#started drawing in this style for an assignment and now i can’t stop

[tarteggs]

irasutoya inspired doodles of @bonus-links :-)

[starry-nights-17]

Thank you @bawlbrayker for the tag. Let's give this a go!

rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics/chapters posted on AO3 (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics) and try to draw some conclusions.

1: It wasn’t that Mickey was still in the closest, he wasn’t. While it might have taken some time, he was now in a place in his life where he had fully accepted his sexuality. It’s just that he didn’t see the point of shouting it from the rooftops, of dressing up in rainbow coloured shit or painting glitter all over yourself or waving flags like a kid on St. Patrick’s  Day. The drunken assholes he had to deal with on that day were bad enough but today the streets were even louder and more colourful and unreasonably fucking happy. (Lost....or found?)

2:

“You can’t stop me from going dad,” Ian shouted, as he tossed clothes and toiletries into a large back pack.

“I’m about to be announced as the candidate Ian, you need to be here, where I…”

His father, Governor Clayton Gallagher, trailed off and his eyes darted away. Ian snorted because he knew why, “Where you can keep an eye on me, huh”

His father sighed wearily and stepped closer, “It’s not like that Ian, that’s not fair. I worry about you, we all do and this is a crucial time for me, for the whole family. Vice President, you know how much it means to me Ian and how long I’ve wanted this”. (The Secret of Art)

3:

“Jesus Mandy, you look poured into that shit,” Mickey teased, as he took in his younger sister’s outfit for the evening, a skin tight black leather jumpsuit. Unsurprisingly she had left the zip opened, daringly low, exposing her cleavage.

“Least I’m wearing an actual costume shithead; you look pretty much like you do every day”.

He snorted and finished styling his hair before adding the final part of his outfit (he refused to call it a costume).

“Huh, not bad right,” Mickey suggested confidently, as he cocked an eyebrow at her.

Mandy begrudgingly smiled and nodded, “Fine, looks better, least it’s more obvious now”.

“Fuck you bitch, I look badass and you know it. Told you I wasn’t gonna wear fucking gay ass tights or a cape or whatever” (Not All Heroes Were Capes)

4:

“TJ, c’mon, you’re gonna be late for school”

He groaned into his pillow, upon hearing his Dad’s voice grow even louder, as he shouted down the hallway for a second time. TJ knew he was pissed by his tone but his Dad didn’t get it, no one did. School was like his own living hell. His Dad had probably been popular and had fit in, not like TJ. He was the school outcast apparently which made him a prime target for the resident bullies. Not only was he the only kid he knew with a single gay Dad for a parent but he didn’t belong to any of the cliques at school. (Circles)

5:

“Listen up!”

Mickey raised his voice to his students, who had started to pack up upon hearing the bell to indicate the end of class. “Your latest assignment, which is due by the end of next week, is to outline three themes found in Pride & Prejudice and describe how they apply today, if they still do”.

He chuckled as the entire room erupted into a loud groan before they started exiting one by one. “Yeah yeah, I’m an asshole for giving you homework on a Friday, tell someone who cares”. (Parachutes)

6:

Ian gripped the phone tightly in his hand as he sat on the edge of his temporary bed in the dingy roadside motel.

“Mam died, thought you should know” the text read simply. No emotion, no greeting, nothing but the bare minimum, six basic words.

He sniffed back a few tears as he reminisced about the only person he ever truly missed back home in Ireland, his grandmother Margaret or Mags as she preferred to be called. His own mother or at least the woman who had given birth to him had sent him a message for the first time in about a year to inform him of his grandmother’s passing and he supposed it was better than nothing. He felt helpless and paralysed in his grief, however, knowing that he couldn’t do anything about the situation. He couldn’t return home, he couldn’t attend her funeral, if her ungrateful children even bothered to organise one of course. (Growing On Me)

7: Ian marveled as it occurred to him that this was about to be their second Valentine’s Day spent together as husbands. The first one occurred only weeks after they had moved into their first real home together, a place free of Gallagher siblings and run away Milkovich cousins. It was the first place which offered complete privacy and a sense of pride considering it was a real nice apartment on the West Side which they paid for with legally earned wages. They had struggled for a few months upon moving in as their security business was only taking off and they had to spend whatever extra cash they had on furniture and essentials but now they felt stable and so Ian wanted to do something extra special this year for Mickey. (These Little Things)

8:

“Assholes” Mickey muttered to himself as he slammed his front door shut and tossed his jacket on the couch.

He grabbed a cold beer from the fridge and gulped down half of its contents immediately. He shook his head knowing that his sister Mandy was going to give him yet another irritating and unwelcome earful. But she had just struck it lucky, she actually liked her job, whereas Mickey wasn’t sure he could ever like any job enough to stick it out. Mostly he figured he just hated people, most people anyway so that instantly ruled out an awful lot of jobs. Customer service, cashier, retail, hospitality, you name it, Mickey had tried it. (Footprints In The Snow)

9:

Ian was giving serious thought to murdering his younger brother Carl and dumping his body in Lake Michigan but he had sworn never to set foot inside a prison cell ever again, luckily for Carl.

For Christmas he had gifted Ian and Mickey a couple’s card game, whereby you could pull out a card at any given moment to use against your partner. Ironically Mickey wasn’t even interested at first, said card games were only worthwhile if there was money involved. But as soon as he opened the packet and started reading through the descriptions on the cards his face had lit up with that typical mischievous smirk of his. (You've Been Served!)

10:

“Jesus Christ Mick” Ian moaned as he pounded into Mickey relentlessly from behind.

His husband was on all fours in front of him on their bed, as Ian dragged his perfectly round and ample ass back towards his hips, over and over. They didn’t always fuck hard and fast but when they did Ian sometimes got completely lost in the act, lost in his husband’s glorious body, almost to a level where he became feral and animalistic. It was as though he couldn’t get enough of him, could never get deep enough, he wanted to consume the man entirely from the inside out. (12 Days of Sexmas)

Conclusion: So I still cringe hard at my grammar, especially on my earlier fics, but given I literally never wrote anything until about a year and half ago I wont sweat it too much. I prefer the dual pov style but that doesn't mean I'm restricted to that format either. And as the last one shows, I clearly love writing smut lol. I honestly find it hard (no pun intended) to write completely smut free works because to me sex is such a big part of their relationship and I particularly enjoy writing flirtatious banter. If I was to be very critical I worry that my style wont evolve much and I really do want to try and push myself out of my comfort zone. Becoming predictable or boring is my worst nightmare!

Just want to end with saying I'm so eternally grateful to anyone who has read my stuff or sent kudos or left comments. It means the world. X

[thebreakfastgenie]

jasmine and abelia for the ask game! -ypq

jasmine ⇢ do you have a movie or book you loved but will never watch/read again?

I answered this one but let me see if I can think... okay so I actually hated Wuthering Heights except when I was reading it because it was assigned in high school I was in a weird depressive slump and the only thing that made me feel better was reading that book. So I got way ahead of the class because I would just go home curl up and read it?? Idk it was weird. I couldn't stand most of the characters and didn't care for the style but I was so attached to it. But I doubt I'll ever reread it. 

Oh and Little Women! My mom read me Little Women when I was like seven and I was riveted but I probably won't reread it and I refuse to see any movie version because Little Women to me is my memory of the book. If I ever changed my mind I'd reread the book first. We also read the two sequels, Little Men and Jo's Boys because I insisted on it. 

And I enjoyed the original Jungle Book a lot as a kid but I hate Rudyard Kipling so much I doubt I'll ever read it again... I suspect to an adult the racism in that book would really jump out. 

abelia ⇢ do you have a particular piece of jewelry you always wear or can’t part with?

I have the Bead! I wore it constantly (except for showers and swimming, sports, things like that but I did sleep in it) for years, but now I only wear it occasionally because of the wear and tear. It's a cheap plastic bead, it wasn't meant for this. I will never ever part with it although I did lose it for over two years a couple years ago and I had a breakdown about, tore my room apart more than once, my mom called a hotel we'd stayed at in case I left it there... and then it just turned up. Which is so fucking in character for the Bead, but let me explain the backstory. 

My friend Christi and I really loved animals, and we'd bring these happy meal toy sized The Dog stuffed animals to school to play with. One day we had a button that had fallen off another friend's coat, and we used that as a puck to play "nose hockey." (We were in fourth grade, air hockey was the coolest game ever.) Then our friend needed the button back so it could be sewed back onto her coat, so we needed a new puck. We found leftovers of these extremely cheap kits we'd used to make a keychain as a father's day craft, and commandeered the round, flat bead. It was red plastic and originally had a simplistic drawing of a car on it but that's long since rubbed off. 

One day we were playing nose hockey on the sidewalk and the Bead fell into a deep sidewalk crack. We thought it was irretrievable, but we tried anyway, working together with sticks. It ended up flying into the air (which we did not expect, we were just trying to roll it) and we caught it. So we began to suspect it was magic and could not be lost. I took the bead home for the summer, and it disappeared from the spot I left it in. Months later, it turned up in a completely different room of my house, on a different floor (I suspect feline assistance, which is fitting; we both adored cats). So now it was really magic! Christi wasn't in school that regularly, so I'd bring it just in case. There were a couple more incidents too, where it was lost or nearly lost and showed up again. 

After she died, I wanted to keep it safe, so I put it on a string--it was a bead, after all--and made it into a bracelet. My mom, realizing my knot was not secure, suggested putting it on a chain instead. When the plastic started to deteriorate, I stopped wearing it. A few years later, I took it to a jeweler, who put a metal tube inside the hole so the chain wouldn't cut into the plastic. Then I put it on a necklace instead, so it would be more protected than on my wrist. It's fragile so I still don't wear it every day, but I wear it some. 

I was wearing it on my way home from college for the summer. I got home and took it off and then it was just gone. I was sure I remembered where I left it, but it wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere. I was devastated. It was gone for years, and I had dreams where  found it and I woke up disappointed. 

One day I was on the other side of my room from where I'd last seen it, going through a box of Christi mementos. The Bead landed on the carpet. I don't know where it fell from. This was in September, too, not long before the anniversary of her death. I let out a shriek. So the Bead returned to me again! I still only wear it occasionally but I keep it very carefully. 

I also have a necklace that says Chatty Cathy, the name of our friend group, that another friend's mom had made for all of us (I think Christi was buried with one). I wore that every day for a while, and then every Friday (Christi's day at our school and Chatty Cathy meeting day; we were a "club" that was allowed to do whatever we wanted and roam unsupervised because cancer perks are very real), and then occasionally, but they were very cheaply made and after having the chain fixed many times I decided I needed to buy one that wouldn't break and risk losing the charm and I haven't done that yet, so I just have that one carefully put away for now. I had a near miss with losing that too when the chain broke while I was going through security to tour UK parliament and I had a breakdown because I thought the charm was lost and security was really nice to me, even pulling up a grate to see if it fell in (it turned out to be in my hair. embarrassing.). I'm American so I was kind of expecting guns in my face. 

Remind me to post a picture of the Bead later! I actually have a replica of how it originally looked (another leftover keychain kit) that I want to make into a piece of jewelry eventually. 

[aerosiderwrites]

Archery Practice ... Yandere Childe x Harbinger!Reader

warnings for genre typical portrayals of unhealthy relationships... ngl childe is kinda tame in this one tho

Word Count: 2k

Mid-evening tended to be an unpopular time to train. Most were having dinner, finishing their work day, and getting ready for as restful night as possible in the frigid climate of Snezhnaya. You typically would as well, but with a lot to reflect on and frustrated energy, you brushed off the snow on your person as you entered a Fatui training facility. You gave a quiet greeting to the guards who manned the building, who stood at attention at your arrival. You paid them no second thought as you began to navigate the pristine building.

You followed a path down the corridors you knew by heart, as even years before your ascension to being a Harbinger you found yourself here more than at home whenever your weren’t on assignment. Most windows into the various gyms were dark, and the ones with people in them had young recruits of little consequence to you.

You turned a corner when you heard someone calling for you. You processed the distinct voice as Childe, the most recent addition to the Harbingers. You ignored him, hoping that your increase in pace would not catch his attention. You mentally pleaded that he would avoid the archery range in favor of the other combat gyms.

He didn’t stop, as he never did, as his voice continued to come your way. You closed your eyes in weak attempt to hide your wince as he addressed you by name, by your real name, not your Harbinger title as the other nine would.

You stopped dead and turned to where he was trailing behind you and gave him your attention, unfortunately rewarding his bad behavior, “Titles only, Childe.”

“I wasn’t sure you could hear me” Childe responded, now standing tall right in front of you, his smile still the same, ignoring or otherwise completely unbothered by the standoffishness on your end. “I wanted to see if you wanted to spar while you’re here.”

Like clockwork. Every damn time you came in here and he was here too he’d ask. Each time you’d say no. Each time he’d hover around you until one of you had to leave. It had worked for the other Harbingers, as he now paid them no mind but for whatever reason, he still engaged with you. Tonight, you hoped your verifiable excuse and unfriendly aura would be the last straw for him.

“I’m just going to be doing target practice today,” you said, hoping to deter him. “I don’t want to do anything too strenuous today.”

“Oh you are? Do you mind if I join you?”

You blinked, “I didn’t know you knew how to use a bow,” you verbally dug your heels into the ground, even though you knew he could just walk into the range and practice along side you if he so wanted. There were no restrictions to who could use what when, but you desperately wished he would take a hint and leave you alone.

“I’ve been practicing on my own more recently, actually,” explained Childe, “And considering you’re the best archer among us, I can’t imagine having a better training partner.”

You narrowed your eyes at his compliment, while delivered earnestly, you couldn’t help but interpret his words as being subtly facetious. Since Childe sidestepped your frustrated hint with ease, you relented with a sigh, “Do as you please.”

The two of you headed to an archery range, Childe walking along side you, while you stewed in silent annoyance. So much for introspection time.

No one quite knew how to pester quite like Tartaglia. It was the popular opinion among the other Harbingers that the 11th was obnoxious. While you and your contemporaries preferred to work in the shadows and keep the often extreme extents of your servitude to your Archon hush-hush, Tartaglia, or Childe, as he preferred, ended up with a style that was far more akin to a performance. However, unlike most performers, he would make sure that his performance would be the last his audience would ever see.

You stopped in front of a door to the small range, opening it up unceremoniously, and Childe followed close behind. The room lit up, and illuminating the long room with three suspended targets, at three distances. Even with the unwanted company, you stretched and warmed up on autopilot, the silence between you and Childe surprisingly comfortable.

You glanced over, Childe having gone through his warm up routine faster than you. He had called his bow already, and you found yourself gawking at the absolutely abysmal posture he held as he aimed at the closest target, the one on the far left.

His shoulders were hunched and his bow hand gripped the bow in such a way that seemed entirely unsustainable. The arrow sat flimsy in his drawing hand, the only saving grace of the shot being the strength with Childe drew, which was borderline disturbing. You weren’t sure if he was showing off, or if he genuinely didn’t know to hold back.

You held your tongue as you watched him fire the shot, your eyes barely able to follow as the arrow swiftly embedded itself deep into the target, although the hit was only one by the smallest of margins

You watched him fire two more arrows, the second being a ring outside of the bullseye, and the third a near miss from the top. Both would be a challenge to pull from the targets as the fletching of the arrows were barely all that stuck out.

“See, I have a problem with being consistent in the hits I land,” Childe sighed, aware that you were observing, “What would you recommend?”

You took a deep inhale, “I think most children who pick up bows for the first time don’t have posture as bad as you.”

Childe flinched, his body language exaggerated, a pout resembling a kicked puppy having formed on his face, “Cut me some slack, I’m self taught!”

You remained unrelenting in your onslaught, “That’s obvious,” you scoffed, “You put way to much strength into the draw, especially when you can barely hold the bow itself. I’m amazed you hit the target at all.”

As as satisfying as it was to drag his form through the mud, Childe’s hurt expression only seemed to deepen, and you let yourself be worn down. “Draw the empty string, I’ll tell you what you need to fix.”

He did as you asked, and you rationalized to yourself that you were ultimately helping the Tsaritsa if you assisted Childe here. If he were ever stuck in a situation where he could only use a bow, you didn’t want him to be caught with his pants down. As invasive as he was, you didn’t want him to die or anything.

You lightly tapped his upper back, “Don’t hunch.” He fixed himself quickly. You moved his elbow up on his drawing arm, and went around to bend his elbow on his bow arm, going in quickly, and touching his as little as possible. You gave explanations for why each mistake would be detrimental for any kind of combat, and how to develop instinctive shooting, while making him maintain proper posture.

You were surprised how well he seemed to internalize what you explained, and you didn’t stop yourself from going into more detail than was feasibly retainable, but he stayed attentive, and showed a passion you weren’t expecting. You eased into a comfortable rhythm, and with rudimentary fixes, Childe was able to improve.

Time passed quickly, your engagement far more than either of you had expected. Childe had been trying to gauge you for a long time, but your persistence into giving him as little as possible became entertaining in and of itself. He enjoyed the open resentment of the other Harbingers, and before you had let your shell crack, he had enjoyed yours just as much.

Your patience with any mistakes was unexpected, your exasperation and irritation with his presence having dissipated entirely as you focused on helping him despite yourself. It was endearing seeing this side of you, a side that showed itself with surprisingly little prodding or string-pulling. It felt… natural, and unfortunately for you, it was also very endearing.

“Hey, [Y/N],” he started, interrupting a demonstration you had started about sights, earning a surprised look from you as he got your attention.

It took a split second, but you noticed he used your name instead of your title, your guard went back up, and you narrowed your eyes at him, “Don’t speak informally with me, use my title, Tartaglia.” You hissed out, using his official title instead of his preferred to emphasize your distance.

“Why? You can call me Ajax,” he offered, testing the barrier you set up. He hid his surprise when you hesitated, pursing your lips. He saw through how you tried to treat him apathetically, and forced yourself to be unkind to him. You were so much softer than you wanted anyone else to be privy to, and Childe was excited to exploit it.

In your own head, you had reached a conclusion that you weren’t sure he had reached, or if he even noticed in himself. You could have been way off, but as someone so at odds with his peers, seen as a tool by his superior, and feared by enemies and underlings alike, the pieces fit in your head and spelled out the fact that Childe was probably lonely.

Realizations clicked together quickly upon this conclusion, but you kept them to yourself.

