Fuck,” and went looking.

He found him in Rebecca’s office.

Of course he fucking did.

Rebecca sat behind her desk, legs crossed, watching the toddler perched in her chair with an expression of vague amusement. Oliver, completely oblivious to the fact that he was in the presence of one of the most powerful women in English football, was babbling something in that half-intelligible way two-year-olds did, waving his arms to emphasize very important points.

Rebecca, to her credit, was nodding along as if he were making a solid argument.

Roy stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “He botherin’ you?”

Rebecca turned, a slow smirk pulling at her lips. “Not at all. I was just learning about, what was it, darling? Oh yes—how dinosaurs should play football.”

Roy exhaled sharply, biting down on a laugh.

Oliver turned at the sound of his voice, face lighting up. “Roy!”

He scrambled down from the chair and ran toward him, stopping just short of barreling into his legs. Instead, he lifted his arms in a very clear pick me up demand.

Roy hesitated for approximately two seconds before sighing and scooping the kid up. “You can’t just wander off, yeah? Your mum’s gonna kill me.”

Oliver, unbothered, patted Roy’s stubbled cheek with his tiny hand. “’Kay.”

Rebecca chuckled. “He has quite the hold on you, doesn’t he?”

Roy scowled. “Fuck off.”

Rebecca just smirked harder.

And Roy knew she was going to be insufferable about this.

————————

The morning of Oliver’s last day at Richmond started like all the others.

He ran into the building, his tiny backpack bouncing on his shoulders, and made a beeline for Roy’s office.

Roy barely had time to look up before Oliver crashed into his legs with a gleeful “Hi, Roy!”

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Roy muttered, reaching down to steady him.

It had become their routine. Roy would act like he was completely inconvenienced by Oliver’s enthusiasm, but then—every single time—he’d huff and let the kid clamber onto his chair while he pretended to check emails.

But today felt… different.

When you walked in a few minutes later, you looked around the office like you were committing it to memory.

“This is it,” you said softly, offering Roy a small smile. “Daycare’s finally reopening.”

Roy didn’t react, not outwardly. Just nodded and glanced down at Oliver, who was happily playing with one of his many acquired Richmond trinkets—a football keychain Sam had given him.

The whole thing felt off.

The team felt it too.

Training that day was quieter. The usual chaos of Oliver sprinting across the pitch, shouting something incoherent, was missing. The team kept sneaking glances at the kid like they were trying to savor the last moments of his ridiculous reign over Richmond.

Even Ted looked oddly sentimental about it.

Then, after lunch, when Oliver was supposed to take his usual spot in Roy’s office, he hesitated.

Instead, he toddled over to Roy and just… lifted his arms.

Roy froze.

You let out a quiet laugh. “He wants a hug, Roy.”

Roy stared at Oliver, then at you, then back at Oliver—who was still standing there, patient and expectant.

The team was watching. Everyone was waiting for Roy Kent to react.

And Roy Kent did not disappoint.

With a long-suffering huff, he scooped Oliver up into his arms, letting the kid settle against his chest.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered. “Don’t get used to it.”

Oliver giggled, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Roy absolutely did not melt.

Did not.

⸻

Later That Evening

It should have ended there.

A goodbye. A thank you, Roy and a we’ll see you around.

But instead, when Roy was heading out for the night, hands stuffed in his pockets, he saw you waiting outside the club.

You looked… nervous.

“Everything alright?” he asked gruffly.

You nodded, glancing down before looking back up at him. “I just—” You hesitated. “I just wanted to say thank you. For being so good to Oliver. And to me.”

Roy shifted. “Didn’t do much.”

You laughed at that, soft and disbelieving. “Roy. You did everything.”

There was a pause.

Something unspoken stretched between you.

Then, before Roy could talk himself out of it, he exhaled and grumbled, “If you ever need someone to kick a ball around with him or whatever… you know where to find me.”

You blinked. Then smiled.

“I’d like that,” you admitted softly. “Oliver would too.”

And then—because fuck it—Roy added, “You too. If you ever need… I dunno. A break. A drink. Whatever.”

You stared at him for a moment, something warm in your eyes.

Then, before Roy could completely combust from the weight of your gaze, you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“Goodnight, Roy.”

And with that, you walked away—leaving Roy standing outside Nelson Road, hands clenched into fists, desperately pretending he wasn’t fucking smiling.

[peachesyeo]

The Cherry Club - Part One

word count - 1.7k pairings - dpr ian x bm x mingyu x jungkook x mingi x fem!reader genre - mature, smut, slight crack(?) chapter warnings - dom!dprian, dom!bm, switch!mingyu, switch!jungkook, switch!reader, switch!mingi, noona kink (mingixreader), safe sex (hey wear condoms pls), exhibitionism, breeding kink, reverse cowgirl, doggy position, cockwarming, polyamory implied, mxm action implied, porn with little plot ig.

author's notes - for @sousydive, my baby. i'm sorry that i'm late ): and there’s a part two… I’m going off for my internship so here’s something… I PROMISE ILL UPDATE 1117 JUST GIVE ME ANOTHER 20 YEARS… ILL NEVER ACCEPT SMUT REQUESTS EVER AGAIN

back to masterlist? (svt) back to masterlist? (atz)

“I bet I can make you cum from just my fingers.”

You groaned, covering your face with your fingers as a very drunk Jungkook straddled a very drunk Mingyu, wagging his index finger in his face. Next to you, BM let out a bark of laughter, while Mingi, whose head is in your lap, is already half-gone from the alcohol, his entire face red. 

“The fuck you mean? Yah, I bet I can make you cum untouched!” Mingyu hollered back, pushing Jungkook off him and straddled the latter instead, pulling his collar roughly. Christian leaned back into the couch, watching the two 97 men bicker with an air of interest. 

The six of you were gathered at Christian’s house, sitting in a circle in his living room while drinking alcohol. No matter how busy the six of you are, you all would find time to drink with each other at least once every two weeks. And it’s Christian’s turn to host the drinking session this week. 

You had no idea how the topic of the conversation changed from work, life to sex - well, this cycle always repeats every session. You wouldn’t even be surprised if Mingyu and Jungkook starts fucking on the floor now.

“You weren’t so cocky sucking my dick last session!” Jungkook suddenly gained strength, knocking Mingyu off him. The poor man screeched, his head knocking into BM’s knee. You laughed as the two groaned, one rubbing his head and the other, his knee. 

“For the record, you didn’t last very long, too, Kook.” Christian pointed out, where Mingyu’s eyes widened. He clapped his hands, shooting a smug smirk at Jungkook. “See? Even hyung said so. I can just lick a fat stripe up your balls and you’ll be cumming in no time-”

At this point, you just want to cut your ears off. “Just start fucking and get out of here already?” You pointed out, pouring another shot down your throat. Mingi stirred slightly at your words, his eyes clouded with sleepiness and confusion. “W-what? Who’s fucking?” 

“No one, Mingi-ah, are you sure you don’t want to go up to the guest bedroom?” Christian said quickly, meeting your eyes. You blushed, as Mingi sat up groggily, his hair sprouting up in all directions. 

“Nah. I wanna stay and watch the fucking.” Christian coughed, choking on his whiskey. BM had forgotten the pain in his knee and started laughing hysterically, while Mingyu and Jungkook only had eyes for each other, slipping into their own world. 

“Really? At least I don’t just cum untouched from watching Matthew hyung rail Y/n!”

It’s your turn to choke on your drink. The fiery whiskey splattered all over your shirt and collar at Jungkook’s words.