“I won’t,” you maintained, refusing to let up. You couldn’t stop sympathy and understanding from now changing the tint of your interactions or how you viewed them, but you didn’t have to let him know any of that. Childe wasn’t your business, no matter how much he wanted to be.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Childe cooed, holding back a patronizing urge to pinch your angry cheeks, “I just wanted to ask why you’re helping me, since you seem to dislike me so much.”

You shifted your weight where you stood, “I don’t think you’d leave me alone either way.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from ignoring me before.”

Resentment bubbled in your chest, “So you are aware that you’re a pest.”

“Only because I like you.”

You were baffled that he could just say something that familiar, and you hoped any warmth that showed itself on you wouldn’t be interpreted as anything other than embarrassment on his behalf. “Well, stop.”

Childe seemed more amused than anything at your words, it only feeding into his idea that you’re just playing hard to get, “Am I really so unlikable?”

“You have no idea.” Any understanding you gained during your interactions being emotionally tossed to the wayside as your couldn’t bring yourself to care about someone with such a deliberate lack of regard for boundaries.

You disarmed yourself and made way to the door, pulling it open only for it to shut fast before you could blink. Your eyes followed the gloved hand that slammed it shut, Childe now far closer than you have ever let him get before.

You didn't want to turn around, and when you did you found yourself regretting it. His eyes were cold, completely unamused at your intent to leave while he was enjoying your company so much. He didn't mind a chase, but he needed you to realize that he was serious, and very difficult to deter.

If being pleasant and fun wouldn't get you to loosen up, he could change his approach until you changed your mind.

It had been a very long time since you felt this small. You’ve always been aware of Childe’s strength, but at the end of the day, despite his irritating nature, he was an ally. Or was. In that moment you looked up to see his lighthearted facade disappear so completely, you understood that regardless of your allegiance to your Archon, he was a threat.

“Don’t go, I still have so much I’d like to learn from you, [Y/N].”

[hollandsmushroom]

could i request a boyfriend!peter fic where reader comes out to him as bi and genderfluid, but they're so nervous to do so cos they havent told anyone else and he is rlly supportive? and helps them get new clothes and cut their hair? and its fluffy and hugs and stuff?

if u dont feel comfy writing this, its ok i totally understand :) i just love ur writing so much <3

Be True To Yourself || P.P.

Peter Parker x afab(previously using she/her pronouns)Genderfluid!Reader

Word Count: 1375(I am pretty sure this is my fave thing I have every written)

Warnings: Fluff, the pain of coming out, fear, anxiety, brief mentions of break up(in passing not with intent) and I swear to fucking god, if anyone comes in my inbox angry that I didn’t trigger tag this for lgbtq content i will scream so loud your ear drums burst. 

A/N: So I don’t really talk about this much on here but I am a mostly gender nonconforming They/she, I come from a very very lgbtg family, I am a safe place, I promise!

♡✩♡✩♡✩♡✩♡

It was something about yourself that caused turmoil, it turned in your stomach as you tried to grapple with who and what you are, you knew that there was nothing wrong with your feelings, how certain forms of gender expression didn't feel right at certain times. Your mind floods with anxious thoughts as you sit on Peter’s bed, waiting for him to get back from patrol, to finally share your true self with the person that you love. Your hands twisting around each other, ringing out in a corporeal demonstration of your gut wrenching worry. 

“Y/n?” Peter’s voice breaking through the metaphysical walls of your disquietude. Your eyes drawing upwards, trailing up the black webs of his red spandex, reaching his face in time to catch as his gloved hand tug at his mask, the eye lens blinking as he pulls off his face covering. The moment seems to soften as you glance at his hair, soft locks expanding from the confines of his secret identity. “What are you doing here?” His speaking again brought you back the reveries of your hands in his hair as you laugh giddily, his body holding yours tight to his as you ignore a movie you were supposed to be watching together. 

“Hi Petey” you smile at him, tenderness in your gaze as you pat the bed next to you, signalling for him to take a seat next to you, a silent queue that he followed with much complacity. “Um, I need to talk to you about something” your eyes ducking down, an action that made Peter’s heart stop, a nervousness spreading through him rapidly as he began to feel much as you did, off kilter, as if his world was tilting beneath him. 

“Y/n, you’re kinda of scaring me” he utters, reaching out for your hand only to find it already entangled, fingers linking with fingers in a never ending exhibition of unease. 

“It’s nothing to be scared of, Petey, well I might need to be scared but it's something, well it’s something about me that I need to tell you and I haven’t told anyone and- well, Peter I am scared, I am really fucking scared” you let a tear you didn’t know you had spill, letting it fall down your cheek as you contemplate your words, silently reeling through every option you have on how to voice your being and identity to the person you love with the possibility that it could change how he loves you. 

“My sweet, you know you can tell me anything” he assures, desperately trying to get a grip on the conversation. 

“Peter, I...I can’t be your girlfriend” you murmur, quickly realizing you had chosen your words wrong as you see him freeze out of the corner of your eye, his body going rigid as the beautiful dusted rose drains from his cheeks. 

“Wha-” he starts but you cut him off immediately. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, I want to be with you, I want to be yours but I can’t be your girlfriend because I-I’m not a girl, well I am sometimes and I can be your girlfriend at those times but I’m not that all the time, honestly I am whatever I feel like whenever I feel like it and well, I don’t just like boys, I like girls too, but not just girls and boys, I like everyone but not now obviously because I am with you and I would never ever do anything unfaithful to you no matter how many genders or orientations I am attracted to. Peter I can’t keep pretending to be something that I am not and I don’t want that to change us but I understand if it do-” you start giving him the spiel about how it was okay if he didn’t know how to be with you now that you have become fully yourself but his lips didn’t give you the chance, cutting you off before you could manage to put into words how easy it would be for him to leave when that was the last thing that he wants, no matter what your pronouns or who you found attractive because that didn’t change who he fell in love with, he fell in love with you, not how you expressed yourself, you, his partner, his love. Pulling away your eyes remain closed, processing the amount of emotional knowledge had been lifted from your shoulder, your chest still tightened with the love at the amount of lack lecher passion Peter had let flow into your lips. 

“Nothing could change the way I feel about you, Y/n, nothing in this world” he assures, lips still ghosting over yours as you finally manage to pry your eyes open to meet his chocolate honeyed gaze. “Is there anything that I can do to help you feel more comfortable in your own skin?” He was soft, so gentle a presence that you felt like warm milk on a cold night, he was calming your soul of your innermost turmoil. 

“I was,” you drop your eyes, examining Peter's fluttering pulse that beats at the juncture of his collar bones. “Well I was hoping to go shopping and get a haircut cause how I currently have my hair and how I currently dress doesn’t always make me feel the best” he watches you with an attentive adoration, wanting to learn how to best be your partner and ally while you learn and grow into being fully and comfortably you. “Sometimes I don’t mind it but sometimes isn’t always and in the times its not I feel like my own existence makes me itch” 

“Well we can’t have you being itchy” Peter squeezes your hips softly, tugging you closer to him as you fall back on the bed. “So I guess we shall have to go to the mall this weekend, get you a haircut, some new clothes, sound like a plan?” Peter offers and you smile unabashedly.

“The best plan” you nod sleepily into his chest, forehead grazing the emblem on his suit as you let your eyes fall shut, absolutely exhausted from the emotional strain of baring your soul to the person you love most with a possibility of getting it spat back at you, but Peter would never, he loved you more than he could understand, more than he cared to, not wanting to taint the complexities of his adoration for you with the binary idea that he could ever understand something so powerful and all encompassing. 

---------------

You stood in front of a rack of t-shirts, hangers dawned with fun patterned graphic tees as you, searching for something new to complete your style, something that felt more true to you when you didn’t feel like wearing any of the clothes that you already owned, something that would go along well with the way your hair was now styled. Peter was not standing with you, having wandered off minutes before to go find something that he thought you would enjoy. The feeling of someone near you making you turn to face where the sensation was coming from, your eyes finding your grinning boyfriend. I

"I have an idea!" Peter smiles excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he fiddles with a pack of bracelets in his hand. "So um, I was thinking we could assign each bracelet pronouns so I know which ones to use when to use which pronoun" you felt like you were glowing, fully understood for the first time in your life and there is nothing more valuable than that, than feeling totally and completely seen and accepted for who and what you were. Tears flood your eyes without your consent as you smile stupidly back at Peter whose face was falling, hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "Baby, did I say something wrong?" you shook your head, nuzzling deeper into his palm.

"No, no Petey, I just feel good in my own skin for once in my life" you blubber.

"I just want my partner to be happy" his thumb brushes over your orbital bone, wiping away a fallen tear. "Because I love them with everything I have”

“I love you too Petey, so much”

let me know what you thought

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[ooffies]

ᴋᴀᴇʏᴀ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅᴇ, ᴠᴇɴᴛɪ, xɪᴀᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʙᴇᴅᴏ ᴀꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛꜱ (ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀꜱ)

characters x gn!reader, modern AU

a/n: this wasn’t edited/proof read so I apologize if there are any errors

warnings: none

requested by no one

tagging @genshin-obsessed (heyyy pocket lmao- 🍷❤)

Tip jar

Kaeya  → the cool dad

He’s a very chill parent (pun intended)

Has rules but is very loose with them

Just cause he’s the cool parent doesn’t mean he’s not strict at times (he can be very strict if needed)

He’s a very affectionate and doting parent, always showering the kids with love and hugs

Spoils both you and the kids, he can’t help it cause he just loves you guys so much

All of your kid’s friends call him dad and constantly say they wish they had a cool dad like Kaeya

Always willing to drive the kids somewhere or take them out for a day if you need a break

He still makes sure you two get alone time together and takes you on dates frequently

Sneaks kisses whenever he can. A peck on your cheek or your lips, he also loves seeing your reaction to his surprise kiss

Family game night is a tradition for your family and Kaeya is the king of losing on purpose to make is kids smile

He absolutely loved playing with kids when they were younger and you still often find them playing fighting in the backyard when they come to visit

 He really tries to be the best father he can and sometimes puts way to much pressure on himself

Loves styling the kid’s hair and will let them play with his hair. Sometimes you'll walk downstairs and be greeted by Kaeya with a head full of bows, hair clips and mini ponytails.

Whenever the kids would have nightmares he’d go into their room and fight the “nightmare” monster. He’d come out of the room 3 minutes later and tell the kids he beat it with his super awesome sword skills 

Childe  → the tries too hard to be hip and trendy with kids dad

First off he is a very doting dad, he loves his children so much and calls them his precious babies and often says he cannot live without them

He’s very much a *ahem* malewife *AHEM* (don’t try to change my mind, it will not change no matter what you say). Even though he’s hella rich he wants to spend all the time he can with his kids.

He cooks, cleans, packs the kid’s lunches in the morning and makes sure to give you a kiss whenever you return home from work and say “How was your day at work babe?”

He really, and I mean really, tries to be cool with kids. Spends time looking into “the latest and hip’ trends that all the kids are hopping on. They thought he was the coolest when they were younger but now they call him cringe and say he’s trying too hard and that he’s cool just the way he is. 

It broke his old man's heart when they said it to him the first time and he cried for 30 minutes straight, you made them apologize to him even though you know they meant no ill intentions. Now calling him cringe is a family joke :)

Encourages the kids to learn something that will “help them wins fights and emerge victorious from all the battles they fight” 

You put a quick stop to that and told the kids that they can do any activities they want

He’s still very supportive of what they choose to do and will always be their number one supporter 

He’s a big cuddler and often initiates family cuddle piles. 

Venti → wine dad

Chill dad #2. He wants his kids to be free and be who they are. You still set some basic ground rules for them.

Very doting and affectionate and will always give you and the kids all his love 

Stopped drinking as much when they kids were born/adopted 

He acts like a wine aunt (hence wine dad)

LOVES reading the kids bedtime stories but this also became a family activity since you’d always accompany him. He’ll also sing them lullabies and he’ll sing you lullabies every night too

Even when your kids are older he’ll still read them stories and sing to them.

Doesn’t really like to do household chores but he’ll do them for you (He will complain though)

He does enjoy cook though and likes to help make dinner for special occasions/holidays

He will teach his kids how to play instruments and sing. He won’t force them into it but wants them to at least try it

Get’s pouty if the kids get taller him and will tell them to stop growing or he’s gonna steal their height 

Another family tradition you guys have is weekend picnics. Venti usually chooses the location because he somehow finds all the prettiest places in town. He would tell the kids it was his magic talent when they were younger.

Encourages the kids to go to summer camp so they can “build unforgettable memories and be closer to nature. (But really he just wants to have some alone time with you) 

Xiao → the emo dad

On the outside he seems cold and very un-affectionate but oh boy he’s quite the opposite

He’s willing to do anything for you and the kids because you guys are the most important things in the world to him

He’s also somewhat of a malewife too but it was completely his choice. He just wanted to take care of his family.

He doesn’t like it when you come home from work and start doing chores. He’ll force you to sit down and relax. He’ll say that he’s got everything under control and there no need for you to stress yourself over chores

The main way he shows you and the kids affection is through acts of service. 

Like I said before he’ll do the majority of the household chores, the kids also have their few assigned chores (and you help out with chores if he lets you)

He’ll help the kids with their homework, make them lunch, read them bedtime stories, brush their hair for them, take care of them when they’re sick, ect.

 Only shows a limited amount of affection in public. He’ll hold your hand and carry the kids but that’s about it

In private however he is willing to accept all the affection you and the kids give him

He often struggles helping his kids out when it comes to emotional problems/issues but he always does his best. He’s always there to a lend an ear

He’s not vocal about it or always showing it but he’s your guy’s number one supporter.

Evening walks after dinner is a family tradition you guys have had ever since the kids started walking. 

When they were young he’d let them sit on shoulders and would give them piggyback rides

He can be very strict and overprotective sometimes but that’s just cause he wants the best for his kids

Albedo →  the art dad

He may not be the best at giving affection but he is a very supportive and doting dad

He likes draws pictures for the kids, even when their older he still does because he said seeing their smile when he give his art to them is a very special and happy feeling that he never wants to go away

Helps out with household chores but absolutely despises mopping.

He’s always there to listen to the kids talk about their latest obsessions/interests 

He’s not very good at comforting but he really does try too

Makes you guys take family photos every so he can paint them later

Teaches the kids about art and alchemy if they show interest in either

When they were young he used to make kid safe experiments for them

Road trips are a family tradition. Albedo enjoys them cause he gets to draw the pretty scenery and thinks it’s one of the best to to spend quality time with family

 He wakes up like a mom so whenever the kids would wake him when they’d have a nightmare he’d get startled and almost launch himself out of bed with a high pitched screech 

Encourages the kids to have playdates with their friends often (he actually just wants more alone time with you)

He’s also the type of parent that draws on the walls with the kids when he finds them doing it. And yes he doesn’t care if they’re using sharpie he’ll still join in. Yes you’ve scolded all them multiple times and no they never learn their lesson, Albedo too. He always promises that he’ll “clean” it up which results in most of the wall in the house being murals cause his “cleaning up” is just him painting over it.

[quicksilverrwrites]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you can’t sleep and neither can peter, but at least you both know exactly how to comfort one another. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, fluff, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: y/n is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

It’s eleven-thirty, and you can’t sleep.

Your thoughts shift to your lessons in the morning; to how tired you’re going to be; to that iced coffee you’d had while getting your assignment done after class; about how that drink was definitely a bad idea considering how you’re lying awake now. It had tasted good then, and it had given you the energy you needed to fire out five thousand words in the span of a few hours… but now you regret it.

Sighing, you roll over. Your eyes glaze over the objects on the nightstand beside your bed. Your alarm clock, rectangular in size and wooden in material, glares at you. Eleven thirty six. Eleven thirty seven. The time seems to spiral, and you realise that you might as well do something with yourself if you’re awake.

You eye the books stacked on top of the alarm clock; you’d been reading one before and it had bored you half to death, so you can’t bring yourself to pick up any again. What else? What else?

Your gaze settles upon the picture frame on the dresser next to your nightstand, and you let out a sigh as you settle upon the silver-haired speedster within it. You’re next to him, a mere blur since he’d sneakily taken the camera from your hand and taken a picture with an expression that radiates cheekiness, but you’d liked the picture enough to keep it.

You’ve got a few more picture frames scattered around your room—photos of you with Scott, Jean, Jubilee and Kurt. Even some of Charles. You might not be close, but he is your uncle, after all. He’s still family.

And yet it’s Peter you keep your eyes on. It’s Peter's mischievous aura which calls to you across the room.

What would he be doing right now? He’s probably playing video games or practicing on one of his guitars. You’d been surprised to see him play well; you’d been surprised to see that he actually had the attention span it takes to successfully learn an instrument. You would know: your mother used to nag you about practicing the piano to perfection. Practice makes perfect, she’d always said, and yet she’d always left out how much energy it took to practice in the first place.

Is it too late to reach out to him? The two of you have a specific way of speaking to one another across distances by now, although even the thought of doing such a thing due to the time seems rude. Your mother had always told you that it was your duty to be polite, and your father had by example. You think you picked it up from him rather than her, but—

Don’t think of him right now. Don’t think of what happened. Don’t.

As if in an effort to push the memory of that night from your head, you move. You pull the drawer attached to your nightstand open to reveal a mess of junk inside, but what you need—and what you spy—is a pen and paper. You pull it from the drawer and slam the nightstand drawer shut quietly, and after, you get to work writing:

Are you up? Can I come over?

Your fingers buzz with azure energy as you feel your mutation working in your favour. A tiny portal of blue opens before you, one you could make larger if you wished but one which you keep small for now. It’s no larger than a letterbox would be, and the faint sound of music from the other side tells you that Peter is very much awake.

You slip the note through the portal, and then you leave it open as you wait.

When you receive no response for a solid fifteen seconds but can hear movement on the other side, you wonder if this was a mistake after all. It’s too late, you scold yourself, mentally preparing for rejection. Oh, god, this is going to be awkward. What if he—

An empty Twinkie box falls at your feet.

You blink at it, momentarily confused, and then you pick it up. You glance about the dessert’s display as you begin to turn the box over in your hands. Nothing on the front, but on the back—

Scrawled in pink glitter pen—probably his sister’s—, the box reads on the back: Yeah. Come through.

You grin lazily as you set the box down on your bed and extend the portal with your fingers like you’re prying open a heavy door. The orange light from Peter’s basement slips through and becomes one with the light of your dorm, which is yellow and warm with your room’s wooden accented walls and flooring. And as you slip through the portal and your bare feet touch the soft tartan carpet of his room, you let the portal shut with a soft shum behind you—

But Peter Maximoff does not look his best. In fact, he looks downright miserable.

His eyes are red as if he’s been crying, his hair is messy—messier than usual, at least—and he’s wearing a band tee and some tartan pajama bottoms that look intended for comfort rather than style. You were about to say hey, but you stop in your tracks. You tilt your head as you look at him.

Peter is still. It’s strange, especially since he’s usually so eccentric. He blurts out, “What?”

You frown, momentarily stuck for what to say. “Nothing,” you respond, but it doesn’t seem right.

Peter stares at you. You stare at him. You’re both quite similar, so it strikes you then that you both know that you’re each not telling each other something.

“You okay?” You ask, suspicion clear in your tone.

Peter shrugs nonchalantly. It’s a rigid movement. “Yeah,” he says, far too confidently to be true. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You narrow your eyes on him. His tone of voice has all but solidified your suspicions. “Okay, first of all,” you say, crossing the small space of the room between you and the sofa, “you use a very distinctive tone when you lie.” You settle down on the sofa as you cross your legs under you. “Second, your eyes are really red. Have you been—?”

“No.”

Crying, you were about to ask, but he cut you off. You narrow your eyes again.

Peter sighs and averts his gaze, running a hand through his hair. “Tonight’s just… not a good night.”

You press your lips together as sympathy wells in your eyes. “Why not?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That makes two of us."

Peter inhales deeply, and before you know it, he’s sitting on the sofa next to you. You’re used to how fast he moves by now. Something warms your heart in the way he sits with his body angled towards you. Like he’s opening himself up to you.

“Wanna stay here tonight?” He asks.

You glance at the other end of the sofa and then back to him. You’re reminded of how he took the sofa to sleep on that night after you guys got caught in the rain. “Here?”

Peter’s brows rise. “Is my basement not fancy enough for you?”

You know he’s joking even despite the lack of humour in his tone, and you let out a small huff of laughter as you flash him a lazy smile. You sit back on the sofa, reaching out your hand to intertwine it with his. Things between you are still blooming after your first date, but you both feel comfortable enough to do this. Peter’s fingers wrap around yours as he starts drawing patterns on the back of your hand with his free one.

“I just mean,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the backdrop of quiet music, “won’t your mom mind?”

“She didn’t mind when you stayed over last time.”

Your lips quirk upwards in gentle amusement. “That time you slept on the couch. This time I was thinking, I mean, if you want to, then maybe—”

“Oh,” Peter murmurs. His head lifts upwards in a sort of understanding motion. “Yeah, I mean… ah, I can deal with whatever safe sex talk she wants to give me in the morning.”

Your cheeks flush red. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant maybe we could…” Oh, god, embarrassment— “cuddle.”

Peter grins. “Cuddle, huh?” He pauses, until— “Okay,” he murmurs, reaching an arm around the back of the couch to wrap around you. “I guess I could be down for cuddling.”

You snicker softly as you lean into his touch, your head resting against his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me why you looked so upset when I arrived?”

Peter tenses. “It wasn’t because of you, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Mm,” you murmur, “I think I’m confident enough in our relationship to know that your reaction when seeing me is generally excitement rather than the dread that accompanies sad under eyes and red markings around them.”

He pauses for a few seconds before he lets out a long breath of defeat. “That obvious, huh?”

“Mm,” you murmur, looking up at him. “A little.”

His lips twist to the side as he lowers his gaze. “I was thinking about my dad.”

It’s your turn to pause now, looking up at him in a way you didn’t before. You assess every detail of his body again: the way his shoulders slump, the way his head hangs low, the way his hair falls in the way of his view and his eyes are heavy with something you haven’t seen in him before. He’s usually so full of life.

Is this what he’s hiding deep down?

“Tell me about it,” you say softly.

Peter grimaces. “It’s a long story, and the stupid thing is it’s mostly my fault.”

Frowning, you sit up and face him. “I don’t believe that.”

Peter lets out a humourless laugh that might be bitter if he showed a hint of anger, but he doesn’t. “It’s true. The only time I’ve ever been too slow and it’s in finding the most…”

He trails off, pulling his arm away from around you so that they both now rest in his lap. He continues, “It’s a mess.”

“Start from the beginning."

So he explains, if not vaguely: about trying to find his father, about finding a house empty and police arriving on the scene. Peter had fled at the sight of them, and—

“His name’s Magneto,” he admits. “Erik Lehnsherr. You’ve probably… seen him on TV or something."

Suddenly, it all adds up. You weren’t at school to see what happened with Apocalypse, but you’ve heard about it from your friend group. Peter doesn’t talk about it very much, and now you know why; had he been part of that whole adventure because of his father? He hadn’t been involved with Xavier’s School before, that much you know.

You suck in a breath. Okay, Y/N, push the fact that his dad’s a known terrorist aside— “Does he know?”

Peter shakes his head. “Nah. I had the chance to tell him and I didn’t. I screwed it up. And now I’m right back where I was before all of it, because I have no clue where he is and no way of telling him the truth. I couldn’t even do it for Wanda.”

“Hey,” you murmur, your fingers moving to cup his cheeks. “Fight or flight, right? It’s normal. To see him right in front of you—to have to muster up the courage to tell him? Knowing what a change that would be for you? Peter, that’s normal.”

Peter’s eyes well with softness as he listens to you, gazes upon you, and you think you’ve never seen him look so vulnerable as he lowers his head to your shoulder. He takes in a shaky breath; wraps his arms around you; pulls you into his lap—

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your shirt. It’s not his shirt this time; you’re wearing a pyjama set that consists of blue silk shorts and a top. “Not sure I believe you, but thanks, Y/N.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you believe me?”

Peter takes a deep breath. “Aside from mind control? Not sure.”

You press your lips together and begin to stroke his hair. “To be honest,” you murmur, “I’m not sure I’d believe you if you tried to tell me something similar about my father, either.”

Peter lets out a choked laugh. “Maybe that’s why we work together.”

Your lips curve upwards, still stroking his hair. His face is still buried in your shoulder. “Maybe,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

Peter shifts so that he’s leaning against the back of the sofa and you’re in his lap again. You turn so that you’re straddling his waist, but your fingers find his jaw to cup the skin there. Your thumb brushes soothingly against his skin.

“You mean a lot to me,” Peter murmurs, staring up at you. It’s almost as if the music in the room has stopped; it’s almost as if the two of you are the only souls left in existence. His brows are slightly raised and there is awe in his voice as he says, “I don’t really believe you’re real half the time.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Definitely real, Peter. Definitely here.”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone riddled with amusement, “and here of all places. You could be anywhere. You’re like, perfect and—”

“Ssh,” you murmur, pressing a finger to his lips. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you.”

Peter tilts his head up towards you, a silent request for consent, and you kiss him in answer.

He wraps his arms around your waist as he deepens the kiss, your tongue slipping out to meet his own. He makes a low, guttural noise between pleasure and content at the feeling of it, and your free hand clutches at his shirt as your other hand remains at his jaw.

You spend the rest of the evening like that, whether it's on the sofa or in his bed, but in those moments together there’s nothing carnal about it. Your touches are soft and comforting rather than lustful and yearning, and as much as you’ve thought about him that way before, you know that now’s not the time.

Tonight, you both need this. Tonight, your sole purpose is to be there for one another.

“And for the record,” Peter murmurs between kisses, his words random and uncalculated, “I think your tragic backstory’s way worse than mine.”

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Hi hello! So pleased to hear your requests are open! Can I please request for a marriage au mafia style where the reader gets hurt or assaulted by the rival gang in front of him and due to being restraint he can't get to her and he cries and begs for her stop. Then thankfully Chan and the others come to the rescue and you want nothing more than to be in chnagbins arms. Maybe a lot of angst and fluff afterwards too. Can't wait to see what you come up with 💕

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Changbin

Warnings: Mention of violence and blood; cursing and language; lots of angst and some fluff at the end; mature content

Genre: Mafia AU; Established Relationship

Where are you?

It feels like a dream. The very strange sensation of that in-between state because you were incapable of distinguishing consciousness from something less than. 

Am I alive?

You must be, aware of the sensation of cold, shivers running down your spine, raising little bumps across your arms...

“Princess!”

What? Did you hear that?

“Y/N!” the voice came again. More urgently this time.

You realized then, with the grounding agency of that sound, that your eyes were closed, but it was a struggle to open them, slowly coming back from whatever had sucked you down, wincing at the dull pain in your head.

“Y/N,” the voice sighed this time. Like it was relieved to see you cognizant. “Tell me you’re okay, love.”

Love?

It hit you at that moment, the sound of the voice. One you could recognize no matter the degree of darkness holding you under, and you managed to open your eyes enough to meet Changbin’s gaze from across the room. 

“Changbin?” you questioned. Or, at least, you thought you said his name. You couldn’t be sure since the sounds around you made it seem like your head was underneath water, distorting everything, and the roof of your mouth was dry and tasteless.

“That’s right, love,” Changbin said, and you struggled to keep him in your line of vision, watching his form swim and dance in strange directions.

“I don’t feel good,” you admitted, hearing what might’ve been a sharp intake of breath.

“Where does it hurt?” Changbin asked, and you frowned at how difficult the question was since you weren’t sure how to answer it.

There was too much numbness, and you were far more concerned with restoring your senses, slowly feeling your ears open back up and the things surrounding you come into focus.

Meanwhile, Changbin was still talking. “I’ll kill them all,” he growled. “This was never supposed to happen.”

Them? you thought to yourself vacantly, gingerly turning around as much as your bindings would allow, realizing only after a brief relapse of confusion that your hands and legs were tied to the metal chair you sat on. 

“Where are we?” you asked, finding your voice amidst everything else.

“I’m not sure,” Changbin whispered, and he suddenly sat upright in his chair, eyes narrowing and features taking on that practiced hardening that you associated with your husband at his most dangerous.

But a Changbin bound and tied by seemingly impossible to escape restraints didn’t exactly scream power to you. In fact, it seemed more like a power imbalance, and you were left reeling for answers when the sound of a distant door opening and then closing filled the space between you both.

“I see you’re awake now,” an unfamiliar figure announced, voice slightly accented. He walked with an arrogant swagger, matching the exaggerated steps he took and the smirk he wore on his grizzled features. “We’ve been waiting.”

“Don’t touch her!” Changbin snapped, jerking against his restraints as the veins in his neck visibly popped in response to his obvious anger and frustration. 

“Who? The girl?” the man asked with a lazy gesturing towards you. “Then you’ll give us answers, no?”

“What do you want?” Changbin asked, and you noted how his fingers were clenched tightly against the arm rests attached to his chair.

“The new shipment of weapons,” the man said. “Your men took them from us the other night. Came in and shot my best sniper.”

Changbin sighed, clearly frustrated. “They were originally assigned to us.”

“But then we made a better deal!” the man growled. “It was my name on that contract, and you had no right to interfere.”

“Says who?” Changbin asked, fishing for more information.

“I can’t tell you that,” the man replied. “I’m only the messenger.”

“You act like it’s more than that.”

“Oh?” the man smirked. “Well, I am a big deal.”

Changbin glowered at the arrogance. “I don’t lead the organization.”

“I know, but you’re an important player,” the man continued. “And your name was everywhere when I started investigating.”

“The weapons were a necessary exchange,” Changbin argued.

“But they were ours!” the man declared passionately, and Changbin knew better than to try to argue with someone so overzealous.

“Fine,” Changbin huffed. “I’ll have my men restore the weapons.”

“Wonderful,” the man sighed, tucking his hands into his pocket. “There is one more thing, though.”

“One more?” Changbin snorted.

“I know of your importance, Mr. Seo,” the man said. “I assume that you’re someone in possession of good information.”

“Like what?”

“Like that little bar you opened downtown,” the man continued, taking another step closer. 

You froze when he pulled a knife from his pocket, studying the way the light reflected off the harsh metal. “What about it?” Changbin grumbled, eyes focused on the obvious danger in the room.

“I’m curious about its sudden success,” he said, and you shivered when he started circling your chair. “Seems like something is missing.”

“Just good business,” Changbin said, but you could tell he was trying to get one step ahead of the guy - discerning the meaning of this unexpected conversation.

“Or, you figured out how to delegitimize the competition,” the man harshly exhaled, and you whimpered when you felt the cold blade of the knife tease the sensitive skin of your neck. 

Changbin sat up just a little higher, biceps flexing against his restraints. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Obviously,” the man hissed, digging the blade just enough to draw a tiny pinprick of blood. “You’ve sent your men undercover to spy on my business! To spread rumors and lies and turn my clientele away!”

Changbin chuckled at the outrageous claim, but it was devoid of any humor. “You probably fucked your business over yourself.”

“Do you think I’m a fool?” the man growled, searing metal against flesh. “I know men like you, Mr. Seo, and I’m willing to bet that you’ve played a bigger part than what you’ve let on.”

“I have better things to do than fuck with some second rate booze club,” Changbin growled. “We’ve got clubs all over downtown. They’ve all been successful, and it has nothing to do with sending off the competition.”

Changbin smirked then, something harsh and mocking. “Maybe you’re just a really bad businessman.”

But it was the wrong thing to say, and you withheld a scream of terror when the man suddenly wrapped biting fingers into your hair. “You want to save your cocksleeve?” he growled, gripping even tighter to your aching scalp and wrenching your head back to expose your throat and the small laceration he had left there on the smooth skin. A puddle of red amidst the rest. “Tell me why you did it!”

“I can’t!” Changbin snarled in return. “My guys never stepped foot in your territory.”

“LIES!” the man roared, and you were teetering precariously in your chair, back legs lifted from the safety of the floor.

“If you hurt her,” Changbin said, and his tone was staggered and weak. “I will make sure you suffer a thousand times worse.”

The man laughed, incredulous as he looked around the room. “And what do you plan to do about it?”

Silent tears fell down your glistening cheeks as you felt the man’s warm breath against the side of your face. “Maybe violence isn’t enough for you. Maybe I need to get what I need by other means.”

Your stomach dropped at the guttural tone, trying to meet Changbin’s eyes from across the room. “You’ve been warned,” Changbin said. “The grave you’ve dug for yourself is deep enough.”

“Oh?” the man laughed. “Well, since you think you’re in such control here, let me remind of you of the reality of the situation...”

“Changbin!” you cried when you were abruptly lifted from your chair, knife cutting through the ropes binding you, sending you colliding back against the solid mass of an unfamiliar form, loose hands roaming across your torso. 

“Stop!”

Changbin’s voice was just veering on the edge of desperate, recognizing that you were in no position for him to sound anything less than serious. 

“Stop?” your captor repeated in a mocking tone, and you felt the blade of the knife return to your throat, slicing down harder and finally triggering the hair-raising scream that you had been suppressing. Trying to be brave for Changbin.

“You can’t do this!” Changbin cried, and you were amazed to see the faint rivulet of a tear stain - the mark of weakness that your husband tried so hard to suppress in this violent line of work.

If you thought about it, there were only a handful of times that you had ever seen Changbin cry.

“I’ll do anything,” Changbin whispered. “I’ll even take her place! Just don’t hurt her anymore.”

“Hmmm?” Your captor relinquished his threatening attack, and you could breath a little easier when he turned his attention back to Changbin.“What if I offer you a compromise? Tell me how you’ve managed your business affairs, and I won’t kill your little plaything.”

Changbin inhaled sharply, gaze full of a sinister rage you knew was reserved for his greatest enemies. “You’ll be screaming for a death of your own by the time I’m done with you.”

“You still don’t understand,” the man sighed, and you gasped when chapped lips brushed against your cheek. “Maybe I’ll fuck her first...”

“You won’t have the time.”

“Says who...”

He trailed off then. The last words you ever heard from your captor before an enormous explosion interrupted the tension, walls and floors shaking as dust and debris fell from the ceiling overhead.

You could feel the body behind you trembling as well, but you knew that it wasn’t from the explosion. It was from fear, and in a split second of panic, the man shoved you to the ground, and you yelped when your head collided hard against the concrete. 

You attempted to pull yourself back up, but there was something numbing and weighty keeping you on the floor, darkness swimming threateningly in front of your eyes once again.

There were familiar sounds: the sharp click of a gun, the whizzing of bullets flying overhead, and the cacophony of screams and yells.

The pain was keeping you from focusing, aware of vague figures passing in and out of your periphery, running and moving in all sorts of directions. It was chaos at its finest, and you were incapable of comprehending any of it. Instead, you could only focus on two things: the pounding of your pulse against your eardrums and the intermingled buzzing of familiar tones.

There was a hand on your shoulder, but you were incapable of responding to their call, succumbing to an irrefutable and dreamless sleep.

The first thing you noticed when you were capable of understanding your surroundings, was the silky fabric of the bed sheets.

They were smooth to the touch and you flexed your fingers around them, humming in contentment when you silted open your eyes just enough to confirm that they belonged to you and Changbin. The ones you used on the King-sized bed in your shared room.

But therein lay the problem: you were alone in the bed, and the only voices you could hear certainly didn’t match the same tone of your husband.

You swallowed hard, flinching when the motion brought attention to the thick bandage around your neck, and upon touching the material, you were bombarded with a barrage of images reminding you of everything that had happened the previous night. 

It was enough to leave you shaking, seeking some form of comfort as you roused your body just enough to turn around to the sound of those voices, recognizing Chan, your husband’s boss, and Seungmin, the residential healer.

“Chan?” you groaned, grimacing at the dryness in your mouth.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged you, rushing over to your bedside in an instant. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” you said, watching as he lifted a bottle of water to hand to you.

“Drink this.”

You nodded, taking it from him. “Where’s Changbin?”

The question was met with silence, and you frowned when Chan and Seungmin exchanged quick glances. “Well, if nothing hurts, then I have other appointments,” Seungmin said, hurriedly dismissing himself from the room.

“Coward,” Chan muttered, but he was nothing but smiles for you, coming to sit down at your bedside. “Changbin...he’s busy.”

The answer wasn’t satisfactory, and your heart started beating a little faster. “Where?”

“Downstairs,” he said, and you knew exactly what that meant. 

“He brought him here?” you muttered, hating the idea of having someone like that under the same roof you called home. 

“Changbin insisted,” Chan replied, and you realized that he disapproved as well, but it still didn’t help your tender sensibilities, and you were ready to implode from the inside because you needed Changbin’s comfort.

“I need him,” you said, fixing Chan with a stern look. “Can you ask him to come up here?”

“He won’t be convinced until he’s done,” Chan said, but his gaze was soft as he leaned in closer. “I can help, if you’d like.”