“You can’t just drag me into your rivalry shit, you fucking dumb bunny!” You yelled indignantly, crawling over Mingi to pull at Jungkook’s ears. You could feel his hands wrapping around your waist, his fingers drawing circles on your hips as you pinch Jungkook’s cheeks. “You two can suck each other off all you want!”

“Speaking of railing Y/n,” everyone turned to look at Christian, whose eyes were on you. “Who here fucks you the best, Y/n-ah?”

Silence. You gulped, sensing danger from his words. The stares from the five men in the room were dark and intense, and you couldn’t help but feel turned on. “That’s… That’s not fair-”

“Of course I fuck her the best.” You let out a moan when you feel something brushed against your clothed clit. You have no idea when, but Mingi’s fingers have already slipped under your fairly modest skirt, his grip on your waist strong. “Right, noona?”

The temperature around you seems to rise. A finger gripped your chin, and you looked up to see Jungkook gazing down at you, the smell of his cologne filling your nose. “No, I fucked you the best, don’t I, Y/n-ah?” He questioned, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. “Come on, just tell the truth.”

“Why don’t we all fuck Y/n once, and let her crown the winner?” Christian suggested, his voice hoarse with want and need. Your pink tongue darted out to lick at your dry red lips, and you placed your palm on Jungkook’s thighs, supporting yourself. 

“Why not, Sir?”

Oh, you’ve done it. You hear a giggle from Mingi, as your eyes land on Christian. He raised a brow at you, a vein popping in his neck.“Very well, Y/n-ah,” he said slowly, getting up. You slapped Jungkook's hand off you and struggled to get up from Mingi's lap, but the youngest of the group had a strong grip on you. "Since you asked for it, rather rudely, I shall give you what you want."

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-" "Can't hold on anymore longer?" "I'm fucking sensitive, you dickhead!" "Come on, noona, squeeze him a little tighter." "Song Mingi, I swear, fuck off!"

You let out a loud moan of Jungkook's name as BM rubbed your clit, muttering encouraging phrases like 'Go on, Queen, milk him dry' or 'Kookie is near, you can do it' while leaving red hickeys all over your neck.

Jungkook was laying on the bed right under you, holding down your wrist to either side of him as he thrusted upwards, bickering with Mingi and Mingyu as he did so. Christian sat the furthest away, watching the show while palming himself.

"We're not holding a competition to who lasts the longest, gentlemen," BM straightened his back up, ignoring your whine at the loss of stimulation to your clit. "It's who fucks Y/n the best."

In reply to his words, Jungkook heaved a particularly hard thrust upwards. You whine, feeling a poke at the gentle curve of your cervix. "Ju-Jung-ah!"

"Not gonna l-last long, princess." Jungkook warned, letting go of your wrists. Mingi sighed, looking at the both of you dreamily. "Noona, you look like a Queen impaled on her dick throne."

His words caused snorts of laughter around the room. You made a noise of laughter and moan, as Jungkook had flipped you around on his member, his hips suddenly jerking upwards at a fast pace. You squeaked, clenching around him involuntarily. “And it’s a… fuck… dick t-throne made of gold.” Jungkook’s voice cracked as he came with a groan. You have already come once, and with a rub of your clit, you came again, panting as you fell on top of Jungkook’s chest.

“Get out, it’s my turn.” Mingyu said eagerly as Jungkook pulled out of you, pulling off his condom while giving you a deep kiss. Mingyu scowled, getting on top of the both of you and pulled you off Jungkook, who rolled off the bed while giving Mingyu his middle finger. Mingyu muttered a curse under his breath as he speared into you at one go. The both of you sighed as he slid in, fitting snugly in you.

“You ready, my Queen?” You hear Mingyu teased behind you, and you reply to him with a simple squeeze. Mingyu’s groan caused laughter from the spectators, especially from Jungkook. You smirk in victory, only to freeze when Mingyu bites on your shoulder as his hips begin to move.

If Jungkook’s thrusts were slow and romantical, Mingyu’s were just animalistic. He jerks in and out of you at high speed, leaving you to moan and drool helplessly as your head sinks into the pillow before you. Mingyu’s breathy moans came from behind you, his whispers driving you insane along with the thrusts of his lips. “I’m going to fill you up, Y/n-ah,” he moans, his cock pushing in and out of you at lightning speed. “Full of my cum. Leave you limping around Christian hyung’s hallways dripping.” He nips along your earlobe as he thrusts hard, his grip around your waist so tight that you are sure that it is going to bruise. “Don’t you like that, Y/n-ah? Round and full of my babies?”

There was a loud smack and Mingyu yelped. His grip on your waist loosen and his tempo stumbled for a moment. BM had smacked Mingyu’s ass cheeks, scowling. “You don’t get to knock Y/n up before Christian hyung or I do, Gyu-ah.” He said, his eyes staring into yours. “Be a good puppy and keep fucking.”

“It’s just dirty talk, hyung!” Mingyu huffed, resuming his insane pace. “You stimulated Y/n when Jungkook was railing her-”

He groaned again, feeling you squeezing him. “Shut u-up and fuck me!” You hissed, your hands reaching back to pinch at Mingyu’s waist. Mingyu pouted and stopped talking, and soon the sound of skin on skin reverberated throughout the room.

You pushed your face into the sheets, your moans stifled by the silky material. Your fingers grabbed desperately onto the pillow, before something pried them off. You looked up to see Mingi smiling sweetly at you, his fingers hooked within yours.

“She's trembling.” BM said somewhere from your left. The dirty mutters from Mingyu paused, and his hips jerked faster. Soon, the dam in you collapsed, and your elbows gave away. Mingyu was still moving, and you weakly shook your head. “No… Please…”

“Go finish off somewhere.” BM slapped Mingyu’s ass again, rolling a condom on himself and the younger pouted. “It's not my fault I last longer than a certain someone.”

“Fuck you!” Jungkook yelled as Mingyu pulled up. BM flipped me around, chucking as my dazed eyes followed his form. “It's only been three orgasms, and you have three people left, Y/n-ah.”

“Unless noona can take both at the same time.” Your heart thumped as Mingi spoke, playing with your fingers. His gaze was dark and predatory, matching BM’s as he looked right at you. “Can't you, noona?”

Before you can speak, Christian spoke. “Of course she can take it. But it's still an individual competition.”

“I-” You wanted to protest, but BM gently pulled you upwards. Pressing a light kiss onto your lips, he gently sank you onto his hard member. “You asked for this, Y/n-ah. Remember?”

You whined, looking right at Christian. The both of you held gazes, until the older man sighed. “Alright, just take a little break.”

You smell triumphantly as someone moves behind you — Mingi — and draws a line down your spine. You sat there, cockwamring BM, as he gave you time to recover.

Mingyu was still jerking himself off, bickering with Jungkook from time to time. You buried your face into BM’s chest, as Mingi’s finger slid down slowly right in between your ass. A gasp escaped you as he teased the part that connects you and BM. “Mingi-“

“Don’t worry, noona,” you hear him whisper, goosebumps rising. “We’re going to have a very, very long night.”

permanent taglist (ateez) - @watermelon2319 @levishun permanent taglist - @sousydive @yeodeulz @oddracha @jaerisdiction @yukichan67

@evidive @onysmamas @hoeforalbedo @fantasy2wonderland @epiclegend19

©peachesyeo, 2024

i do not own the dividers nor pictures used in banner. all credit goes to their original owners.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Lucifer x Reader - Trying to hide his demonic traits from you (Hurt/comfort; slightly spicy)

This is for @citrusbatsandhoneybees and @rosen-und-mondlicht because I love them <3

You and Lucifer have been dating for a little bit; he is always the perfect gentleman and there is never a hair out of place

At one point, things start to get a little hot and heavy during an intense make out session between the two of you as you slowly start peeling clothes off of each other

After a few minutes of feeling his tongue forced down your throat while his hips shift against yours, he suddenly gasps and pulls away

You're about ask him what's wrong but his hand is quick to hop out of your lap and cover your eyes

This was the farthest you've ever gone with him, so you assume he's a bit nervous but Lucifer seemed fine up until this point; what changed.