It was a nice gesture, and normally you might take him up on an offer of comfort, but Chan wasn’t going to heal the turmoil bubbling inside of you.

The emotions burst forth, and your eyes had already glossed over from tears shedding themselves like dead leaves falling from a tree in the middle of a windstorm. “I just want Changbin,” you sobbed, and Chan was barely perceivable through the mess of your tears. 

You could tell Chan was upset by your dismissal, even as his fingers tried to brush away the wetness dotting your cheeks. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, and it spoke to a history between the two of you that often when unsaid.

You had been given to Chan, your organization’s leader, as a peace offering from a rival mafia group. It was a cruel trade, and you resisted as much as you could, especially since, at first, you were meant to be his betrothed.

And you came into the Miroh Group with a determination to resist them to the very end.

Until Changbin stole your heart.

From there, you couldn’t believe that you had gotten so lucky, falling in love whole-heartedly, capable of forgiving Changbin’s worst sins.

Including his more sadistic tendencies.

“You can try to see him,” Chan said, seemingly satisfied after wiping away most of the evidence of your internal breakdown.

You nodded immediately, even though you understood that what you might find downstairs wouldn’t be anything comforting.

You felt a little unsteady on your feet, even with Chan helping you down the concrete steps descending into a place you tended to avoid.

The smell of alcohol and blood were both overwhelming, and you stumbled on the final step, rearing back at the sound of a truly gruesome gurgle that reminded you too much of drowning. 

In the middle of the room you managed to make out Changbin, wearing dark pants and a white t-shirt, allowing you to see all the blood painting the texture in ugly patterns.

But then your attention wandered over to the poor soul strapped to the chair, barely recognizable because of the damage caused by your husband, the one who was gaping at you while holding a knife in one hand and scissors in the other.

"Y/N,” Changbin whispered. “Why aren’t you resting?”

You shook your head, looking past the gruesome, mangled damage to see the pained expression of your former captor. 

Changbin had made good on his threat to tear the asshole apart, and your stomach rolled at the awful display of violence.

Done at the hands of the man who made the sweetest love to you in the dark recesses of your bedroom.

Still, you craved his presence, falling into his open arms as he held you close after tossing aside his tools. “Shhh,” he whispered to calm your tears.

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” you sniffled.

“I’m sorry, love,” Changbin said, soothing your cries with soft cooing. 

You savored his closeness, tucking your chin over his shoulder and opening your eyes to look upon the decrepit appearance of your former captor. “What are you doing to him?” you asked, and you felt Changbin sigh as he pulled back from you.

“I know you don’t approve, love,” Changbin said, and he glanced down at his ruined t-shirt and jeans, drenched in blood. 

Under most circumstances, you would agree, but you felt your hand jumping to your throat, wrapping around the bandage covering your wound. 

Changbin frowned at the movement, likely remembering the events that led to your injuries. “Kill him,” you said, and both Changbin and Chan seemed taken aback by your response. It was completely out of character, coming from someone who often disapproved of the murderous part of their work. 

“Y/N,” Chan whispered, and you could see that he wore wariness on top of his horrified expression.

“Come upstairs soon,” you said, squeezing Changbin’s hand with your own. “I need you.”

Your husband nodded, looking at you with something akin to awe as you left the downstairs basement with Chan hot on your heels and torturous screams assaulting your ears. 

Chan only left your bedroom once Changbin arrived, showered and clean, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. 

“Careful,” Chan whispered to him on the way out, and you shivered.

But there was nothing that could warm you up more than Changbin, and you even managed a smile when he climbed into the bed behind you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Hi, princess,” he whispered, and you felt like bathing in the sensual tone of his voice.

“Changbin,” you sighed in return, turning around so that you could face him.

“It doesn’t hurt too much, does it love?” he asked, reaching out to tenderly stroke his fingers across your bandages. 

“Not anymore,” you said. “Seungmin did a good job.”

“He better,” Changbin rumbled, and you tried not to roll your eyes at your husband. 

“I was really upset earlier,” you said. “When I couldn’t find you.”

“That’s my fault, princess,” Changbin said. “I didn’t know you would wake-up so soon....and there were things I needed to take care of.”

You sighed, closing your eyes hard against a distant image of your mind conjuring the bloodied and ruined form of your captor. “Did you find out who he belonged to?”

“Yeah, a small organization under Park,” Changbin said. “He was more than willing to talk after I took one of his fingers.”

Your heart twisted at his nonchalant tone. “I guess you silenced him.”

Changbin hesitated, pausing to look at you with concern. “Are you mad at me?”

“Just...disappointed,” you said. “I couldn’t hold myself together.”

“It would’ve torn me apart,” Changbin replied. “If I let him go without making him suffer for touching my princess.”

You closed your eyes, feeling Changbin trail his fingers across your arm. “But you’re here now?”

“Of course,” Changbin agreed, leaning in to kiss you gently. “I’m yours, love. For as long as you need me to hold you.”

“Might be all night,” you said, moving up to kiss under his jaw. “I need you in a lot of ways.”

Changbin chuckled at your implications, leaving nothing to be imagined as you grazed one finger over the front of his sweatpants where his cock lay flaccid. He titled your chin at a better angle, a glaze of lust darkening his eyes. “When you feel better,” he purred. “I’ll take care of your little pussy.”

You shook at his seductive promise, curling even closer to him as Changbin’s thudding heart lulled you into a comfortable peace.

[atlafan]

a/n: hola!! So, I’m posting the first 7K here since this is just one long one-shot. I hope y’all will join patreon to continue reading the rest of the story. I worked really hard on this one, and for whatever reason I feel like this is some of my best writing. Enjoy!

Words in total: 38K

Warnings: 

TW - mentions of abortion/planned parenthood

Some angst, mostly just two people being idiots

Smut - slight daddy!kink, slight soft dom

Being the new kid in school is never easy. When you’re in elementary school, it’s exciting. Everyone wants to know you and be your friend, but in middle school…the kids judged you on day one. Orla Murphy and her family moved to Boston halfway through fifth grade. It would have been one thing if it was summer, she’d be able to slide in undetected. She could just pretend she was from a different elementary school and be done with it. But no, her father got offered a new job in the big city that he couldn’t turn down. Orla’s an only child, so it wasn’t even like she could mope and complain with a sibling. It was just her and her parents, and even though her mother was a bit more sympathetic to her daughter’s misery, it didn’t make Orla feel better. 

So, here she is, on her first day of school on February 1st standing in front of a classroom of kids she doesn’t know, being forced to introduce herself and where she’s from.

“Go on, Orla, tell us a little about yourself.” The teacher says with a warm smile.

“Um…I’m Orla Murphy, I just moved here from Vermont. I’m from a small town where the whole school is the size of this classroom.” She looks down at her snow boots before looking up at the teacher.

“Wow, this’ll be quite the adjustment. What do you like to do for fun?”

“I draw and listen to music. I play Barbies, um…that’s all I can think of right now.”

“That’s fine, thank you, Orla. You can have a seat now.”

Orla goes back to where she was sitting before she got called up to introduce herself to her home room. She slumps down into her seat and listens to the morning announcements. The bell rings and it’s off to math. The class goes across the hall to the other teacher.

By the time lunch rolls around, Orla isn’t feeling much better about her new school. She had brought lunch, and wasn’t sure who to sit with. Her class has two assigned tables, but she doesn’t want to take anyone’s usual seat. She contemplates going to eat in the bathroom until someone taps her on the shoulder.

“You can sit with me and my friends, if you want.”

She turns around to look at a boy with a mess of chocolate brown curls on his head, a pair of round glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, and braces gracing his smile.

“Oh, um, thanks.” Orla blushes and follows him to one of the tables.

“I’m one of the few people that brings lunch too, everyone should be over soon. I’m Harry by the way.”

“Hi.” She says shyly.

“What kind of a name is Orla?” He asks, biting into his apple after they sit down.

“It’s Irish…”

“Cool! Does it mean anything.”

“Golden princess, or something like that, I don’t really know. My dad’s Irish and I guess his grandmother’s name was Orla so they named me after her.”

“That’s really cool. My mom just liked the name Harry, and now that’s my name.” He shrugs. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No.” She says, and pulls her sandwich out of her lunchbox. “Do you?”

“Mhm, I’ve got three older brothers, I’m the youngest. My oldest brother is a senior in high school, isn’t that cool? He’s going to college next year.”

“Does he drive you places?”

“Yeah! And sometimes he lets me sit in the front seat without my mom knowing. He’s the best.”

Orla felt like she was finally starting to open up, but Harry’s friends joined their table and took over the conversation. They acknowledged her, but didn’t make any effort to pull her back into the conversation. Harry noticed this and didn’t like it. She excuses herself a few minutes before the bell rings to go use the bathroom. There’s a study block after lunch where all of the kids in class could get a jump on homework, or read.

“Okay, everyone!” Mrs. Sampson, the teacher, cheers. “We’ve got a very special treat today. It’s Harry’s birthday, and his mom sent him in with cupcakes for the whole class!” Harry stands up and smiles as Mrs. Sampson places a birthday crown on his head. “Harry, would you like to pick someone to help you pass out the cupcakes?”

“Sure.” He nods and looks around the room. Many kids raise their hands with excitement. He spots Orla looking out the window with her chin resting on her fist. “I pick…Orla!”

Her attention snaps over to Harry while everyone looks at her. She stands up and walks over to him and takes a tray of cupcakes to help pass them out. Once everyone has their cupcakes, and a carton of milk supplied by Mrs. Sampson, the kids are allowed to sit with their friends and chat. Soon, some of the girls start talking with Orla, and it helps her feel more welcome.

By the end of the day, all of the kids are dismissed to go to their lockers and grab their backpacks before getting into their bus lines or go wait for their parents to pick them up. Orla sees Harry at his locker and she works up the courage to go talk to him.

“Hey, um, why’d you pick me earlier?” She asks him.

“Huh? Oh…I don’t know, I didn’t like that my friends were ignoring you at lunch. So, I just thought if you passed out the cupcakes with me more people would talk to you.” He rubs the back of his neck and grabs a card out of his locker. “Listen, I’m having a birthday party this weekend at Roller World, you should come.” He hands her the invitation. “The whole class is coming, it’ll be fun.”

“I’ll, um, I’ll ask my parents…thanks, Harry.”

“Don’t mention it.” He smiles. “Are you taking the bus home?”

“Yeah.”

“What number?”

“Eleven.”

“That’s my bus! You weren’t on it this morning.” He closes his locker and they start making their way to the auditorium where the bus lines are.

“Yeah, my mom wanted to drop me off this morning to walk me into the office so I could get my schedule and stuff.”

“Cool, where do you live?”

“I’m the second to last house on the left of Langston Ave…number twenty-four.”

“You can’t be serious. That’s literally right across the street from where I live! I was wondering who moved into that house. I’m number twenty-seven.”

“Whoa, that’s freaky.” Orla blinks.

“Well, at least you know you have a friend close by. We can wait at the bus stop in the mornings together if you want.” The two go into their line and wait as the teacher on duty keeps them at bay. “Do you wanna sit together?”

“That’s okay, I’m sure you have other friends you usually sit with.”

“Yeah, but none of them are new and exciting.” He scoffs. “Unless…uh, if you don’t wanna sit with me that’s totally fine.”

“No, I do! I just didn’t want you to think you had to offer.” She blushes.

“You’re funny, you know that?” He gives her shoulder a nudge with his hand, and the teacher lets the kids know they can go to their bus.

Orla follows Harry outside and onto bus eleven. He grabs a seat in the middle of the bus and sits down. Orla sits down next to him and smiles. The two talk the whole way home. Harry listens as Orla explains what her dad does for work and why they had to move.

“You’re gonna like living closer to the city, I think. It’s really fun to ride the trains and stuff.” Harry tells her.

They get to their stop and make their way off the bus. Orla’s mom is waiting outside on their front steps for her with a smile on her face.

“Um, thanks for being so nice to me today.” Orla says to Harry.

“You don’t have to thank me. Don’t forget to ask your parents about coming to my party on Saturday, okay?”

“Okay, bye.”

“See you tomorrow.” Harry smiles before crossing the street to his house.

“There she is! How was your day? Was that a new friend?” Orla’s mom gives her a big hug and kiss.

“Mum, stop!” She pushes her mother off of her and they both go into the house. “I got invited to a party on Saturday, can I go?” She hands her mother the invitation Harry had given her.

“Sure! I think I can make this work. I knew you’d make friends right away.”

“I didn’t make friends, I just made one. His name is Harry.” Orla sits down at the kitchen island while her mom makes up an after school snack for her.

“One is still good, Honey. I know this move hasn’t been easy for you, but I’m so proud of you for making it through your first day.” Mrs. Murphy sets down some peanut butter covered celery sticks in front of Orla. “Were your teachers nice?”

“Mhm, Mrs. Simmons is my homeroom teacher, and she’s my English and Social Studies teacher. Mrs. Rayburn is my math and science teacher from across the hall. We had a study block after lunch and we had cupcakes cause it’s Harry’s birthday. Tomorrow we have art after lunch.”

“That’ll be fun.” Mrs. Murphy smiles. “Wait until Dad gets home, he’ll be so happy to hear how your first day went.”

//

On Saturday, Orla takes a deep breath as she walks into the roller rink. Her mother is right behind her making sure she gets in safely. Orla grips the gift bag with Harry’s present in it as they walk further in.

“There they are.” Orla says to her mom, and they make their way over to the other kids and their parents.

“Orla, you made it!” Harry beams and gives her a high five. “Put that down, we can go get your skates.” He tugs her along to the counter while Mrs. Murphy says hello to Mr. and Mrs. Styles.

“Hi, Monique Murphy, I’m Orla’s mum.” She shakes both of their hands.

“You just moved in across the street, right?” Mrs. Styles says. “We’ve been meaning to come over to introduce ourselves.”

“No worries, I’m sure you’ve been busy putting all of this together. Your son has been so sweet to Orla these past few days.”

“We’ve always taught him to treat others with kindness. Um, is your husband at home, or is it just you two in that darling cape house?” Mrs. Styles asks.

“Oh, Shawn’s doing some unpacking for me. I work from home, and I needed him to put my desk back together and all that.”

While Mrs. Murphy gets acquainted with the other adults, Harry helps Orla lace up her skates. Many of the other kids say hello to her, but mostly keep to their established friend groups.

“Have you ever roller skated before?” Harry asks her as he helps her stand up.

“No.” She wobbles and latches onto his shoulders. “Maybe I should just sit this out. I don’t wanna slow anyone down.”

Harry rolls his eyes and takes Orla’s hand to help her get to the rink entrance.

“Come on, Harry! We’re gonna race!” One of the boys says.

“In a minute, I’m hanging with Orla right now.” He looks back at Orla as they both get onto the rink. “Okay, so you’re gonna glide right and left.” He spins around to take her hands, and starts slowly skating backwards. Orla looks at him with wide eyes. “I play ice hockey.”

“Oh, cool.” She swallows, and grips his hands as she follows his movements.

“There you go, you’re doing it!” Harry cheers her on. The DJ announces that cosmic skating is about to begin, and the rink goes pitch black. Neon lights turn on around the rink and everyone starts cheering. “Think you’ve got the hang of it so I can skate beside you?”

“Yeah, but you can go with your other friends. I don’t want you to think you have to babysit me.”

“I don’t think that.” He moves beside her and takes one of her hands. “It’ll just be easier to guide you like this.”

Orla ends up having a fun time with Harry, and she even warms up to some of the other kids. She learns that Logan, Owen, and Matt are Harry’s three best friends. Logan takes Orla’s other hand at one point and helps her skate a little faster with them. She laughs with all of them and gets the hang of skating on her own. Eventually it’s time for pizza, cake, and presents. Orla sits next to Sammy and Frida, two of the girls she was getting friendlier with in class. Harry starts opening his gifts. He gets some action figures, a new Bruins jersey, skate laces, and then he gets to Orla’s gift. From the few days Orla had spent getting to know Harry, she had learned that science was one of his favorite subjects. So, she got him a make your own volcano kit.

“Wow!” He exclaims as he pulls the kit out of the bag. “This is so cool! Thanks, Orla!” He smiles at her.

“You’re welcome.” She says back quietly.

After they eat, the kids go back for a few more rounds on the rink. Others go off to play in the arcade area. Kids start getting picked up by their parents, and Mrs. Murphy lets Orla know it’s time to go.

“I’m really glad you came.” Harry tells her.

“Me too, thanks for inviting me. Um, see you on Monday?”

“Yeah.” Harry pulls something out of his pocket. “I won these at the arcade, they’re just rubber bracelets, but I don’t need two of them. Do you want one?” He holds up the red rubber bracelet that has Roller World imprinted into it.

“Sure, thanks.” Orla takes the bracelet and slides it onto her wrist. She watches as Harry puts his own on.

From that day on, Harry and Orla were the best of friends. They did everything together. She’d go to his hockey games, and he’d invite her over to do homework after school. In the summer time they’d go swimming in his pool, and Mr. Murphy would grill them up some burgers. By the time eighth grade hit, the teasing started. Their friends told them to just kiss already, and they’d ask why they’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. Orla didn’t like Harry like that, as cute as he was. He was just her friend, and she liked it that way. Did they go to the eighth grade dance together and have a conjoined end of middle school party? Sure, but that’s what friends do.

High school is an entirely different ball game. They lived closer to the high school, so they didn’t need to take the bus. Harry and Orla would walk together every morning. They were put into different homerooms because of their last names, but they had many classes together. They were able to choose their seats so they made sure to sit together whenever they could. They had the same lunch period with their friends, so it was easy enough to get through the day. Orla tried out for the girls’ volleyball team, and she got on, so Harry would make sure to go to her matches. He made it onto the varsity hockey team, so Orla continued to go to his games as well. Again, people continued to ask if they were dating. This was mostly because Harry got more handsome by the day and girls were starting to express their crushes. Orla was pretty in her own right, but she was too shy to even look to see if anyone was looking back at her.

They went to school dances as a group, but they always danced to slow songs together. The summer between freshman and sophomore year of high school, the duo got jobs working at a retirement community restaurant that only hired high school students as servers. This meant new friends, and new people to hang out with after work. Most nights someone would host a fire in their backyard, and most nights this led to making stupid decisions. Orla and Harry didn’t drink, but they did smoke weed every once in a while.

“I don’t wanna smell like it, my parents would freak out.” Orla says to her friend who’s about to pass the joint to her.

“We could shotgun it.” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“I can inhale it and pass it to your mouth.” He smirks.

“Oh…” She furrows her brows. Harry isn’t paying attention to the interaction between Orla and Trevor, the sixteen-year-old boy who Orla secretly had a crush on. “Wouldn’t that be like kissing?” She giggles.

“Maybe, would that be a bad thing? If I kissed you?”

“You wanna kiss me?” Orla asks, but before she can get an answer, Harry’s hand finds her shoulder.

“My dad’s here, we need to go.” He says into her ear.

“Oh, um, okay.” Orla stands up.

“If you wanna stay longer, I can drive you home.” Trevor says.

“You’ve been smoking.” Harry says, stepping in front of Orla. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He takes Orla’s hand and tugs her along.

“Harry, where’s your dad’s car?” Orla asks when they get to the front of the house.

“He’s not here, I just said that so Trevor would leave you alone. We’re only a block away from home, let’s just walk.”

“Trevor wasn’t bothering me though.” Orla says to him as they start walking.

“Well, he was bothering me.”

“Why?”

“He was pressuring you into taking a hit off his joint.”

“No he wasn’t. And since when do you care if I want to smoke? It’s not like it would have been my first time.”

“I have some edibles in my room, we can have those.”

“Harry, you ruined something that could have been really special.”

“Yeah? Like what?” He huffs, walking slightly ahead of her.

“Trevor was going to kiss me, and I really like him.” Harry stops short and turns around to look at her. “And you know that would have been my first kiss, so…it would have been special.”

“You wanted your first kiss to be with a guy you would taste like weed in front of a ton of our friends?”

“No one was watching us.” She looks down.

“Why do you like him?”

“Because he’s cute and funny, and he always helps me buss my tables at work.”

“Is that all it takes?” Harry scoffs.

“What’s your problem? You flirt with girls all the time, you know.”

“Girls flirt with me, and news flash, I haven’t kissed anyone either. It’s not like I’m being hypocritical.” He rolls his eyes and starts walking again. Orla crosses her arms over her chest and follows behind him in silence. They don’t say another word to each other until they get to their street, and Orla starts to walk away from him towards her house. “Where are you going? I thought you were sleeping over.”

“Think I’d rather just be alone right now. I’m too annoyed to spend another second around you tonight.”

“You’re being a baby.” He follows her across the street and they both stop at the front of her walkway.

“And you’re being a jerk.”

“Why would you want your first kiss to be with someone who’s just trying to get into your pants?”

“He’s not like that.”

“Yes he is! I heard him, okay? I heard Trevor talking to Eric at the dish drop off. He…he has some bet with him that by before summer is over you two will have gone all the way.”

“You’re lying.” Orla’s eyes start to water.

“I’m not, why would I lie to you?”

“I don’t know!” Orla sprints off into her house. Harry sighs heavily and goes to his own house.

Mr. and Mrs. Murphy have already gone to bed, so Orla’s quiet as she makes her way up to her room. She washes her face and brushes her teeth before getting into her pajamas. She sits on her bed with her laptop so she can watch TV to calm down. About twenty minutes later, Harry’s climbing in through her window. She looks over at him with a pout and puffy eyes. He doesn’t say anything to her, all he does is cup her jaw and press his lips to her. Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. Before she can even do anything Harry steps back from her.

“Now we’ve both had our first kiss.” He mutters, cheeks a deep shade of red. “I care about you, and you care about me…so it’s special.”

“Oh…well…thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He goes back over to her window, ready to climb back down. “Date whoever you want…just trust me about Trevor, okay?” With that he leaves.

She touches her fingertips to her lips and flops back into her pillows. Her first kiss was just with her very best friend, what could be better?

//

“Logan asked you to junior prom!?” Harry shrieks when Orla tells him after school.

“Shh, yes. I told him I had to talk with you first.”

“Well, do you want to go with him?”

“Not if it’s going to put you in a pissy mood.” She smirks.

“Do you…like Logan? Do you think he’d be a more fun date?”

“It’s not that I think he’d be more fun, but…you know he and I make out sometimes, it’d be nice to go with someone that I could be a little more intimate with. Besides, you have a crush on Josie, why don’t you ask her?”

“Because we go to every dance together.” Harry takes a deep breath. “Go with Logan, it’s fine. As long as you and I still take separate pictures together.”

“Of course! Oh, thank you, Harry!” She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek. She’s about to walk away from him to go tell Logan, but he wraps his hand around her wrist. She furrows her brows as she look at him.

“But for senior prom, let it be known now, no matter what, you’re mine.” He’s as serious as a heart attack. For some reason, Orla’s mouth feels incredibly dry. She nods in understanding and Harry lets her go. “Go on, go tell your lover boy.”

Orla runs off to go find Logan, and Harry rolls his eyes. He ends up going to junior prom with Josie, who was overjoyed when Harry asked her to go with him. They all have a good time, and they end up having a big sleepover party in Owen’s basement. The lights are dim, and the air is a little smokey. People are drinking, others are staying sober, no one is pressuring anyone to do anything they don’t want to do. Harry can’t help but glance over at Orla every once in a while. She’s sitting on Logan’s lap in a hoodie and joggers, but her hair and makeup are still all done up. They’re kissing and giggling, and Harry feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Let’s play truth or dare!” Frida shouts. Everyone gets into a circle on the floor, and they use a glass soda bottle to spin. Owen spins first, and it lands on Harry.

“Truth or dare?” Owne smirks at his friend.

“Dare.” Harry says confidently. Frida whispers something into Owen’s ear and he nods.

“I dare you to go into the closet with Orla for eleven minutes in heaven.”

Everyone falls silent. Harry and Orla look at each other, and then they both look at Logan and Josie.

“It’s not like they’re going to do anything. I say go for it.” Logan shrugs.

“This is so stupid.” Harry huffs and stands up. Orla follows behind him and goes into the closet.

“Timer starts now! We’ll let you out when it goes off!” Owen yells to them as he turns the music up.

Harry and Orla both cross their arms over their chests as they stand face to face in the cramped closet. They don’t say anything at first, but Harry breaks the silence.

“I think this is, like, the gazillionth time someone has dared us to do this.” He shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.” She sighs. “I’m so glad no one knows we were each other’s first kisses, they’d die if they found out.”

“Yeah.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Did you have fun with Logan tonight?”

“Mhm.” She smiles. “What about you and Josie?”

“She’s nice enough, I’m not really sure why I was crushing on her so hard for. She’s not really my type.”

“That’s too bad, I’m sorry.” Orla frowns. “I didn’t think you really had a type.”

“Well, I do.” He snaps. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I don’t think I do.”

“Why do you like Logan?”

“He’s always been sweet to me. I think he’s cute, he helps me with my history homework. And he’s a good kisser.” She grins.

“Is that all you’ve done together? Just kiss?”

“Yeah, I would have told you if something more happened.”

“So…no second base?”

“Has he groped my boobs? No, I’m not ready for something like that yet.” She laughs.

“I thought second was, uh, blow jobs.”

“I thought that was third.”

“No, third is fucking.”

“Then what’s home plate?”

“Being in a relationship.” Harry laughs, and so does Orla.

“That’s fucked up.” She shakes her head.

“Do you think you’ll get to any of that with Logan?”

“I don’t know to be honest. I’m not really worried about it. I’m just going with the flow with him. Why do you care so much? I know he’s one of your oldest friends, but-“

“That’s not why I care. I just…” He steps a little closer to her and tucks some loose curls behind her ear. “I know how sentimental you get about things, and I’d kill him if he ever did something to hurt you.”

She looks up at him. She can feel his minty breath fanning over her skin.

“You can’t be my first for everything, Harry.” She says quietly.

“Why not?” He whispers. He’s just about to lean in when the door swings open.

“So? Did anything happen?” Frida asks excitedly.

“Nope, sorry to disappoint you all yet again.” Orla says, and brushes by all of them to go grab some water.

Harry walks out of the closet, and they all continue their game. When they finish, they all go back to just hanging out. Orla takes her place back in Logan’s lap.

“Do you wanna go somewhere private?” He whispers to her.

“To do what?” She whispers back.

“You know.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her.

“Logan, I’m really only into kissing right now. I don’t want to do anything else.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to kiss in private, though?”

“We do that in your car all the time.” She laughs. “I’m having fun with everyone right now.”

“You just don’t wanna sneak off because Harry’s here.”

“That’s not true.” She frowns. “I just know what I’m personally not ready for. I…I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Orla stands up and grabs her sleeping bag and pillow.

“What, you’re not going to sleep next to me now?”

“I never was.” She throws her things down next to Harry, and buries her face into her pillow.

“You okay?” He asks, rubbing her back.

“Why is every guy a jerk? Like, why is sex the only thing on your pea sized brains.”

“Because our brains are pea sized.” Harry smirks. “We don’t have room to think about anything else. Did Logan try to pull a move?”

“Sort of. He asked if I wanted to go somewhere more private, and I said no, and he said I was only saying no because you’re here, but that’s not the case at all. I just don’t wanna go further than kissing, and he couldn’t comprehend that.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No, I think that’ll just make it worse. It’s not like we were dating, it doesn’t matter. I just…do you think Josie will care if I sleep next to you?”

“Oh, her mom picked her up.”

“When?”

“Like an hour ago…after I politely declined a hand job from her.”

The two burst out laughing and get into their respective sleeping bags. Orla cuddles up to Harry’s side and he throws an arm around her. For the first time in a while, Harry’s able to fall asleep with ease.

//

The pair ended up going to the same college for undergrad, of course. No one expected them to go to different schools. However, their majors were vastly different. Orla wanted to be a Physical Education teacher, and Harry wanted to be a pediatric surgeon. So, while Orla was in her education courses, Harry was balls deep in biology, anatomy, chemistry, and calculus. Harry was assigned a roommate at random, another pre-med student; his name is Neil. And Orla ended up rooming with another girl from their high school who she didn’t know that well, but she figured it would be better than rooming with a stranger; her name is Katie.

During their freshman move-in, Harry got his shit settled and then went to help Orla. Their families all went out for lunch, and then it was just the two of them. Luckily, they were put in the same dorm, Harry would just be down the hall from her. Katie was an education major too, but her concentration was in social studies. Her and Orla would have a few basic education courses together before breaking off into their respective concentrations. She made it onto the women’s volleyball team, and Harry decided he’d just play intramural hockey when the season rolled around so he could focus on his classes.

Harry would go to all of his Orla’s home matches. As things got busier during the semester, they weren’t able to see each other as much during the day. They made up for it at night in the library or in their dorm rooms. The two had grown comfortable with one another over the years, so Orla had no problem just hanging out in a sports bra and spandex shorts around Harry, and he had no problem just wearing his boxers around her. One night, Harry was hanging out in Orla’s room while Katie was at work. They were laying in bed watching a movie. Orla was wearing one of Harry’s old Bruins shirts and a pair of cotton panties. Her phone keeps buzzing, and Harry’s just about had enough. He pauses the movie and sits up to grab her phone.

“Harry!”

“I’m muting your fucking volleyball group chat. I’m getting sensory overload from all of the buzzing…” He furrows his brows at the screen. “Why are they all asking you if you asked me something yet?” He looks up at her. “What do you have to ask me?”

“Nothing, it’s stupid.” She snatches her phone from him. “They’re stupid.”

“If it’s stupid then just tell me what it is.”

“Can we just watch the movie?”

“Give me your phone, I need to know.”

“No.” She hugs her phone close to her chest.

“Orla, just tell me what it is!”

“No!”

“Give me your phone!”

“No!”

Harry and Orla start wrestling on her bed. She’s not wearing a bra so sticking the phone down her shirt won’t work. She does the next best thing and shoved it down the front of her underwear. Harry pins her down by holding down her wrists.

“That’s not fair.” He says.

“It’s my phone.” She tries to wriggle out from underneath him, but he’s stronger than her. The phone buzzes again, and she grunts. “Harry, just let it go.”

“I’m literally not going to be able to sleep unless you tell me.” The phone buzzes three times in a row. Harry watches as Orla bites down on her bottom lip and looks away from him. “Oh my god, is that buzzing against your clit?” He laughs.

“Harry!”

“You did this to yourself.” He presses down against her to keep the phone even closer to where it’s effecting her. “Just ask me whatever it is and I’ll let you go.”

“You’re such an asshole!” She wraps her legs around his waist to try to flip them over, but her legs just aren’t strong enough. The phone buzzes again and she groans. “What are you gonna do, make me come you sick fuck?” She starts laughing from how absurd this whole thing is.

“I’m not the one who shoved my phone down my underpants.” He laughs. “Just tell me.”

“No.” Three more buzzes. “Fuck.” Harry’s eyes widen as he looks down at her, and she gasps. “Are you hard?!”

“No! I…my dick twitched!”

“Why?!”

“Because you’re moaning!”

“Harry, I swear to god if-“

The door opens and Kate comes in. She stops short when she sees Harry on top of Orla.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Her cheeks heat up.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Orla shouts as Harry scrambles to get off of her. She takes her phone out of her underwear and takes a deep breath. “He was trying to read my texts and we started wrestling.”

“Right…” Katie puts her things down and grabs her shower caddie. “I’m gonna go take a shower. I should be back in about thirty minutes.”

“We weren’t doing anything.” Harry says.

“Mhm.” Katie scoffs and leaves the room.

“Will you go to my volleyball formal with me next weekend?” Orla says to Harry.

“What? Is that what you had to ask me?”

“Yes.”

“Orla, why were you making such a big deal about this?”

“Because the girls were making it seem like the formal is a big deal and…I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? Of course I’ll go with you to your formal. It’s just one night, it’s not a big deal. I’m doing well in my classes, I’m not worried.”

“You got so stressed your cried two weeks ago.”

“I was overwhelmed during midterms, you know I have test anxiety.” He hops off her bed. “Don’t sweat it, okay? Just text me the details.” He yawns. “I’m headed up to bed.”

“Gonna go rub one out?” She smirks.

“No.” He blushes. “I’m gonna go play video games with Neil. Have fun masturbating with your phone.”

“Don’t need it. I have stronger devices.” She grins.

“Yeah? Need help using them?” He teases.

“Get out!” She laughs and throws a pillow at him.

Harry blows her a kiss before he leaves and she blows one back. When Katie comes back in after her shower, Orla’s put herself to sleep. Well, actually she’s watching TV on her phone with her earbuds in because she doesn’t want to listen to Katie give her shit about Harry.

The night of the formal, Orla wears a simple little black dress that’s also strapless. She slips on a pair of black flats as well. Katie helps her get her hair up into a cute messy bun on the top of her head while Orla does her makeup. (Orla had Katie help her flatiron her hair to tame it a bit. She usually loves her curls, but she’s been experimenting with different looks.) Around 10PM there’s a knock on their door.

“Come in!” Orla shouts.

“Ready to go?” Harry asks and nearly chokes on his tongue when he sees Orla. “Wow, you look really nice.”

“Don’t act so surprised.” Orla rolls her eyes.

“Want me to take your pic in front of the tapestry?” Katie asks.

“Yes, please.” Orla smiles and hands her the phone. She poses with Harry for a few pictures, and then they head out.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” Harry asks her on their way to the volleyball house.

“Nah, we won’t be out for long.”

They make their way into the house about ten minutes later. There’s a table set up like a bar for everyone to make their own drinks at. Harry sticks with beer while Orla goes for a rum and coke.

“Hey, O.” Ben smiles at her. Ben was a junior on the men’s volleyball team, and he’s very cute. “Saw you on defense at your last match, you looked great out there.”

“Thanks.” Her cheeks heat up, and she takes a sip from her cup.

“You come here with anyone?”

“Just my friend Harry.”

“Friend, huh?” He grins.

“Mhm.” She nods and takes a step closer. “He’s off talking to Chloe and Heather.”

“Not very nice to leave his date unattended.” He steps a little closer to her. “Especially when she looks so gorgeous.”

“Ben.” She giggles and gives him a playful push.

“You guys had one hell of a season. Aren’t you only one of, like, three freshmen to start this year?”

“Yeah, something like that.” She smiles.

“Gotta look out for the short ones I guess.”

“We’re pretty sneaky.”

An hour or so passes, and Harry can’t find Orla anywhere. He’s starting to get worried so he ventures through the house to see if maybe she went to the bathroom. She’s not in the one in the main hallway, so he goes upstairs.

“Where the fuck did she go?” He says to himself. He had been in the volleyball house plenty of times for various parties, so he had a good lay of the land. He goes to the larger bathroom, and opens the door.

“Ah, oh my god, B-Ben.” Orla’s head rolls back, allowing Ben to kiss on her neck. There she was, sitting up on the bathroom counter with Ben’s fingers knuckle deep inside of her.

“Orla?” Harry says.

“Dude, get out of here!” Ben shouts.

“Oh my god, Harry!”

Harry’s face flushes and he shuts the door immediately. He quickly goes down the stairs and weaves through the crazy amount of people in the house. He had been buzzed, but what he just saw totally sobered him up.

“Harry!” Orla shouts after him, but he doesn’t stop, he needs fresh air. “Harry, wait!” He pushes the front door open and sucks in a deep breath. “Harry! Oof!” She rams into his back and stumbles backwards.

“Get someone to walk you home, I can’t even look at you.”

“I thought he locked the door! And to be fair you didn’t knock.”

“I couldn’t find you for over an hour, excuse me for worrying about you.” He scoffs and turns to look at her.

“I was dancing with Ben and then we went upstairs, I’m sorry. I should have texted you.”

“Since when do you let random guys finger fuck you in bathrooms?”

“Um, Ben’s not a random guy. I’ve known since school started, what the fuck? I…I’ve been fingered before.”

“What? By who?” He shakes his head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” He chews on his bottom lip for a moment. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I told Frida.” She rubs her arms up and down. “It’s as far as I’ve gone, and I’ve never taken my clothes off to have it happen…”

“Did you do anything to him?”

“I gave him a hand job.”

“Was that your first time doing that?”

“No.”

“Oh my god!” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Are you going to tell me you haven’t done things? I’ve heard rumors, you know?”

“I’ve dry humped, that’s about it. No one’s ever seen my dick.”

“No one’s ever seen my vagina, not that that’s any of your business. There are certain things I don’t want to talk about with you, can’t you understand that?”

“I understand, I understand perfectly fine.” He goes to say something else, but he just shakes his head. “Come on, you look like you’re freezing.”

“That’s because I am.”