"J-Just give me a minute, darling, I'm sorry..."

"Lucifer, what's wrong? Are you alright? Is this too much?"

"N-Nothing! Nothing's wrong! You're perfect...I just...during situations like this, I have a hard time controlling...certain changes..."

You laugh a little. "Isn't that the point, Luci?"

"Not those kinds of changes. When I fell, I gained new...features...Typically I can hide them easily but when I lose too much control...I just don't think you should have to see them."

"Oh. But why?"

"..."

"Lucifer?"

"Because I'm a monster..."

You go to lift his hands off of your eyes but he uses his other hand to stop you.

"Please, don't...the last thing I want to do is scare you away..."

"Lucifer, do you think I'm with you because of the way you look?"

"I-I...no, but..."

"You're not going to scare me, I promise. I love you for you, I need you to know that." You once again try to lift his hand out of the way; Lucifer doesn't resist much.

"Love, please..."

You remove his hand from your face and finally see what he was trying to hide from you

His eyes were now a crimson red with yellow irises, demonic horns had sprouted from his temple, and a thin black tail flicked back and forth behind him

He buries his face in his lap, his tail wrapping around himself

"Lucifer, will you look at me?"

He shakes his head

"For what it's worth, I think you're beautiful."

"You can't mean that..."

"Of course I do! I love everything about you, it doesn't matter to me. I know you may not like these parts of yourself, but they are a part of you. And if you can't love every part of yourself, I will."

You lean in and plant and kiss on one of his horns and start to caress the tip of his tail.

He lifts his head in utter disbelief at your actions, tears forming in his eyes. He clings to you as he begins to sob quietly, and you hold him close to your chest

"I'm sorry if I made you feel like you had to hide this part of yourself from me."

"No, no, you did nothing of the sort. This...this is my fault. My insecurities. I never once doubted your love for me. Even after all these years, I could never fully accept myself as I was...I just didn't want to mess this up..."

"You haven't, and you won't. I love you, Luci, all of you."

"And I you."

He kisses you passionately once more, emboldened by your comforting and sincere words; but then he pulls back and smiles

"Now, where were we?~"

[miapotterismyfav]

Innocence

———————————————————————————

Summary: Sirius Black thought he had Y/N all figured out—until one offhand comment sends his world into a tailspin and unearths far more than he bargained for.

Matching: Siriusxfem!reader, Remusxfem!reader

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It’s my bday so here’s an extra long chapter xx VERY ANGSTY

———————————————————————————

Chapter Seven: You Can’t Keep Burning Like This

Y/N cast the hex before she even heard her name.

Mulciber stumbled back, arms flailing, as a swarm of miniature, screeching birds erupted around his head, clawing at his ears and eyes. The corridor stilled.

"You filthy little—" he started, but the screeching drowned him out.

“Say one more thing about Lily,” Y/N said coolly, wand still raised. Her voice was low, but it carried.

A few students stared at her like she’d sprouted horns. Not because of the hex—because of who she was. Carrow family, pureblood, Slytherin. She wasn’t supposed to protect the Muggleborns. She wasn’t supposed to hex Mulciber, of all people.

The spell dissolved when McGonagall appeared around the corner with an uncanny sense for tension. She took in the scene in seconds: Mulciber red-faced and dishevelled, Y/N composed but sharp-eyed, and Lily standing halfway down the hall with wide, stunned eyes.

“Miss Y/L/N,” McGonagall said, quietly. “My office. Now.”

—————————————————————————

Fifteen minutes later, Y/N sat stiffly in a straight-backed chair, chewing the inside of her cheek.

McGonagall didn't speak right away. She conjured two teacups, added a spoon of honey to one, and slid it across the desk.

Y/N blinked.

“I don’t need—”

“You need something,” McGonagall interrupted gently. “Drink it.”

The tea was warm, sweet, and unfamiliar. It made her chest hurt.

“You know the rules about duelling in corridors,” McGonagall said, sitting. “But I also know what he said. And what he’s said before. So you’ll get detention, yes—but not a letter home.”

Y/N stared down at the teacup. “Doesn’t matter. They’ll hear anyway.”

McGonagall looked at her with something like sorrow. “I’m sorry about your family, Y/N. But I’m not sorry you’re choosing to be better than them.”

It was the first time she’d heard anyone say it like that. Not whispered in fear or anger—just said, plain and sure.

And she didn’t have a single word in return. —————————————————————————

She didn’t eat in the Great Hall anymore.

Some days she claimed she was busy. Others, the Marauders wordlessly brought her a plate and let her eat on the floor of their dorm, legs crossed, Sirius reading upside-down beside her while James lectured Peter about the importance of protein.

Remus didn’t sit too close. Not like he used to. But he’d pass her things—salt, pepper, a copy of the Daily Prophet—without being asked. Their eyes met once. Just once. And something cracked open between them, but neither of them reached for it. —————————————————————————

She spent more time in the Forest. The edge of it, anyway. Always with a slip from Pomfrey in case she was caught. Brewing wolfsbane was delicate and deliberate and familiar.

It kept her hands busy. Her mind quieter.

Regulus passed her in the hallway one night—late, after curfew. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t even slow. But his hand brushed hers for the briefest second and tucked something into her palm.

It was a tiny note, folded into the back cover of The Picture of Dorian Gray. He’d underlined a passage.

“There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel no one else has a right to blame us.”

She read it three times. Then tucked it in her pocket. —————————————————————————

The whispers were louder now.

“She’s turning on them.”

“I heard she hexed Rosier last week.”

“She sleeps in the Gryffindor Tower now.”

“Is she even in Slytherin anymore?”

The answer was complicated.

Her own common room was like a war zone—cold stares, muttered insults, shoves when no one was looking. Her bed was torn once. She stopped going. She told Slughorn it was a temporary arrangement for “safety reasons” and he didn’t press.

Now she drifted between the boys’ dorm beds like a ghost in borrowed jumpers. Some nights Remus read to her until she fell asleep. Others, Sirius gave up his bed and crashed with James, who made a whole scene about how “his back is basically a national treasure” and refused to give it up twice in a row.

Once, Peter slept on the floor and woke up covered in sock lint.

She loved them in a way she didn’t have words for.

And hated that she needed them so much. —————————————————————————

It was a Saturday morning.

The kind where the enchanted ceiling above the Great Hall mirrored soft clouds and late autumn light. Students lingered longer than usual over breakfast, dragging out conversations and laughing with full mouths. Y/N had just slid onto the Gryffindor bench beside Sirius, eyes a little heavy from a sleepless night in the Astronomy Tower, when a heavy owl landed in front of her with a thud.

The table fell quiet around her.

The owl was unmistakable — pristine white, far too elegant for a school delivery, its leg bound with heavy cream parchment and a wax seal bearing the Carrow family crest. Old blood. Impossibly cold. Her family's.

Sirius froze beside her. “That’s from them.”

She didn’t respond. Just untied the envelope with a steady hand, breaking the seal that held back everything.

James looked up from his toast. Remus and Peter went quiet.