After that night, Harry let out his inner manwhore. During the spring semester, he fucked so many girls he lost track of their names. He didn’t tell Orla a single thing. He fucked all summer long without saying a word to her about it. When Orla first had sex the following school year, she slept with the same guy for the entire fall semester. It didn’t end well, though, which led to her crying into Harry’s chest for over an hour. That night they both opened up about everything, and agreed that keeping things to themselves wasn’t a good idea.

//

Undergrad flew by. Orla passed all of her certifications, and even found a job teaching phys ed at the high school level. She’d have all summer to work her ass off to save up some money and build her savings before starting fresh at her new school in the fall. Harry got accepted into all of the med schools he applied to, and was having trouble deciding.

“NYU is offering me the most amount of money…” He tells Orla one night.

“If…if you go there then you’ll probably end up working at a New York hospital.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you heard back from Harvard Medical yet?”

“No, and at this rate I bet I’m not getting in. Besides, they’re known for offering shit grants. My parents can’t afford to help. All of their money went to their lawyers.” Harry rolls his eyes.

After Harry’s freshman year, his parents told him they were getting divorced. His three older brothers had long since moved out, and with Harry gone his parents realized they just weren’t right for each other anymore. He didn’t take it well. This may have led to him fucking a lot that summer, and the absurd amount of tattoos he got.

“Then I guess…I guess you’re going to NYU.” Orla swallows. “You should do it, it makes the most sense, and you’ll get a great education.”

“Harry!” Mrs. Styles shouts from downstairs. “You got a large letter from BUSM!”

“Holy shit, I forgot I applied there.” Harry says, and the two race downstairs. Harry rips open the large envelope and gasps. “Oh my god! I was accepted in to BUSM’s MD program. Holy fuck, they partner with Boston Medical Center for their surgical residencies.” He looks at his mom, then Orla.

“Are they offering you any money?” Orla asks.

“Orla, um…do you mind if Harry and I go over this together? I’m going to need to FaceTime his father to discuss everything.”

“Oh, sure! Yeah, this is a big family moment. Come by later if you want, H.” She smiles and leaves.

“They’re offering me a decent amount of aid, Mum.” Harry says as he reads over the letter.

“Honey…don’t you want to get out of Boston? NYU could be a great experience for you.”

“Mum, BUSM is a prestigious medical school. Why would you want me so far away?”

“I don’t want you far away, I just want you to have some life experience, meet new people.” She chews on her bottom lip. “I don’t want you to stay here just because you don’t want to leave Orla.”

“That’s not why I want to stay.” Her mother gives him a look. “Okay, maybe I want to stay closer so I don’t have to be far away from her. Can you blame me? We’ve been best friends since the fifth grade. I couldn’t imagine only seeing her once every few months, and then I’d probably have to move out there full time, and she’s only certified to teach in Mass.”

“Honey, you’ve never had a stable girlfriend. Maybe being away from Orla could help you do that.”

“I just haven’t met anyone, it’s not her fault.”

“You’ve liked her since the day you met.” She laughs, astonished at his ignorance.

“No, I’m not one of those guys that’s only friends with a girl because he wants to date her.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t say that’s why you were friends. I just think if something was going to happen between you two it would have happened already. So, stop wasting your time waiting for her.”

“I’m not waiting for her to do anything. She’s my best friend, and she’s always going to be my best friend. BUSM makes more cost-effective sense. Think of how expensive the hole in the wall apartment I’d be living in in New York would be. I could definitely find a better priced place here, or I could commute for a bit to save money.”

“If you’d rather go to BUSM, then go. But make sure you’re doing it for yourself and not just to stay close to Orla.”

“I’d say it’s about 80/20.” He smirks, earning him a swat to the arm from his mother. “I’m kidding! It’s more like 60/40.”

“Jesus Christ, go call your father and let him know the good news.” She sighs.

//

Flash forward to present day – eight years later. The pair are twenty-eight; Harry is an attending pediatric surgeon at Boston Medical Center, making absolute bank, and Orla is at her third high school in six years because budgets keep cutting funding, which means P.E. teachers aren’t exactly in high demand. She lives in a small one-bedroom apartment, she’s constantly exhausted, and she wishes she had chosen any other profession. She coaches the girls’ volleyball team for extra money, and works at a bar on weekends and in the summer.

Harry and Orla are still the best of friends. They’ve made it through a lot of ups and downs. Through it all they’ve always had each other. He’s currently seeing a girl named Bailey that he met at a bar near work. Orla is going through a dry spell, but she’s not dwelling on it.

The school year had just ended, thank god, and she has Sunday through Tuesday off from the bar. Orla takes some time to go through her wardrobe and get rid of any dingy leggings or tee shirts. She has a strict budget for clothes because she’s constantly having to replace her athletic wear. She’s chilling on the couch Tuesday evening watching Property Brothers: Forever Home when she hears the jingle of keys on the other side of her door.

[READ THE REST ON PATREON]

[the-iceni-bitch]

A Christmas Crush

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem-Reader

Words: 6693 (yikes)

Summary: Bucky has been infatuated with you for months. Will the Christmas Spirit finally help him make his move?

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content (just all of it), fluff(I don’t know y’all, I have trouble qualifying this one), slightly dom partner, overprotective partner, SMUT (like over 3700 words of it y’all!), 18+

A/N: Sooo, this was supposed to be like 2500 words guys but I got a bit carried away. Made it in right under the wire for day 3 of my birthday week. This is also an entry for the Merry Hoemas challenge that is being hosted by @amythedvdhoarder​ @chrissquares​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @pumpkin-and-pine​ and @starlightcrystalline​. I chose the dialogue prompt “I’m not going to fall in love with you. I promise.” (from The Holiday). Please enjoy!!

“You better be wearing something nice, Barnes! No cargo pants!” you yelled out to the living area as you finished applying your makeup in the bathroom.

“Yes, boss!” He yelled back at you as he adjusted himself in the dress pants he borrowed from Sam. They weren’t uncomfortable, just tighter than he was used to.

“Dude, leave your crotch alone!” Wilson chuckled at him.

Bucky scowled at him and did his best to focus on anything else. “I can’t believe I let the two of you talk me into this.”

“You know how the boss-lady is, once she gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.” Sam gave him a grin as he lounged on the sofa, sipping a glass of scotch. “Would you relax? We’re going to a club, you literally fought of a group of five assassins on your own last week. This is nothing!”

“I’m used to fighting, I haven’t been dancing since….”

“Oh god, have you not gone out since World War II!” Sam threw back his head and gave a laugh from deep in his chest. “Hoo, boy this should be entertaining!”

The three of you had been on a surveillance assignment for the past three months, and a replacement team had finally arrived to take over for you. Your flight back to the states wasn’t until tomorrow, and you had insisted that all of you find something to do to get over the stir craziness that had taken over. When you found a flyer for a hip hop Christmas party at one of the fancier downtown clubs, you ran back to the suite and insisted that you all head out. Sam was of course down immediately, but it took you a while to convince Bucky it would be a good time.

It was hard for him to not feel like the third wheel sometimes with the two of you. You and Sam loved your hip hop, and Bucky still remembered the first time he walked into one of your sparring sessions while Wu Tang was playing and had to immediately turn around and leave, ears turning red as you and Sam shouted mirth-filled apologies after him. He was slowly warming up to the aggressive music style, but still occasionally pined for the days of the Andrews Sisters and Bing Crosby.

He squirmed in the dress pants again; when did they start making suits so tight? He rolled the sleeves of his deep green shirt up over his forearms, trying to get more comfortable as the lights glinted off his metal hand, when you finally came out of the bathroom.

“You two boys ready to go?”

Fuck me, he thought.

You were wearing a bright red dress that was covered in sequins. It was in a wrap style that was wide open across your chest, exposing the valley between your breasts almost down to your navel. A thin gold chain with a dark green stone dangled around your neck and nestled in your cleavage, drawing the eye as is twinkled in the dying light through the windows. The skirt portion of the dress was short enough that it was almost obscene, and the apex of the wrap was almost up to your hip. You topped off the look with a pair of thigh high black velvet boots.

“Damn, mama, you look good!” Sam whistled at you as he stood up and spun you around with one hand.

“You’re not too bad yourself Wilson. Barnes, you clean up real nice!”

He couldn’t speak. He was suddenly extremely aware of just how tight his slacks were, and he strode over to grab all your coats from the rack and hold his in front of his crotch as he handed Sam the other two, hoping it wasn’t obvious what he was trying to hide as he slipped it over his shoulders.

“Ok, then, let’s head out!” You said, giving Sam a look as he helped you slide into your wool coat. He just shrugged at you before donning his, and the three of you got on your way.

Sam and you walked arm in arm on the way to the club, chatting idly and laughing at the occasional quip. You tried to engage Bucky in the conversation, but he just marched behind you scowling, collar pulled up against the chill in the air.

He couldn’t deny he had developed a bit of a crush on you over the course of your assignment. You always tried to keep morale up in the surveillance house, brightening the air with your laughter as you baked some sort of treat for everyone, or broke out an obscene amount of liquor when two of you had a shared shift off. He still remembered the time you had indulged in the gin just a little too much during a game of poker and passed out with your head in his lap. He hadn’t slept or moved from that position the entire night until he had to relieve Sam in the morning, reluctantly removing your face from where it had nestled during your rest.

He did his best to move past his crush, trying to convince himself it was just an infatuation that needed to wear itself out.

Then he saw you fight for the first time.

Sure, he had seen you sparring with Sam, and may have even done a session with you himself he hadn’t been concerned about how his body would react in such close proximity to you. But when that group of thugs attacked the house last week, he really saw you in action.

You moved like water. Dodging every blow that was thrown at you and landing flurries of strikes of your own that seemed like they shouldn’t have caused any damage but would reduce your opponents to puddles. Bucky almost got knocked out when you had pulled out your knives to spin them through your expert fingers like they were extensions of your will. He’d had to lock himself in the bathroom after the fight to jerk himself off, imagining it was your hands wrapped around him.

Now he watched your ass swaying back and forth in front of him as you arrived at the club, wearing those boots and that dress that made you look like walking sex. His mood soured as he handed his coat to the check girl and shoved his call ticket into his pocket, so he headed to the bar to get himself a drink.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder and gave a wince as he turned to face you.

“C’mon, Barnes, it’s Christmas!” You were giving him a heartachingly beautiful smile. “Wipe that frown off your face and come dance!”

He softened as you looked into his eyes. It wasn’t your fault he felt like a pervert everytime he stood next to you.

“I think I’m going to go grab us a table for our drinks, you go have fun with Sam. Maybe I’ll join you in a bit.”

“If you’re sure?” You cocked an eyebrow at him and bit your lip, and he felt his gut clench and his cock twitch at that look.

“I’m sure. Enjoy yourself.”

You gave his arm a squeeze before ordering yourself a shot of vodka that you immediately tossed back before heading to join Sam on the dance floor.

Bucky took his double scotch to one of the tables scattered around the floor and perched himself on a tall stool. His gaze scanned the dance floor before finding you and he let out a groan.

If he thought your fighting was beautiful, it was nothing compared to your dancing. You looked ethereal and free as you tossed your hair, rolling your hips as your arms raised above your head and followed the motion in your torso before they sank back down and rolled along your sides, highlighting the curves of your body. Sam suddenly grabbed you by the waist and spun you, causing you to throw your head back with a beautiful lilting laugh.

Bucky tossed back his scotch and flagged down a waitress, handing her his card and instructing her to keep the drinks coming. Maybe if he drank enough it would relieve the unbelievable ache he was feeling in his chest.

You and Sam joined him at the table after a few songs. You were breathless and flushed and all he wanted to do was kiss you then take you to an alley out back and fuck you stupid.

“Barnes, you are being a bit of a Scrooge here.” You grinned at him as you nibbled on a pretzel. Sam had headed to the bathroom, and you flagged down a waitress and ordered yourself a vodka cranberry before turning back to him. “I’ll order you to have fun if I need to.”

He grinned in spite of himself when you gave him a wink. “Sorry, Y/L/N, this isn’t really my type of party.”

“Aww, Bucky,” he took in a sharp breath, you’d never used his first name before. “You just need to loosen up. I can lend you a hand with that if you need it.” You reached a hand over and wrapped it around his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

He almost said something then, but the waitress arrived back at the table at that moment with your drink and you turned to give her a smile and thanks. Sam arrived back from the bathroom then with a bourbon in his hand, accompanied by a beautiful woman with a bright smile.

“Bucky, Y/N, this is Marta, she’s a model!”

“Well hi there Marta, you going to steal my dance partner?” You were giving the girl a massive grin as you teased Sam.

“Yeah, Marta doesn’t really speak English.” Sam grinned.

“Oh, sorry.” You asked her the same question in Swedish.

Marta’s smile grew even bigger as the two of you started babbling away at each other while Bucky and Sam just shook their heads. Marta grabbed your hand suddenly and started to drag you away from the table.

“Be right back boys!” You said over your shoulder as you and your new friend headed off to the bathroom. Bucky watched you walk away and gave a deep sigh.

“Jesus Christ, man, you need to make your move already!” Sam said, exasperated.

Bucky almost choked on his scotch. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” He mumbled, wiping his chin with a napkin.

“Bruh, you’ve been staring at Y/N non-stop this whole night. Not to mention the fact that you were moping around the surveillance house for the past few months like a kicked puppy.” Sam shook his head as he tossed back the rest of his drink. “Oh, and if you thought you were sneaky about your little post-fight bathroom session last week, you are very mistaken.”

Bucky snapped his jaw shut and felt a flush creeping up his neck as he imagined your reaction to the discovery he had been touching himself to thoughts of your body underneath him.

Sam waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry, Y/N didn’t notice. I sprayed the fuck out of that bathroom with Febreze after you left. I am never doing anything like that for you again, though.”

Bucky’s heart rate went back down in relief. “We work together Sam. Even if that wasn’t the case, what am I supposed to say to her?”

“Geez, man, just fucking kiss her!”

“Fuck, Sam, we haven’t even been on a date! Don’t women usually want that sort of preamble?”

“Some women, sure. But don’t treat them like a monolith. Y/N appreciates directness and the worst thing that could possibly happen is she tells you to back off.”

“She could stab me.”

Sam guffawed. “Don’t look so turned on at the thought, dude. She’s noticed how weird you’ve been acting. She thinks you don’t like her. One of the main reasons she made us all go out tonight was to hopefully get you to warm up some.”

Bucky sighed, he hadn’t meant to push you away. “I dunno, Sam. She’s super fucking intimidating.”

“Get over it, Barnes. If you don’t make a move, someone else definitely will.”

“Oh my god, Sam, get your ass out here! It’s Christmas in Hollis!” You and Marta were back on the dance floor now and you were bouncing up and down, waving your hand excitedly at Sam.

“Aw, shit, that’s my jam!” Sam was backing onto the floor now, trying to get Bucky to follow him before giving up and turning to you and his date.

An unsteady woman sank into the seat Sam had just vacated and gave Bucky a lecherous grin before she started talking to him in slurred Swedish.

“Sorry, I can’t understand you.” He shouted at her.

“Oh, American man.” The woman purred at him in what he assumed was supposed to be a sexy voice. “You, me, fuck in bathroom.”

Bucky didn’t hear her. A giant blonde man who looked like a knockoff Thor was dancing behind you now, trying to put his hands on your hips and grind his crotch into your ass.

Bucky watched you turn and place a hand on the intruder’s chest, giving him a polite smile as you stopped your dancing, saying something to him that Bucky couldn’t make out over the music.

The guy didn’t take the hint and put his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against his front and putting a thigh between your legs, edging the hem of your skirt upwards.

Bucky didn’t realize he had been gripping the back of one of the chairs with his metal hand until he heard a crunch and looked down to see he had bent the frame when he clenched his fist.

“Knulla.” The suddenly sober woman said, standing up abruptly and scurrying away from the table.

Bucky found himself striding towards the dance floor, fists clenching and a low growl emanating from his chest.

That dirty fucker was still trying to hump you as you gave him a firm shove, trying to turn back to Sam and Marta. He wrapped a hand around your upper arm and jerked you back. Sam stopped dancing and tried to step in, but the son of a bitch slapped him in the face before turning back to you and smashing his mouth into yours, shoving his free hand up the front of your skirt to try to get at your pussy.

Bucky arrived just as you pulled back from the cocksucker and drew the offensive hand back so sharply, a snap resounded across the floor and he let out a scream.

Bucky punched him in the face before grabbing him by his collar and tossing him away from you as three security guards came rushing to the scene, too late to offer any sort of assistance. Marta managed to intercept them and started screaming at them in Swedish as you and Sam moved between Bucky and the giant Swede who was now a blubbering mess on the floor.

“It’s good Barnes, you can relax.” Sam said.

“Bucky, it’s ok. He isn’t worth it.” You were as close to Bucky as you had ever been. He could feel the heat radiating off you as you put a hand on his chest.

You had never seen Bucky so angry. His jaw was clenched so tight, you were worried the tendons in his neck were going to snap. He was breathing deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring as he glared murderously at the man who had touched you.

“Baby, you can let it go. I’m ok.” You murmured low enough that only he could hear you.

He looked into your eyes and relaxed, taking a deep breath through his mouth and nodding as the security guards dragged your assailant out of the club.

“Good boy, now you owe me a dance.”

Bucky’s look instantly changed to confusion as you dragged him onto the dance floor, giving him a breathless laugh as you started dancing again.

He had no idea what to do with himself. You saw his look of utter helplessness and turned to face him. You placed his hands on your hips and your hands around his neck and looked into his eyes. You’re hips started rolling to the rhythm as the rest of your body swayed in time with the music. Bucky was too aware of his feet and broke eye contact to stare at them, trying to figure out how he was supposed to move.

He felt your hand lift his chin and you shook your head at him before bringing the front of your body flush against his. You lined up your hips to his and started rolling them, your legs on either side of his massive thigh as you gyrated against him. He let out a moan and screwed his eyes closed.

You brought your face against his neck and whispered in his ear. “Just relax honey.”

You dipped your hips slightly and he followed you, nuzzling into your neck and inhaling your scent as his brain finally stopped overanalyzing what he was doing.

You felt the muscles underneath his shirt tightening and releasing as he rolled his body against you and your pussy clenched over his thigh. You gave a soft gasp and hoped the rush of arousal hadn’t soaked through your panties and onto his pants. His hands were pressing into the soft skin of your hips, and you knew you would have light bruises there tomorrow.

You pulled away suddenly and Bucky groaned at the loss of you before you flipped your hair forward and dropped your ass, separating your thighs slightly as you slowly drew your back up Bucky’s front before nestling your ass into the dip in his pelvis that seemed made to fit you.

Bucky growled into your hair and nipped at the soft skin behind your ear before starting to grind himself into your ass. He brought his metal arm to press against your abdomen and push you further into him, while his other wandered up between your breasts, giving one of them a soft squeeze before loosely wrapping his fingers around your throat

You felt him harden against you and let out a small gasp, starting to pull away before his metal arm locked you in place.

“Don’t you fucking move.” He growled in your ear, nipping gently at the lobe with his teeth.

His hips were moving at their own rhythm now, the music forgotten. Neither of you noticed Sam making an exit with Marta, grinning back at you before shrugging his coat over his shoulders and heading out into the snow.

Your breath was hitching softly as Bucky rutted himself against your ass, and the sound was driving him crazy. You could feel your cunt throbbing as it became slick, your arousal soaking your panties and threatening to start leaking down the insides of your thighs. He suddenly stuttered his hips and let out a hiss before stilling.

“Shit.”

He had come in his pants like a teenager, filling his boxer briefs and leaving a small wet spot on the front of his slacks. His arms released you as he stood up straight, leaning his forehead against the back of your head and screwing his eyes shut. He’d never been so embarrassed.

You shuffled the edge of your skirt down before turning around and pressing your lips against his softly. He groaned against your mouth as he brought his hands to either side of your face, tangling them in your hair. You discretely untucked his shirt as you kissed him, covering the evidence of his orgasm graciously. You pulled away before he could really lean into the kiss, and he let out a dissatisfied sigh.

You looked at him through heavy lids, biting at your kiss swollen lips before taking his hand and dragging him to the exit. “We’re going back to the hotel”

You tossed the coat tickets at the girl at the counter, breathing heavily as you tapped your nails impatiently. You snatched the coats from her without a word and tossed Bucky’s to him before charging out the door.

Bucky almost slipped several times back to the hotel as you set a brutal pace. He couldn’t get a read on you now and was worried he’d ruined things already.

You rode the elevator up to your floor in silence, one hip cocked to the side as you clicked the opposite heel against the floor rapidly. As soon as the doors opened, you strode down the hallway like you were possessed and Bucky hurried after you, concern written all over his face.

You arrived at the room first and wrenched the door open, leaving it open behind you as you stepped inside. Bucky was a few steps behind you but stopped at the entrance. He was certain you were going to lay into him as soon as he entered and wanted to take a moment to collect himself. He was running his metal fingers through his hair when your arm suddenly shot out, your fingers wrapping around the collar of his shirt and hauling him inside as he let out an uncharacteristic yelp.

You slammed the door behind him and pressed him up against it, shoving your fingers under his collar and wrapping them around his neck before you smashed your mouth to his violently, clashing your teeth against his before shoving your tongue down his throat.

Bucky overcame his surprise quickly and grinned against your lips as he slid his coat off his shoulders before cupping your ass and giving it a squeeze.

Your lips left his suddenly, leaving him breathless. You gave him a small smirk before sinking to your knees and starting to undo his belt.

“You’ve been keeping this pretty cock from me baby. My pussy’s been gushing thinking about your hot length in my mouth.” You were kissing around the bulge in his pants as you slipped his loosened belt out of the loops and undid the buttons. He leaned his head back against the door and hissed through his teeth. He’d never had a woman speak to him like this before and it was making his cock ache. He jutted his hips forward and you rubbed your face against his cloth covered erection before drawing his slacks and boxer briefs down his legs swiftly, freeing his dick to bounce back up against his abs.

You spat in your hand and wrapped it around him, drawing a groan from his chest. You started peppering soft kisses along his shaft as you ran your hand up and down slowly. “God Bucky, you’re so fucking big, I can’t wait to feel this in my pussy. I need to taste your sweet cum first though honey.”

You softly ran one finger up the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein that ran from root to tip before dragging your tongue in a heavy stripe over the same path.

He wrapped your hair around his hand and let out a hiss. “Fuck, Y/N, who taught you to talk like that?”

 “Mmm, you like it sweetie?” You asked him wickedly as you ran your tongue over the sensitive slit along his tip, lapping up the pre-cum that was starting to collect there.

“God, yes.” He couldn’t believe how much the filthy praises you were giving turned him on.

“I’ll give you as much as I can honey, but I’m worried this cock is going to fuck out my throat.” You took him in your mouth then, relaxing your throat as you drew in his entire length, feeling his balls hit your chin as you swallowed around him.

“Shit!” he thought you were going to go slower and he almost came immediately when you hollowed your cheeks around him and pulled him out slightly before taking him in again, bringing a hand up to fondle his balls.

He braced his metal arm against the door as he started to thrust his hips, fucking into your face as you choked around him, tears streaming down your cheeks and drool leaking from the corners of your mouth.

“God baby, you’re taking my cock so good. That mouth of yours is fucking amazing.” His hips picked up speed and he gazed down at you. You looked sinful, a flush in your cheeks and over your chest as you gazed up at him through thick lashes. You moaned around his cock as his praise caused a fresh rush of arousal to leak from your cunt.

“You gonna take my cum down like a good girl?” His hips were starting to stutter and you felt his cock twitch at the back of your mouth. You let out a tiny whine and tried to nod as he shoved himself all the way in, stilling himself as you felt his release run down your throat.

He pulled his softening cock out of your mouth and wiped the drool from you chin before softly cupping your cheek.

“Stay right there for a second pretty girl.”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered at him, your voice husky now that your throat was raw.

He unbuttoned his shirt and rolled it off over his shoulders, then removed his undershirt and tossed it aside too until he was standing in front of you naked.

You let out a low moan at the sight. His muscles were sculpted beautifully, his chest dusted with dark hair that tapered to a happy trail that led down to his thick cock. The skin around his metal arm was scarred and puckered, and other faint scars were visible elsewhere on his body, giving him an air of danger and menace. Your cunt clenched as you took in the sight, biting your lips as you ached to run your hands over his body.

“Stand up.” He ordered you. He didn’t know what had come over him. He had spent months wanting to beg you for some sign of affection, but now that you were there kneeling in front of him, he just wanted to take it from you. And you were willing to give him whatever he required.

You drew yourself up slowly and he picked you up with one hand and wrapped your legs around his waist. He brought your mouth down to his and teased your lips open with his tongue as he carried you to the bedroom.

He knelt on the bed with you straddling him and started to trail rough kisses down your neck, sucking occasionally to draw a bruise against your skin.

As he reached your shoulders, he wrapped his metal hand through the chain around your neck and gave it a yank, snapping it off you. He drew the shoulders of your dress down, exposing your tits as you arched your back up to meet him.

“God Bucky, please” You whined as nuzzled his face into the valley between your breasts, his stubble scratching the skin there.

“You want something, baby?” he asked you wickedly, kissing slowly up the slope of your breast until he almost reached your nipple, then moved his mouth away again.

You groaned and wound your fingers into his hair. “Need your tongue on me, please baby.”

“Where did you want it sweet girl?” he asked innocently before cupping one breast in his hand and rubbing the nipple with his nose. “Did you want me to lick you here?”

“Yes, yes, fuck!!” His tongue swirled slowly around your nipple, drawing it to a sensitive peak. “God Bucky, that’s so good!”

He brought up his metal hand to palm your other breast and you gasped at the contrast of the cool metal against your warm flesh. He tweaked the other nipple and you groaned. “You want my tongue on this one too, honey?”

“Pleasepleaseplease….” You whispered breathlessly, whining when he moved his mouth where you asked him. You started grinding yourself into his thigh, desperate for release as your pussy quivered and wept.

“No.” He ordered, grabbing your hip with his metal hand and holding you still. “You don’t get to come unless it’s on my cock sweetheart.”

You let out a thin keen as tears leaked down your cheeks.

Bucky brought his face back up to yours, holding your chin with his other hand and kissing you hungrily. You cried into his mouth in desperation.

“You want this cock, pretty girl?”

“God, yes. Please, Bucky!”

“You asked me so nicely, honey. I’m gonna give you what you want.”

He gripped your dress in his metal hand where it had gathered at your waist, gave it a twist, and ripped it off you, sequins and beads flying off the bed and across the floor. He grabbed your panties next and shredded them, bringing their ruins up to his face and inhaling your scent deeply before tossing them aside and giving you a wicked grin. You bent one leg up to start to remove your boots when he slapped your hand away.

“Leave those on.” He growled at you.

He took a moment to pause and look at you, memorizing every slope and curve of your body. He spread your legs wide and gave a low moan when he got a look at your pussy, coated in slick and swollen with desire. He drew two metal fingers softly up the inside of your thigh before running them over your sex, coating them in your arousal and making you moan. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them clean.

“You taste so good baby girl. Maybe once I’ve fucked you stupid with my cock I’ll eat you out.”

“Unnhh, Bucky, give it to me.” You begged him.

“You need something baby? You gotta be specific.”

“God, need you inside me. I fucking need your cock. Bucky, please.”

“Alright sweetheart. You better have at least five orgasms on my cock sweet girl. Otherwise I might have to spank you.”

He lifted your right leg and looped your knee over his elbow, opening you wide as he brought himself up to your entrance. He slowly drew his length through the slick gathered there as you whimpered, then he slammed into you, bottoming out right away and knocking the air out of you.

“FUCK!!!” you screamed as you came immediately, clenching and fluttering around him as you went rigid and started to tremble.

“That’s one, baby.” He grinned as he started to fuck into you, not bothering to wait for you to come down from your orgasm. “Shit, this pussy was fucking ready for me. Look at you gripping me so good, like you’re fucking made for my cock.”

“God, Bucky!” you whined. “You’re so big, keep moving baby. Fuck that’s so good!”

Lewd squelching noises filled the room, combining with the slap of flesh against flesh as he drove into you hard.

“Mmm, you’re squeezing me so tight, honey. You gonna come on my cock again?” Bucky slipped a hand underneath your ass and tilted your hips just a bit and felt you clench around him.

“Shit, right there. God, I’m coming again. Don’t fucking stop.” Your face screwed up as your second orgasm ripped through you, curling your toes in your boots as your legs quivered with the strain.

“Good girl.” He praised you as you fluttered around him, your release soaking your thighs as it seeped out around his cock. “I’m gonna move you now, sweetheart, get ready.”

His hand moved under your waist and he wrenched you up until you were flush against his chest. The coarse hair there scratched against your sensitive nipples and you gave a soft whine at the change in position.

Bucky stared into your eyes. Your face was a mess. Lipstick smeared all over your mouth and chin. Mascara and tears running in streaks down your flushed cheeks. Mouth open and panting with need and pupils blown wide as you gazed at him through your thick eyelashes.

You looked like the perfect mixture of sin and sex. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

He wrapped both his arms behind your shoulders and buried his hands in your hair, pressing your face to his and forcing his tongue between your lips and teeth, running it everywhere it could reach inside your velvety mouth, growling into you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and opened yourself up to him, whining as he increased his pace even more and you felt the tension gather in your core again.

“Give me another one, baby. My good girl. Show me how good that pussy is for me.”

You buried your face in his neck and groaned as you felt every muscle below your waist go rigid and another orgasm wracked you. You didn’t know if you could handle two more.

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good. This pussy is making a mess everywhere.”

He pulled out of you suddenly and you gasped, hoping for a reprieve. But he just flipped you so you were on all fours and slammed back into you, making you scream.

“Just two more pretty girl. Then I’ll fill this pretty cunt with my cum.”

You didn’t know how he could last this long as he pounded into you relentlessly. He drew you up straight suddenly so your back was against his chest and you gave a small whimper. Your throat was raw from him fucking it and from your screaming, and the only sound you managed to make now was a stream of unintelligible mewls.

You leaned your head back against Bucky’s shoulder as he brought a hand up to palm at your breast. His metal fingers moved to the apex of your thighs and started drawing rough circles against your clit. You felt tears leaking down your cheeks as your pleasure began to gather. He drove them into you suddenly and you let out a thin wail as your entire body went stiff before vibrating with your release.

Bucky guided your fall forward gently until your face was resting against the blankets. Your arms couldn’t hold you up anymore so they laid limply next to your face as Bucky gripped both of your hips and drew them back to him over and over. You felt drool leaking from your open mouth as you blinked slowly. You were absolutely cock drunk. The sheer number and intensity of your orgasms had made your brain short circuit. He really had fucked you stupid.

Bucky slapped your ass suddenly and you gave a sharp gasp as you came one last time, fisting your hands into the blankets to try to keep from passing out.

“Good girl.” Bucky murmured at you. You could feel the smile in his voice and you felt your cunt clench around him at the praise. His hips started to stutter and you felt his cock twitching inside you.

“You ready for me sweetheart? This pussy treated me so good, I’m gonna fill you up.”

You managed to moan out a single word through your hoarse throat. “Please…”

The wantonness in your voice pushed him over the edge and you felt his hips still suddenly as he released inside of you. The feel of his hot cum coating your velvety walls made you moan like a whore.

“Fuck, baby. That was so good.” He gently lowered himself on top of you and you felt him soften inside of you. He peppered gentle kisses along your shoulders and the back of your neck as he pulled out of you slowly. You gave a contented sigh as he rolled off you and headed to the bathroom. You’d never been fucked so well in your life.

You heard the water running and you managed to lift your head to watch Bucky return, holding a damp washcloth. His abdomen, thighs, and cock were coated in your release, glistening in the soft light of the bedroom as he walked back towards you and sat down on the edge of the bed. The sight of his naked form filled you with a renewed sense of desire.

Bucky rotated you carefully until you were lying on your back and brought his face down to yours and gave you a soft kiss before moving himself between your legs. You heard him suck in his breath sharply when he got a good look at you, drawing your knees apart to get a good look at your pussy.

“Fuck honey, you’re beautiful.”

The skin of your mound and thighs was flushed red where he had thrusted into you repeatedly and it was all coated in the evidence of your multiple orgasms. Your cunt was swollen and pulsing as his cum slowly leaked out of you, collecting in a small puddle on the sheets.

Bucky gently cleaned your thighs and mound with the cloth, being careful to not irritate your already sensitive skin. Then he worked your folds apart with his metal fingers and drew the damp fabric over your slit slowly, collecting his release from your entrance. You gave a groan and pressed yourself into the cloth when he tried to pull it away.

“Jesus, sweetheart, already?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and stared at him. “Bucky, you promised.”

He shook his head and tutted his tongue at you. “No, I said I might eat you out after I fucked you stupid. No promises were made.”

“Bucky, please?” You begged him, your voice husky with lust.

He gave you a look then moved to kneel between your legs. “Can’t say no to you, pretty girl. Not after this pussy treated me so good.”

You gave a soft chuckle followed by a gasp as he flattened himself on the bed and drew your left leg over his shoulder, softly kissing and sucking down the inside of your thigh before he nuzzled himself into your folds.

He softly licked at your entrance, lapping up the renewed evidence of your arousal as he dragged his tongue up and down your slit before he wrapped his lips around your tiny bud and sucked softly.

“God, Bucky! More…please…” You moaned at him, winding your fingers into his hair and pressing him further into you.

He gently teased two metal finger around your entrance before inserting them slowly, grinning against you as he felt your pussy flutter around them.

He started fucking them into you steadily while he gently sucked at your clit, crooking his wrist to hit your sweet spot as he picked up speed.

“Fuck! Right there! Don’t you dare stop! So, so, good! Please baby!” You started babbling, the pitch of your voice getting higher as he edged you closer to your release.

He latched on and sucked hard at the same time he added a third finger, and you came apart around him, soaking his chin and stubble as your thighs tried to crush his head between them and your pussy clenched and twitched around his fingers.

Bucky crawled back up the bed and laid next to you, drawing you to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You nuzzled your face into him and let out a low humming noise to show how content you were.

“God, it took you long enough, Barnes.”

He laughed and kissed the top of your head, pulling the blankets over the two of you and flicking off the bedside lamp.

“You know, you could have made a move yourself.” He murmured against your hair.

“And offend your World War II sensibilities, grandpa? You would have run away screaming.”

“Grandpa?”

“Whatever, you were scared of me. I didn’t want to frighten you off before you took advantage of your crush.”

“Right, crush.”

“Mmm, if this is how you fuck on the first date, what are you going to do when you fall in love with me?” You teased against his chest, your breathing growing deeper as you drifted off to sleep.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. I’m not going to fall in love with you. I promise.” He lied as he dozed off.

The snow was falling heavy over the city. And Bucky was dreaming about marrying you.

[ms-demeanor]

Some meandering thoughts about jokes about rape and cultural changes in the last decade and a half

Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad we’re in a place now where we DO question rape jokes and it would be much harder to get away with “raping Jonah Hill is incredibly amusing” as the center of a scene the way that you could in 2007-2013 but I do kind of feel like we don’t talk about how sudden that change was enough.

People talk about how you should have always known that awful things are awful but if you’re surrounded by rape jokes and pedophilia jokes all the time and that’s what’s funny to the other kids around you and the adults in your lives and what makes up the jokes in the movies you watch then it’s hard to act like you always knew it was wrong.

Dead baby jokes were a HUGE thing when I was a teen and in my early twenties and sitting around swapping dead baby jokes was just a thing we did, and tossed in among them were things like:

A joke about incest with the punchline “Get off me pa, you’re crushing my smokes.”

This joke about a pedophile murdering a child.

Let’s not turn this rape into a murder.

And hell, look at the activity graph for “soap on a rope” on urban dictionary:

2014 starts a significant taper.

Letterboxd has their “sexual assault against men played for comedy page” and if you sort by release date there’s a downward trend with 2014 as a really stand-out year for rape jokes about men in popular movies:

2010 - 10

2011 - 12

2012 - 14

2013 - 12

2014 - 18 (jesus, which includes a prison rape joke in “Paddington”)

2015 - 9

2016 - 9

2017 - 11

2018 - 15

2019 - 4

2020 - 1

(this is of course with the caveat that this is only what has been documented so far)

Shock porn sites used to be a thing and they used to be a COMMON thing. A thing that would get remixed and have late night hosts make jokes about them and that got parody music videos.

So on the one hand I was really glad that in 2010 the hacker conference WASN’T asking me to make a rape joke on their tee shirt, but since Pool 2 Girl came up at every single “this is what defcon is about” discussion and some of the guys from the con had printed up “lemonparty.org” stickers to slap up around town it wouldn’t have been *surprising* if they’d been asking for that.