She unfolded the letter.

Y/N,

Your continued defiance and disgraceful associations with blood traitors, half-bloods, and worse have left us no choice. Your actions — including aiding a known werewolf and being seen fraternizing with Muggleborns — are an embarrassment to the Carrow legacy.

Effective immediately, your Gringotts vault is frozen. Your wand will be reported for replacement and reassigned under supervision. You are no longer welcome at any Carrow estate or under our name.

Transfer arrangements to Durmstrang are underway. You will be extracted from Hogwarts within the fortnight. Do not contact Reginald or Lavinia again. We are not your family.

This decision is final.

— Father

She read it once. Then again.

And then she folded it in half, creased it cleanly, and placed it down in front of her plate.

She didn’t cry.

She just stood.

No sound. No outburst. She rose like it didn’t hurt at all and walked straight out of the Great Hall.

Sirius was on his feet a heartbeat later. James after him. Remus, too, lips pressed into a thin line. Peter shoved aside his goblet, knocking over juice in his hurry.

Even Lily got up, following faster than she probably meant to. —————————————————————————

They found her just outside the Hall, leaning against the corridor wall, arms crossed tight. Her face gave away nothing — not rage, not heartbreak. Just stillness.

“You alright?” James asked carefully.

She nodded. “I’ve been disowned.”

“We figured,” Sirius said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “They’re transferring me. Durmstrang. Imagine me trying to blend in there.”

“You’re not going,” Lily said.

“Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could. I have no money. No wand. I’m not technically a Carrow anymore.”

“Good,” Sirius snapped. “Carrows are bastards.”

She didn’t disagree. —————————————————————————

That night, she stayed in the Gryffindor Tower again.

Remus was already sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading. She wordlessly climbed in beside him, shoulders tight, eyes distant. He didn’t ask anything — just handed her one of his old, threadbare jumpers and pulled the duvet higher.

Across the room, Sirius dropped himself onto his bed with a dramatic huff.

“She can take mine tomorrow,” Peter offered.

From Remus’ bed, Y/N gave a small, tired smile.

And in the dark, with the quiet breathing of boys who had somehow become her family, she realised it didn’t matter what her last name was anymore. —————————————————————————

Sirius had been brooding for the better part of the morning.

Remus had noticed it—of course he had. He always noticed things, especially when it came to Sirius. Like the way his cereal had been viciously stabbed rather than scooped. Or how he'd snapped at James for humming. Or how he’d accidentally singed the edge of his Defence essay with his wand when Y/N had wandered into the common room that morning, wearing one of Remus’s jumpers.

Remus had noticed that too.
And he’d looked far too pleased about it.

“Since when does she wear your clothes?” Sirius muttered as the two of them headed down to the courtyard together, James trailing behind with a Quaffle and no clue.

Remus didn’t look up from the book he was flipping through, but there was a flicker of smugness in the corner of his mouth. “Since she started falling asleep in my bed more than yours.”

That shut Sirius up for all of five seconds.
“Yeah, well, she’s always in mine first.”

Remus gave a quiet laugh, like that was a child’s argument. “She likes to talk to me before she sleeps. Said I make her mind quieter.”

“I make her laugh.”

“You make her loud,” Remus corrected. “There’s a difference.”

They stepped out into the sunlit courtyard just as James launched the Quaffle into the air, calling for them to get their arses in gear. Sirius barely moved. His eyes were locked on something across the lawn.

Or rather, someone.

Y/N.

She was perched on the low stone wall, legs crossed elegantly at the ankle, one hand propping up her chin, the other tracing lazy circles on someone’s thigh.

Remus followed Sirius’s stare and stopped dead.

The someone was Benjy Fenwick.

And Benjy—charming, annoyingly attractive Benjy—was laughing at something she’d said. His head tipped back, sun catching the streaks of auburn in his hair. And then she leaned in, smile curling like smoke, and kissed him.

It was a soft thing. Slow. Familiar.

Remus blinked.

Sirius swore under his breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I thought she hated Hufflepuffs,” Remus said faintly.

“She said he smelled like hay once,” Sirius hissed.

Across the lawn, Y/N pulled away and tucked her hand into Benjy’s collar, straightening it with a sort of intimate focus that made Sirius feel like he might combust. She laughed at something else, carefree and entirely unaware of the emotional crisis unravelling twenty metres away.

James, catching up and thoroughly unimpressed with their complete lack of Quidditch enthusiasm, glanced between them. “What’s up with you two?”

“Benjy Fenwick,” Sirius snapped.

“Ah.” James followed their gaze. “Y/N and—oh. Oh. That’s… wow.”

“She’s touching his hair,” Sirius added bitterly.

Remus folded his arms. “It’s too clean. No one’s hair is that clean. It’s suspicious.”

“Do you think she likes him?” Sirius asked, clearly hoping the answer was no.

“She’s kissing him, Padfoot. What do you think?”

“But maybe she’s just practising.”

“Oh, come off it.”

They stood in tense silence, all three of them now watching like the world’s worst spectators.

“She kissed me last week,” Sirius muttered.

James blinked. “What?”

“Only on the cheek. But it felt… significant.”

Remus snorted. “She fell asleep on my shoulder. And kept mumbling about how warm I was.”

Sirius wheeled on him. “That’s because you’re a human radiator, not because she wants to shag you.”

James raised a hand like a mediator. “Should we maybe… I don’t know… talk to her?”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius and Remus said in unison.

Across the way, Y/N stood and handed Benjy something—his jumper, maybe? Her hands lingered on his chest for a beat too long before she turned to go.

“Act natural,” Sirius hissed, nearly toppling over a bench to sit.

Remus adjusted his collar and opened his book again like he hadn’t spent the last five minutes having a silent breakdown.

Y/N spotted them, smiled, and wandered over.

“Hey,” she said lightly, the sun making her eyes gold at the edges. “What’re we up to?”

“Definitely not watching you snog Benjy Fenwick,” Sirius blurted.

Y/N’s smile widened, wicked. “Oh, so you were watching.”

“Hard not to,” Remus added coolly. “You were practically in his lap.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t faint, Remus,” she teased. “All that public affection. Must’ve been traumatic.”

James, ever unhelpful, gave a low whistle. “So, uh. That a thing now?”

Y/N shrugged. “We’re just having fun. He’s sweet. Smells like—what did I say once? Hay?”

Sirius grunted. “And yet you kissed him anyway.”

“I kissed you once and you still smelled like smoke and regret,” she replied breezily.

Remus choked on his own breath.

James actually dropped the Quaffle.

Y/N winked and leaned in to kiss Sirius on the cheek again—exactly where she had the week before. Then turned to Remus, gave him a look that was impossible to read, and plucked the book from his hands.

“Try page 394,” she said, flipping to it and handing it back before strolling off.

Remus stared down. The passage was highlighted. It read:

“Love is not always loud. Sometimes, it’s the hand that stays when the room clears.”

Sirius leaned over and read it too. Then scowled.
“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah,” Remus muttered. “Tell me about it.”

And from across the courtyard, Y/N didn’t look back.

She didn’t have to.
They were both already watching.

—————————————————————————

James and Sirius were wrestling in the corridor outside the Great Hall. Not fighting—just bored. Sirius had stolen James’ glasses five minutes earlier and was now ducking around stone pillars while James blindly swatted at him like a furious bat.

“You look brilliant,” Sirius called. “Truly. Very chic. Retro.”

“Give. Them. Back.”

“I’m helping you build character, Potter.”

Remus emerged from the library just in time to see Sirius vault onto the bench like a cat and James crash gracelessly into a tapestry. Peter trailed behind, chewing a sugar quill, expression unreadable.

“Do we ever… act normal?” Remus asked.

Peter shrugged. “What’s normal?”

Then Sirius froze mid-taunt.

Across the courtyard, just beyond the carved archway, there she was.

Y/N.

Perched on the edge of a low stone wall. Wind in her hair. One leg crossed over the other. And a girl beside her, leaning close, whispering something in her ear. Y/N said nothing in return. She just smiled — slow, unreadable — and lit a cigarette with a flick of her wand.

The girl looked smitten.

Y/N looked... absent.

There was something about her posture, her eyes. Detached. Like she wasn’t really there at all. Just performing herself. Cool and composed in her combat boots and black jumper, but the boys exchanged a glance. Because she looked more like a ghost than a girl.

Sirius’s smile faltered.

“That’s the third time this week,” Peter muttered.

“She’s just—” James started.

“She’s not,” Sirius cut in.

Remus said nothing. Just kept watching. A tiny crease between his brows.

“Maybe it’s just her blowing off steam,” James offered, halfhearted.

“She hasn’t stayed in the Tower in four days,” Sirius said. “No one’s seen her in classes. She’s not even showing up to Pomfrey anymore.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found,” Peter added. Quiet.

They kept watching as the girl leaned in for another kiss and Y/N obliged, patient, a little bored. When the girl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said something that made her laugh, the boys saw it: the way Y/N’s eyes didn’t crinkle. The way her hand gripped the stone edge of the wall just a bit too tightly.

“She’s pretending,” Remus murmured.

They didn’t approach.

Not then.

Instead, Sirius dropped James’s glasses into his hand without a word and walked back toward the castle. The rest followed, slower.

No one said it aloud, but they all thought it:

Something’s wrong.
And none of them knew how to bring her back.

—————————————————————————

The Room of Requirement pulsed with music and candles that hovered mid-air like sleepy stars. Bodies moved through the haze, laughing, spinning, pouring cheap firewhisky into goblets like it was lifeblood. The Marauders hovered near the back wall, drinks in hand, half watching the crowd.

“She’s here,” Remus said, quietly.

James followed his gaze. “Bloody hell.”

Y/N stood near the enchanted window, wearing combat boots and a tiny black slip dress, glitter smudged beneath her lashes and a drink in her hand like it was the only thing keeping her upright. She was leaning into the curve of a tall Slytherin — Rosier. His hand was already on the small of her back.

Her smile was wide. Too wide.

“She’s wrecked,” James murmured.

Sirius was already pushing through the crowd.

He reached her just as Rosier murmured something into her ear that made her laugh — sharp and hollow.

“Y/N,” Sirius said, gentle but urgent.

She turned to him, smile lighting up her whole face. “Sirius!” She said it like it was a beautiful surprise. “You came!”

He blinked. “Yeah. Are you—are you alright?”

She touched his arm lightly. “I’m great. Don’t worry about me, okay? It’s a party. Have fun.”

Sirius searched her face for something — pain, warning, even a flicker of performance — but she looked… happy. Tipsy. Warmed by drink and noise.

Rosier leaned in. “Problem, Black?”

Sirius ignored him. “Y/N, can we talk?”

She smiled again. “Nothing to talk about, sweetheart. Really. I’m fine.”

And then she was walking away, fingers entwined with Rosier’s.

Sirius stood frozen.

Remus appeared behind him seconds later. “She okay?”

Sirius shook his head. “No. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

—————————————————————————

Rosier pushed her against the wall of a cold, empty corridor near the Transfiguration wing. They were half in shadow, half breath.

“Filthy little Gryffindor, whore” he muttered against her throat. “Bet you love the way they all look at you. Like you’re ruined.”

She didn’t flinch.

“I bet you spread your legs for all of them first. Bet they didn’t even have to ask.”

Still, she didn’t move.

“You’re lucky I’m even—”

“Don’t stop,” she said softly, even though she hated the sound of it. Hated herself.

He laughed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

She didn’t cry. Not until it was over. Not until he left her — skirt rumpled, hands shaking, lipstick smeared — hunched in a cold stone alcove.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and tried to breathe.

And that was when Sirius found her.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just crouched in front of her, eyes taking it all in — the bruises blooming too quickly, the hollow look in her eyes.

“I’m disgusting,” she whispered.

Sirius shook his head. “No. You’re hurting.”

“I let him talk to me like that.”

“I know.”

“I thought it might… cancel something out. That maybe if I—if I made it worse, I wouldn’t feel anything anymore.”

“You don’t have to punish yourself.”

She broke.

Right there, in front of him, in the cold corridor. Shoulders shaking, tears falling silently. Sirius wrapped his arms around her, pulled her against his chest and just held her.

“I didn’t even like him,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I thought if I could feel something—” She broke off, voice hitching. “It just made everything worse.”

That was when she looked into his grey eyes with her tear stained ones.

And Sirius, who didn’t cry, not really — not for himself — blinked hard against the sting in his own eyes.

“Come on,” he said, voice rough. “We’re getting out of here.”

He carried her through the castle like she was weightless. No one saw them. No one needed to. He whispered the password (stolen from Remus weeks ago) and kicked open the door.

Sirius drew the bath himself, warm and full of rose-scented steam, and helped her out of the wreck of her clothes without ever looking too long. He let her cry. Let her talk. Let her say nothing. He sat on the floor while she soaked, head resting against the cold tiles, and when she was ready he helped her into an oversized Gryffindor jumper and pulled her into his chest again.

“Come back with me,” was all he said. She nodded her head, and laced her fingers with his. She didn’t speak. He didn’t push.

They climbed into his bed in the dark Gryffindor dorm. James and Peter were snoring. Remus’s bed was empty.

Sirius slid under the covers beside her. She turned into his chest without a word.

He stayed awake listening to her breathing. It slowed, then hitched, then slowed again.

Eventually, she fell asleep.

And when he let his hand run gently through her hair, he realised he was crying too.

When morning came, she was still tucked against his side, makeup long gone, eyes swollen, and Sirius was still awake, eyes red, arms locked around her like he might lose her too.

The others found them like that. And something in all of them shifted.

They didn’t make jokes that morning.

No teasing.

Just quiet looks, furrowed brows, and James pulling Peter aside to whisper, “We need to do something.”

—————————————————————————

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[rauspberries]

Hard Day's Work

summary: In which you decide to visit the firehouse for some help and end up walking out with a boyfriend... kind of.

tags: evan buckley x fem!reader, fake dating (kinda), season one evan buckley, evan buckley is a FLIRT

Part two of What a Feeling, could be a stand-alone if you want. WC: 2k+

“Can you mount a TV?”

You hadn’t expected Buck to say yes. You definitely hadn’t expected him to excitedly nod his head, handing over his phone for you to put your number in so that he could visit your apartment after shift. He had apologized profusely for not being able to do it right that moment, claiming that Captain Nash had already been getting on to him for disappearing during shift and he didn’t want to put himself in more hot water. Not even for his fake girlfriend, he had remarked with a playful smirk and a wink that had almost melted you into a puddle right then and there.

Now, you paced in your kitchen, thankful that you had cleaned the entire place before you had lumbered your way over to the 118. The last thing your racing, nervous heart needed was running around your apartment to quickly pick up the laundry you had scattered about and the dishes you had left in the sink. 

The time between getting home and the end of Buck’s shift seemed like forever and even longer. You moved from the kitchen counter to your bathroom floor to the living room couch, doom-scrolling on your phone to try and distract your mind. You went from the opinion that this was stupid, you should text and cancel to the daydreaming of what this could become. A handsome firefighter in your apartment, doing housework that you needed… 

It was a scene out of one of the romance novels you tended to read.

You were brought out of your dumb dream by a few, hestiant knocks on your door, immediately lifting your head. Your heart started thumping against your rib cage again, the same queasy waves of butterflies that had originally sprouted when you got home coming back in full force. Your hands shake as you wipe them on your jeans, getting off of the couch and making your way towards the door.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you run your fingers through your hair once more before pulling the door open, eyes widening as you come face-to-face with Buck’s fist. He had been in the midst of knocking again due to your hesitance to open the door, you notice.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I-I thought you maybe hadn’t heard my knocking, you know, since it was kinda quiet the first time. Uhm.” Buck clears his throat, a soft silence hanging in the air before he raises his arm, the toolbox in his hand clunking at the movement. “I brought my own tools. Didn’t know if you had your own or not. I had to stop by the hardware store for a few things, like a hammer, a drill… Well, honestly, all of it, but it’s okay.” 

He winces at the way he had been rambling, his tongue suddenly feeling heavy in his mouth. He had talked too much. He tended to do that when he was nervous.

You let out a soft laugh, holding the door open a bit wider as you step to the side. You’re glad to see that this situation is just as awkward for him as it is for you. It makes your heartbeat a little bit slower. “Would you like to come in?”

Buck rolls his lips into his mouth to keep himself from speaking any more, nodding as he steps into your apartment. His cerulean eyes take a wide glance around everything, making you feel like you had just split your chest open and revealed everything to him. 

You look around just as he does, wondering what he thinks when he sees your blue couch, so out of place against the white wall it sat against. You deliberate if he thinks the decorative pillows you’ve collected over the years are excessive, or if he’s internally laughing about the stuffed animals that perch in their own respective spots. You almost feel embarrassed by the posters on the wall, the memorabilia from posters and fake street signs covering every inch, until you realize that it’s just a great way for him to get to know you without going through all of the chitchat.

After his initial survey is over, he turns towards you, a ghost of a grin playing on his lips. “I’m assuming the TV you want put up is the one sitting on the box?”

A groan leaves your lips at the idea of how silly it looks, letting the ball of your hand rub into your eye. “That’s the one. And the only one, I promise. Living alone, I only need a TV in my living room, although it does end up with me sleeping on the couch more often than not.”

Buck’s chest rumbles with a low laugh as he steps forward, setting his toolbox on the ground and unlocking it. “It does look like a very comfortable couch. It has a lot of friends on it, too.” The tease falls off of his tongue effortlessly, his eyes finding your face to check and make sure it didn’t pinch a nerve.

Instead, you just laugh, shaking your head as you move into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Don’t people usually give lemonade to construction workers?” You mumble out loud, opening your fridge and peering into it. Again, you’re grateful for your productivity earlier in the day as you eye the fullness of it.

Another chuckle comes from the man behind you, the sound of a drill whirring following. “Are you calling me a construction worker?” He jokes, the light-heartedness having eased the tension of a first meeting.

“Shut up,” you retort. Pulling the gallon of raspberry lemonade you had stored in the fridge, you pour it into two of your nicest glasses, shutting the cabinet quickly so that he couldn’t even attempt to get a glance at all of the funny cups you had collected. 

You carry the glasses around the island just as Buck finishes drilling the mounting bracket into the wall, working a lot quicker than you thought he would. A pang of disappointment hits you directly in the chest at the idea of him leaving both your apartment and your life way too soon. 

“Does this look right?” He asks, looking over at you questioningly before back at the mount. “Even? Is it where you want it? I can move it and fill in the holes with spackle if it’s not right, you just have to let me know.” The worry in his tone has you grinning, letting your mind wander to the incredulous idea that he wanted to come back and do more stuff for you, just to see you again.

Handing him his glass, you shake your head. “It looks fine, Buck. As long as I can see my TV from my couch, I really do not mind where it is,” you add. You look up at him with a smile, heart jolting as his lips pull into a handsome smile.

He breaks the eye contact he had with you as he steps towards the island, setting down his glass before rolling up his sleeve. You admire the tattoos among his forearms as he talks, only to shake your head when you realize you haven’t registered a single thing he said. “Huh?”

Buck laughs knowingly, shaking his head. “I said, will you help me lift? As much as I’d love to do it all by myself so you could sit yourself comfortably on the couch, I can’t hold the whole thing on my own.” He quirks a brow, watching you closely.

You nod dumbly as you set your drink down, rolling up the sleeves on your sweater. “I’m able to do some physical work by myself, I guess.” You groan playfully, crouching down to grab the bottom corner of your TV.

As soon as Buck has his hands on the other side, he counts down from three, both of you lifting until the back of the TV is aligned with the mount he had already drilled into the wall. You hold it silently as he secures it to the mount, only letting go once he gives you a soft nod.

Both of you step back as soon as you confirm that it's sturdy on the wall, hands on your hips as you take it in. Buck had gotten it right the first try. The TV was level, not even slightly dipping on the side, and it hung perfectly fine on her wall. 

Turning to face him, you give him a grin. “We did it.”

“We? Are you sure?” Buck teases, crossing his arms over his chest. You swear he does it just to taunt you, your eyelids fluttering as you look down before immediately looking right back up at his eyes.

“I gave you the lemonade,” you retort playfully. You gesture at the cups on your island, brow quirking in a dare for him to challenge you.

He doesn’t, opting with giving you a playful roll of his eyes. Another soft silence falls over the both of you, neither one wanting to say the words that’d end your time together. It almost makes you want to start breaking stuff, just to ask him to fix it and stay a bit longer so you could pick his brain about everything that was Evan Buckley.

Buck breaks the silence with a slightly sheepish grin, shoving his hands in his pockets as he faces you. “I guess that’s it. Unless you have anything else you need help with.” The last bit comes out as a slight purr as he takes a step forward, invading your space as his cologne washes over you. It smells like man, all woodsy and absolutely alluring, especially when it's paired with the way he looks directly into your eyes, staring into your soul.

Unfortunately, you cannot come up with an excuse to keep him there. You shake your head in disappointment, a frown pulling at your lips. “I don’t think so.”

A soft hum of discontent leaves his lips as he somehow gets even closer, his chest just an inch from yours. “That’s a shame.”

“Why?” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own, the question meek in tone. Something about the way he loomed over you, all six foot two of him, was intimidating, but not in a way that scared you. It was exciting, it was fun. Directness from Buck was frightening, in a way that caused a shiver to travel up your spine. Goosebumps covered your arms so fast that you quickly moved to pull your sleeves back down.

You had never been one to flirt. Men usually came to you, even if they tended to be grimey and gross. Even with that, all it took was a good smile, a few well-timed words and boom. You had ‘em right where you wanted them. But with Buck, it was a game. It was equal attraction, not an ounce more on his side than on yours. It was a competition – who could break first.

His arm raised slowly, fingertips trailing along the back of your hand until he finally cradled your fingers in his palm. “I’d love to spend more time with you,” he admitted. The flirty tone in his voice has your chin tilting up towards him subconsciously, although you don’t have time to feel embarrassed about it. You notice that his own head is tilting down towards yours, his nose skirting against yours tauntingly. “I think I just thought of something you could fix. I can’t handle it myself.” You tease, your lips tilting up at the corners in a smile. He urges you on with a raise of his eyebrows, your smile turning into a pout. “My lips. They hurt.” You feel childish saying it, but you brush off the sheepishness as it works.

Buck chuckles quietly, raising his hand and sliding it along your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he cups the back of it. “I can fix that, I think.” His grip tightens as he angles your head back more, making it easy for him to press his lips against yours, dainty and gentle.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hi! I don't know if you keep taking requests, but please can I request something romantic (because I'm a big hopeless romantic person), with Santiago "Pope" Garcia x gn!reader?

Awww, of course! I am so sorry this took so long!

Sweet Rain

Santiago Garcia x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: You go for a walk with Santi

Warnings: Both reader and Santi being silly, swearing, pet names, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 572

You snort as Santi finishes telling his story, unable to hold back your laughter when he pulls an over the top comical expression. 

“He did not.” 

“He did.” He grins at you, nodding. “Fish, can’t help it.” 

“No way.”

“Yes way.” His smile widens. “Though don’t tell him I told you that.” 

“Why, because he’ll tell me it’s not true?” You tease. 

You’re both walking side by side through the park. It's warm, the new spring leaves are just starting to sprout.

“No,” he tries to give you a semi stern look and fails. “Because he’ll punch me for telling you.” 

That makes you giggle harder. “Frankie wouldn’t hit you.” 

“That’s fair.” Santi nods, “He’d give me a noogie though.”

The mental image makes you laugh harder. “What are you, twelve?” 

“Let me tell you, nothing more humbling than getting a noogie when you’re an adult. Especially by Fish.” 

“Why especially by him?” 

“Well,” Santi holds up one finger, “first, he’s a fucking giant.” 

You snicker, covering your mouth with your hand. 

“Do not tell him I said that either, I will never hear the fucking end of it.” He smirks and holds up a second finger. “Second, he does it really hard. Like, you can’t say ‘Ow, Fish,’ because then he’ll just be like, ‘it’s not that hard’, because he’s not actually doing it in a way that’s gonna cause any damage. He’s doing it like an annoying older brother, you know? Just on the edge of what’s acceptable.” 

You can’t hit the smile from your face, your cheeks aching. You’re not sure if it’s just from the story or because looking at Santiago just does that to you. 

“Why don’t you just tell him it’s too hard anyway? Forgo your manly pride?” You tease playfully. 

He puts his hand dramatically to his forehead. “I could never.” 

“Is this because if you did, you’re worried he’d tell you to stop randomly punching him in the arm and saying ‘Charley Horse’?” 

Santi pretends to look offended. “Okay, so, let’s get the facts right-”

“Of course.” 

“- it’s not random. It’s when he’s being a dick, and-”

“When you want to torture him.” 

He grins, but somehow sounds convincing when he says, “No, I never do that.” 

“Sure you don’t, Garcia.” 

“Garcia?” He mock gasps, putting his hand on his chest. “You wound me.”

“I wound you?” 

“Your words cut me deeper than one thousand noogies.” He beams at you, nudging you lightly with his arm. 

You open your mouth to retort when a raindrop hits your face. You scowl and then flinch as the sky suddenly opens and hits you both with a partially torrential downpour. 

“Fuck!” Santi laughs and gently takes hold of your arm as he rushes you both to a nearby tree that has more leaves than the others. While it’s not perfect, it’s better than nothing. 

You giggle, trying to shield your head from the rain. 

“I got you,” he quickly pulls off his jacket and holds it awkwardly so that you’re as protected as you can be. 

“You're gonna get soaked.” Your chest aches at the kind gesture, gently you touch his arm, trying to urge him to put them down and at least cover himself a little.

“Doesn’t matter.” He smiles, rain running down the side of his face. 

“You’re too sweet Santi.” 

“Nah,” he shrugs. “Sweet stuff melts in the rain, I’m still here, aren’t I?” 

Thank you for reading!

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[madschiavelique]

Hiii! Could I request some angst/fluff jealousy headcanons with Rolan, Raphael, Haarlep, Karlach and whoever else you think might work? For f! (Or gn) tiefling Tav

hi love!! i'm so sorry i took so freaking long but the burnout is insane and i'm trying to get back into both art and writing but i hope this will be good <33

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ characters : rolan, haarlep, raphael, karlach

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : mention of threesome (not actual threesome), mostly fluff, these are super soft, fem!reader, no use of y/n

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 2102 ( between 444 and 600 per characters)

( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ rolan : 

Rolan wants to pretend that he's not affected by anything, to keep his composure no matter how much his brothers and sisters tease him. However, he is far from indifferent when he sees someone trying to win you over using his own magical territory.

An elf magician was trying his luck by talking to you, surely thinking that an ‘exotic’ creature like a tiefling had probably never seen a magic trick. He was trying to charm you with coloured sparkles in the air sprouting from his fingers, letting little fireworks dance before your eyes.

His tricks were nothing extraordinary, but the braggadocio with which the elf tried to win you over as if you were an easy mark left a bitter taste in Rolan's mouth.

This pathetic amateur was displaying classic spells, ones you'd obviously seen before. But he had the nerve to get a little closer to you with each trick.

It was when he pulled a rose out from behind your ear that Rolan couldn't stand still. 

A shower of scarlet petals fell from the sky. You looked up at the ceiling of the tower hall, but no one was throwing them, they were all coming down like snow from nowhere. 

With a flick of the wrist, a few falling petals joined together to form two wreaths that impaled themselves on your horns.

Rolan calmly walked over to you, a smile and a triumphant attitude to his gesture as the elf seemed to blush with shame.

“If you're trying to charm someone who's worth more than anything your miserable centuries of existence have brought you, you'd better crown her like the queen she is.”

The elf didn't even say a word, glaring at him before leaving with a hasty step, Rolan watching him until he disappeared behind the tower doors. His gaze fell once more on yours, who also looked as triumphant as ever.

“Like the queen she is, hm?” you repeated.

Rolan's cheeks turned from poppy to cherry, the shelves and tiles in the tower suddenly looking very interesting.

“He had no right to take you for a fool,” he muttered.

You smiled, taking one of the crowns on your horns and placing it around one of his. You cupped his face and kissed him lovingly, pulling away from his lips to look into his eyes.

“All the other wizards may try, only you can enchant me.”

You kissed him on the forehead, moving to the reception desk to greet a customer as you said: 

“Oh and,” you pointed to your flower crown, smiling, “I like these rings,’.

Rolan covered his face with his hands as he turned redder than ever.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ raphael : 

Raphael knows that he has nothing to worry about when it comes to being jealous, because you're faithful to him and he only has eyes for you.

However, he's well aware that the fact that you're his partner can lead to a few mischievous people trying to get at you for various reasons.

The first, of course, is to use you as leverage for Raphael. They think you're his weakness, and while that's not entirely untrue, he doesn't want to involve you in his affairs.

Others simply want to push him to his limits, pester him until he loses his temper.

And others try to get close to you to try to influence you and get Raphael to do things for them. They know that in his darkest moments you're the light that holds him in place, and they try to play on that.

But he knows that no matter how hard they try to make him flinch through you, it's futile.

However, he can't help feeling annoyed when, once again, when Mizora is visiting him on business, she keeps ogling you.

Every visit was like that, with her making undisguised advances towards you, observing every outfit you wore and remarking on those you'd worn before, telling you that she'd buy you some better clothes to suit the beauty you were.

Raphael wanted you to be well dressed; he presented you with a variety of outfits and it was up to you to choose them. It didn't matter to him, you looked stunning in every outfit after all. But it was insulting that Mizora tried to tell him how his taste was awful through her advances to you.

He watched Mizora's insistence from his desk, her behind you, grabbing you by the shoulders to whisper something. Her tail wrapped around your waist, and that was too much.

"Mizora, I think your business here is finished for the moment, I'll study the file you've brought. I've got things to do for now, and I suppose you've got a busy schedule yourself. I'm not showing you the way out, you must surely know it by now."

Mizora gave a dry huff, looking Raphael up and down with annoyance.

"Perhaps your little love could show me the way back ?" she teasingly suggested, looking at you like you were her next meal.

"Don't you have other tortured souls in need of help to care to ?" he sighed, unamused by her comment.

She hummed, frowning at him before disappearing in thin air.

Raphael was about to say something, his lips parted, but you cut him off.

"By the Nine Hells, I thought she'd never end," you sighed loudly in annoyance, slamming the book you were clutching brutally and putting it back on the shelf.

To say that Raphael was surprised was an understatement; he looked at you, mouth agape and eyes wide as you approached him.

"To think she can defeat the master of charm at his own art, in his own house," you said, one of your hands resting on his chest as your middle and index fingers mimicked two legs going up to his shoulder, "devils truly think they can win it all, can't they?’’

He smiled, one of his hands coming to rest on the small of your back to press you closer to him. His free hand came to grip your chin, his thumb caressing the skin of your lower lip.

"I did win it all, didn't I, my little mouse ?"

You smiled, kissing just the corner of his lips without ever touching them.

"I could say the same, my devil."

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ haarlep : 

To think an incubus would be jealous would be ironic, especially for Haarlep. They have taken so many lovers, are not attached to anyone, and their very nature generally isn’t used to making attachments that pull that hard on the strings of their desire-red heart.

Except you. You’re obviously the only one that matters to them, the only one that actually considered them as something more than an object of lust but as a real being.

This connection is something they want to protect, to keep as theirs, as the only thing they ever considered they could have for themselves.

So obviously they are not much of a fan of the fact the Archivist is trying to hit on you.

Being stuck in the House of Hope, they spend their time like they can, and most of the time they spend it with you. Not just because they love you but because you’re the best company they had in an eternity.

And this idiot thinks he has the right to come near you like that.

They see him, trying to have your hands touch when you’re reaching for a tome in the archives. They see how he tries to get closer to you to show you an inscription in one of the many books in the stacked shelves of the room.

However their patience runs thin when you climb on the ladder to get to the higher tomes, and he keeps it steady while his eyes are shamelessly on your ass.

“Little one ?” they call, “why don’t you come over here and read to me ?”

Without questioning them, you go down the ladder under the confused eyes of the Archivist. You walk up to Haarlep, sitting next to him as you open the book, but he stops you before you even start.

“Come on, love, you know you’ve got a much better sit than that.”

They pat their lap, and with a little smile you sit on them. They lace their arms around your waist instantly, pressing their cheek against your neck as they hug you and you start your read.

They keep their eyes planted in his as they press a kiss on your neck that makes you giggle, placing pecks on your skin and making you laugh.

“Are you even listening to me ?” you ask, turning to them with a smile.

“Of course I am,” they assure you, one of their hands coming to caress your cheek before softly kissing your lips. “Please, continue.”

As you set more comfortably against them and continue reading, Haarlep’s eyes go back to the Archivists who’s biting the inside of his cheek.

You’re too immersed in the tome to notice how Haarlep is glaring at the Archivist, their tail circling around your ankle.

It’s silent, Haarlep wouldn’t dare to interrupt you again while you’re reading, but their eyes speak for it all : Mine.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ karlach : 

Karlach isn’t jealous that easily, she trusts you more than anyone in this world after all. she knows you care for her, more than anyone ever did, and most importantly you’re the person she trusts the most.

she has more complicated matters to worry about than you being interested in someone else, such as her heart problems. so naturally, she is not jealous that easily.

One evening, however, you were staying in an inn for the night. You had gone to the counter to collect your orders, as the old couple running the inn had become less adaptable and lively and were no longer serving the food. 

There were quite a few people there that evening, and the little children helped them as best they could. It was while you were waiting at the counter that another tiefling struck up a conversation with you.

Karlach was watching you from afar as she sat at your table, seeing you smile, then laugh as the stranger chatted with you. 

Suddenly her heart felt cold. It was obvious that the man was trying to flirt with you, whispering something in your ear, and you were doing almost nothing to interrupt him or push him away.

The orders finally arrived, and you came back to the table smiling.

"You won't believe the conversation I just had," you began excitedly.

Karlach thought you were going to dwell on the fact that he was funny, funnier than her, better than her in your eyes. 

“Oh yeah ?” she asked nevertheless before taking a sip of her freshly arrived ale, never wanting to break your happiness.

“Yeah! He tried flirting with me, and when he asked if he could buy me a drink, I told him I was taken already.”

Karlach’s shoulders untensed instantly, whatever fear or doubt she had about herself vanished in the air.

“As if he had a chance with you,” she laughed along.

“You don’t know the best part yet,” you leaned towards her to lower your tone, “he asked me if the one I was with was the super hot tiefling lady at my table.”

Karlach blushed as she heard that, hearing from the mouth of other people that she was hot - other than literally hot - always felt so unusual.

“What happened next ?” she asked, leaning towards you as well to hear you better.

“I said yes, and he came to whisper to my ears,” you leaned towards her until your lips were grazing her ear, “would you two be interested in a threesome ?”

Her mouth fell open, the sensation of your lips on her ear like so and the lust-filled suggestion whispered to her was almost enough to make her forget about her previous worries.

You pulled back, grabbing your fork and knife to start your food. “I gently pushed him off, that doesn’t interest me, especially when I have the best partner I could ever wish for. He’s gonna have a hard time being better than best.”

Karlach’s heart was ablaze again, fueled up for the entire night, hells, the entire week.

“I can still make sure you get your ride tonight, sweetheart.” She suggested, tilting her head to the side.

“Finally an offer I can take,” you smiled, bringing your cup of wine to your lips as your eyes set on hers.

“How long till you’re done eating ?”

“Five minutes.”

“Poor owners, they might have to buy a new bed after us.” she laughed.

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 94

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(Author Notes)

Panel 1: Laudna catches Imogen, who looks pale and a little stunned. There’s still a little bit of blood or ichor on Laudna’s face and a few flowers sprouting out of her hair.

Laudna: Imogen! Are you all right? I’m so sorry. I didn’t -- I didn’t mean to.

Imogen: Are you all right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have . . . What . . . was that?

Panel 2: The past. Laudna is curled up in a ball on the ground, protecting Pâté. Yellow primroses are blooming from her hair, through tears in her clothes, and out of partly-healed wounds on her body. What we can see of the surrounding vegetation is withered.

Delilah: There, there. You're safe now. Open your eyes and see what you’ve done.

Panel 3: She sits up. She is in the ruins of a pumpkin patch. In a circle around her, everything -- the corpses of three men, apparently farmers with weapons improvised from farm tools, and all of the plant life -- is even more colorless and dead-looking than herself. She covers her mouth with her hands, so surprised to find herself the most alive thing in the vicinity that she can't tell whether to laugh or cry.

Laudna: I . . . I killed . . . all those people?

Delilah: Yes.

Laudna: I'm so sorry. I didn't -- I didn't mean to.

Delilah: No, child. But you did.

Panel 4: A cloud of dust in the shape of a woman’s hand pets her affectionately.

Laudna: Am I a murderer?

Delilah: You are extraordinary. So much more than you ever could have been on your own.

Panel 5: On the ground, the cleric is stirring back to life.

Imogen: Talk about it later. We gotta get out of here.