If you were a teenager in 2005 would you have known how much of a dick move goatse-ing people was? We didn’t have the same culture of trigger warnings (not that I disapprove of trigger warnings, they are good and I like them) and there was very much an attitude online at the time of “if you can’t handle it log off.”

I think the fappening was the turning point for a lot of this stuff - I think that was a big cultural moment that changed a lot of people’s attitudes really quickly and I’m seeing echos of that with what Chris Evans is dealing with right now: people are a lot faster to say “oh, that sucks, don’t be an asshole, report people for posting the pics” while I remember sitting and arguing in an imgur thread because there were a bunch of people saying “if you don’t like it don’t take nudes” about the celebrities who got caught in the icloud leak.

People look at Shane Dawson’s (admittedly gross and incredibly inappropriate) behavior with a poster of Willow Smith and act like it’s unprecedented***** but as someone who remembers not only Olsen Eighteenth Birthday countdowns but ALSO the jokes about fucking the Olsen twins that came BEFORE they were legal that’s just bizarre. Seeing people my age and older react to James Gunn’s pedophilic twitter jokes like they’re worse than Jay Leno’s jokes about Michael Jackson (which were made on TV! Across America! On a major network!) is just. It’s bizarre.

I’m glad we are where we are now, I’m glad that making rape jokes in public or jokes about incest or pedophilia (or murder or abortion) is less common and less okay (especially in children’s media, jesus fuck) and more likely to get criticized.

But I’m also pretty sure I’m going to get called a rape apologist by *someone* for saying “2010 was a different time, rape jokes were more common and we didn’t realize how shitty it was” when it really was a different time and rape jokes were more common and most people didn’t realize how shitty it was. I sure didn’t. I do now, and I’m glad I do now. But pretending that we should have ALWAYS known this, pretending that this was NEVER acceptable, pretending that it WASN’T a different time is ignoring the fact that for over a decade there was an entire genre of pedophilic rape jokes (that were frequently also racist) centered around one celebrity and that people told these jokes in public and in pop culture *all the time.*

Does that make it right? Fuck, I don’t know, shit is relative. It was still largely acceptable to electrocute gay kids and people tossed around the word “faggot” pretty freely. Mean Girls is full of jokes about how awful it is for people to think you’re a lesbian and Superbad is full of jokes about getting people shitfaced so they’ll sleep with you (so date rape) and there’s an entire “cute comedy” from the 80s starring Kurt Russel and Goldie Hawn that’s an extended rape-by-fraud joke. I think that as a whole we’re better now as people than we were in 2010 and the 90s and the 80s and the 50s and I don’t think that someone who made a sexist joke in the 80s is irredeemably evil and I don’t think people making rape jokes in the 2010s are rape apologists in 2020 and I wish there was a lot more understanding of both history and nuance in these conversations.

*****to be very, very clear Shane Dawson has been filmed kissing underage fans on the mouth and having explicit sexual conversations with his very young cousin - Dawson has done things that go beyond “inappropriate” and fall clearly into “wrong” “bad” “dangerous” “illegal” etc, which is all the more reason that it’s so strange to see people focusing on him fake masturbating on a poster of Willow Smith. YES doing that was gross but why is it even being compared to the way he’s been filmed interacting with fans? The lack of nuance, making “fake masturbating at a poster” and “creating a sexually abused puppet character” the same as “inappropriately touched and kissed minor fans and engaged a young child in explicit sexual conversations” is NOT GOOD. That is a bad thing. Two of those things are tasteless and two of those things are actively harmful and it’s the actively harmful stuff that we should be focusing on and part of why it’s really weird to see shit like “pizzagate conspiracist accuses James Gunn of making inappropriate jokes” like yes Gunn please don’t but can we maybe refocus and talk about the dude who can be pretty significantly assigned blame for a fucking shooting? https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/aug/01/james-gunn-alt-right-marvel-film-director-tweets

Actually, you know what, I thought I was done ranting, I’m not.

It’s purity culture.

YES you should attempt to do less harm with your language, YES you should attempt to not use slurs, YES you should try to avoid making rape jokes. But there’s an entire huge group of people who are willing to drag up rape jokes from a decade when rape jokes were REALLY REALLY common in order to say that nothing you say or do today matters.

And that same group is ALSO really interested in expanding the concept of what pedophilia is to include age differences in adults or liking the wrong style of drawing and it’s a purity culture silencing tactic and can we PLEASE stop pretending that gross, tasteless jokes are the same thing as actually sexually abusing people? Can we stop pretending that pointing out “rape jokes were more common fifteen years ago and I feel bad about it but that’s just the way it was and I don’t make jokes like that anymore” is the same as saying “rape isn’t bad and you shouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”

It’s always good to try to be a less shitty human but if you’re only allowed to grow and improve and be less shitty if you never fucked up in the first place then it’s all just calvinist bullshit and none of us could ever really be saved in the first place.

I dunno, dudes. We got so careful about disapproving of the wrong kind of language that we let a white supremacist concern troll Disney into firing a director who caught the attention of the alt right by shit-talking the president.

I think perhaps we need to reexamine some strategy here.

[melancholicscoundrel]

Getting to Know You Tag Game

Thanks for tagging me @teagrammy 😊 I love talking about myself

I’ll tag @oldfritz @arthoe-iceland @magicsuga and @dein-lieblingsdummkopf. Anyone else who would like to participate is welcome.

What book are you currently reading?

I had just finished reading Gideon the Ninth after years of seeing so much beautiful art of the skull-faced lesbians and I am in love.

What’s your favourite movie you saw in theatres this year?

I haven’t been to a movie theater in years and haven’t seen any theatrically released movies from this year at all, though there are numerous movies I want to see.

So I’ll say All Quiet on the Western Front (2022). I enjoyed it a lot, but I still prefer the 1979 version.

What do you usually wear?

Old clothes that are no longer my style but I’ve been too poor to get a new wardrobe. I still look like a miserable little teenager wearing my old skinny jeans, oversized hand-me-down tees with a hoodie and my faded work boots that I’ve worn everyday since I was 17. But that’s only when I leave the house. At home, which is where I’m mostly found, I wear baggy sweats.

How tall are you?

5 ft and 1.5 in

What’s your Star Sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event?

Scorpio. Nobody I like shares my birthday and nothing particularly interesting (that I know of) occurred on my special day.

Do you go by your name or a nick-name?

Unfortunately, I only go by my incongruous name assigned at birth. I’ve always wanted a nickname but nobody around me is creative enough to give me one.

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child?

AHAHAHAHAHAA. Well, when I was little I wanted to become a writer and artist, and I am getting there, so that’s one thing.

Are you in a relationship? If not, who is your crush if you have one?

Nope. No matter how much I long for my better half I know I’m in no way shape or form ready for a serious relationship.

I have a massive crush on someone whose face I have never seen nor have I so much as heard their voice.

What’s something you’re good at vs. something you’re bad at?

I’m good at keeping a poker-face and I’m good at planning. I’m bad at sticking with my plans, as I tend to get distracted or lose motivation.

Dogs or cats?

Cats! Dogs I find irritating and I’m not a fan of slobber. Doesn’t mean I dislike them, I just don’t want to own one. Cats on the other hand are chill, I adore them and can’t wait to get a kitten ❤️❤️

If you draw/write, or create in any way, what’s your favourite picture/favourite line/favourite etc. from something you created this year?

There are many lines of dialogue I’ve written as well as a finished character sheet I’ve drawn that I’m proud of, but I won’t post any of it here. That I’ll save for when I’ve made a separate blog for my art and writing.

What’s something you would like to create content for?

My story. I’ve never posted anything about it yet, I need to stop procrastinating and actually draw my ocs so that I have something to post.

What’s something you’re currently obsessed with?

My ocs. I couldn’t be more obsessed with anything else, they are my world. But after reading the first book, the Locked Tomb series now occupies a little compartment in my brain as well.

What’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

To finally leave the nest and start living like a functioning adult, which didn’t happen. But I do have a job where I make a little more than minimum wage, and there’s always next year.

What’s a hidden talent of yours?

I have pretty good aim, but I was never interested in sports or weapons to really hone the ability.

Are you religious?

FUCK no. Not a spiritual person either. I’m just raw dogging life, hoping for the best.

What’s something you wish to have at this moment?

No depression and $30,000 so I don’t have to stay with my parents improving my mental health and saving money for yet another year and just dip tf out with adequate savings and a healthy mind.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Wicked Ones

(A Max Phillips x Reader Smutty One-Shot)

Summary: So, a couple months ago I was sent THIS POST like 900 times by all of you screaming at me because I tagged it as “Max Phillips” so...here it is. This is straight up PWP--Max is the big shot boss that we know and love and you are his long time girlfriend. You both call out in favor of staying home and spending some quality time together--but he has an important meeting that he just can’t miss...no matter what he is doing when he gets the call.  

Pairing: Max Phillips x Reader Word Count: 3k Warnings/Ratings: NC-17/18+ - smut, pwp, choking, dirty talk, rough, teasing, established relationship, vampireness, slight exhibition kink, hand-over-mouth, having sex while on the phone with your job--MAX. BEHAVE. (spoiler...he doesn’t)

[MASTERLIST]

You weren't sure how this had started. This insane competition between the two of you that seemed to be escalating with each round. It was attributed to the fact that you were both stubborn, cunning, and meticulous in your efforts to please one another. But it had to stop sometime. Right?

If you had to think about it, it probably was your fault. It probably all started on that day you brought him lunch to his office. But it wasn't food that you had in mind. You locked his door, twisted the blinds closed and dropped your black pea-coat revealing the white lingerie that he had gotten you on your anniversary. He seemed to understand then--you were lunch.

He was a walking cliché in the sense that white was his favorite color on you when it came to lacy underthings. He liked the way balconette bras made your breasts into pillows perfect for sleeping, or biting. He liked the way you always wore your panties on top of your garters, meaning he could take them off first and keep the latter on to frame the swell of your perfect ass. And he liked the way the white made you look like something about to be sacrificed, and he was the willing volcano. His second favorite color on you was red...typical.

That day he had spread you out on his desk and eaten your pussy like a man starved. No paperwork was safe from the way you swept your arms above your head when he sucked your clit. Unless they were deaf, you were certain everyone in the office had heard you whine his name as he pounded into you hard enough to make the wooden desk creek with protest. But then again, no one dared say anything because he was the boss. Making you, his girlfriend, untouchable.

This morning you had both called out in favor of staying in bed tangled up with one another. And this was the day you realized you were destined to lose this war.

"Max…" you said breathlessly as you put a hand on the headboard above you to push yourself against him as he pounded into you relentlessly.

"What is it, sweetheart? You like waking up to my big dick? Beats the hell out of going to work--" he grit his teeth and gripped your hips, yanking you down the bed and slamming himself inside of you to the hilt.

"Yesss," you whined, closing your eyes and palming at your own breasts.

It was moments like these that Max made you feel incredibly desirable. His desperate, needy nature in the sack was the exact opposite from his calm and collected management style in the office. You did that. You broke that composure down to its purest form and it was a rush of power so exquisite you coveted it as a prized possession.

“Come here,” he growled as he leaned down and picked you up enough to roll you with him to where you were straddling his lap and he was sitting up against the pile of pillows on your now disheveled bed. His large hand came down on your ass cheek and he grinned. “Fuck yourself on daddy’s dick.”

“Max!” you laughed as you put your hands on his chest. “You did not just call yourself daddy--fuck..” You bit your lip as you started to bounce on his lap, the new position making the movement more intense. The head of him hit the end of you easier and it was a pleasant sharpness deep within your lower abdomen.

“Too much?” he chuckled, and the sound went right to your core.

“You’re always too much.”

“And you love it,” he smirked.

"Nah, I only do this for the extra vacation d-AYS!" You yelp when he pinches your nipple in retaliation for your jest before grinning as you fall into a fit of giggles.

"You're bad, you know that?"

"Says the vampire." Before you can continue to ridicule him, he leans up and kisses you hard, stealing any bite that was left to your words.

His lips were almost as bruising as his fingers that were digging into the soft flesh of where your hips met your ass. You felt the solid press of his fangs inside his mouth and you hungrily asked for more. He opened and gave it to you, letting your tongue trace along his own, and up to his teeth. It had taken a long time to perfect the art of kissing him. You had lost count of the number of times you had nicked your tongue or lip when your mouths and bodies were intertwined. But, Max was a patient man, and it helped that practicing was extremely enjoyable.

He pulled back abruptly and shoved two of his fingers in your mouth, barely giving you time to draw a breath. "Suck--good girl." He grinned and he felt your cunt clench around him as he praised you. His fingers pulled from your lips with a soft pop and he shoved them between your bodies to play with your clit as you continued to ride him.

"S-shit," you breathed, the action bringing you closer to the edge. "Is this my payback for earlier this week?"

"What? That little stunt you pulled in my office?" He shook his head after you gave a nod. "No, your payback for that was me eating that perfect pussy on my desk--now everyone knows how good I make you feel."

Although you knew you should--you didn't care. This was part of that power trip that Max seemed to give you when the two of you fucked. And, well, if anyone did dare to say anything...he would eat them. You were certain he had made it his mission to fuck you all over that corporate building before they sent him to his next assignment at another branch.

"Did Evan hear?" You teased, knowing full well about his past with the previous acting sales manager.

"Why do you think I moved his desk closer to my door?" He snarled and flipped you back over, pinning you to the mattress and jack-hammering his hips against you hard enough to make you cry out.

"Fuck!" You yelled as you dug your nails into his back and held on for dear life. The both of you knew that if you said 'stop', he would, but like hell you wanted him to slow down when your orgasm was so close.

"You good?" He panted as he looked down at your scrunched up face and you nodded.

"Right there. Right-there-right-there-right--" your jumbled pleas fell from your lips in a truly embarrassing manner but you were beyond caring. You were just so close.

His cellphone started to ring on the nightstand to your left and he slowed his hips and the both of you looked at it. The flat black device buzzed so violently that you thought it might fall off the edge. Max continued to piston his hips against the backs of your thighs in such a way that you thought he was going to let it go to voicemail. You should have known better.

"Don't move," he said in a tone that it made you clench around his dick. He groaned as he put his left hand on your lower abdomen as if to hold you down, and leaned over the edge of the bed to grab his bluetooth with his right. "Max Phillips," he said, formally as he slipped the device over the shell of his ear and adjusted his knees back between your thighs. "Yes. Sure, that's fine."

You let out a small huff as you looked up at the ceiling and then back to your boyfriend kneeling between your legs. Surely he wasn't going to just sit there, buried in your cunt while he took a fucking call? The thought made you want to cross your arms at him in annoyance. The both of you had called out for a reason, to avoid your jobs. But despite his skills in delegation, Max was a workaholic--even if he refused to admit it.

"Yeah, I do apologize. I woke up and just felt terrible--"

You raised an eyebrow at him as a small grin slowly overtook his well-kissed lips.

"Is this a good time?" He looked down at you and you started to shake your head, eyes widening as if you could suddenly read his mind. "Actually...it's a perfect time. Fire away."

He thrust forward again, sheathing himself inside you to the hilt and grinning when it made your back bow off of the bed. "Max!" You gasped his name and he put three of his fingers in your mouth, gripping your chin and pushing you back down on the pillows, causing a small gag to come from your throat.

"No, that's just the TV." He chuckled and you swear you felt the sound against your clit. "Yes, I'm sure. I'll turn it down...make sure it's quiet."

You opened your mouth to protest not only the situation but his oh so loving metaphor of speaking about you as an inanimate object. Instead, he leaned forward, clapping his large hand over the bottom half of your face. You yelped against his palm and it just came out incredibly muffled. He put more pressure on your body as he held himself up with one arm and let the full weight of his pelvis and belly press against you as he resumed his thrusts.

"Yeah, I originally told them I wanted thirty percent--"

Your eyes were wide as you looked at him, desperately trying to convey with a look how hard it was to be quiet when he insisted on continuing to rail you. You gripped the sheets on either side of your hips and he shoved your leg up higher with his knees and the tip of his cock stroked that beautiful spot deep within you.

"Mhmm," you moaned against his hand, the sheer patheticness of your own voice shamefully making your libido spike. He had you. This was his show. The bedroom was currently his boardroom and as always he was running it.

"No, that's bullshit," Max shook his head, not even sounding like he was exerting himself in the slightest. "They're trying to low ball you, Ted. We talked about this, remember?"

He removed his hand from your mouth and grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. You arched into his hand, biting your lip as he tweaked your nipple. Obviously only half listening to what was being said on the other side of the device, he gave you a wink and your heart did that mildly annoying flop that it had been doing quite a lot lately. He gave your nipple a small tug and when you squealed, he slapped your tit roughly, stealing the sound from your throat with pure surprise.

"Oh...oh fuck, Max," you breathed quietly, but apparently, not quiet enough because he stopped thrusting.

"Just a minute--yeah, just one second, Ted." He clicked the mute button on his earpiece and looked down at you sternly. "Now, if you can't be quiet, I'll make you be quiet." He gave a deep grind of his hips, pressing his cock slowly back into you and you pressed your lips together in a firm line to stay silent. Max smirked, "There’s a good girl."

Oh, you were going to get him back for this.

Max clicked the button again and said, “Alright, champ. I’m back.” He leaned down and kissed you hard, the press of fangs against your closed mouth, a silent promise that made your clit throb. "Yeah, put him on."

Max pistoned his hips against you as they obviously tried to conference call in a third party. The squeak you gave when he hiked your left leg over his right shoulder was apparently justified because he didn't chastise you for it. "Bryce! Talk to me, baby, what's going on? Ted tells me you're thinking about backing out of our arrangement."

He turned his head and nipped the inside of your calf, smirking as you bucked your hips up against his pelvis. You gripped the pillow and shut your eyes tightly trying to think about all of the ways you could one up him--and yet all you could think about was how this new angle had the tip of him brushing against your cervix. It hurt, but in the best way, a short, blunt, feeling followed by the pleasurable drag of his length back through your heat.

He pinched the fleshy part of your skin where your ass met your thigh and mouthed for you to 'open your eyes'. When you complied, he continued.

"Here's the thing, Bryce. A deal this big might be scary at first--but you're never going to reap the rewards if you don't take the risk!" He leaned forward on his knees, pressing your leg back towards your chest and sinking deeper into your cunt. "When you have an opportunity like this in front of you, you have to grab it. Sink your teeth into it, and don't let go until. You. Are. Balls. Deep."

He accentuated each word of his disgusting metaphor with a hard thrust and you reached for him, desperately wanting to hold him close, bury your hands in his hair, anything. Instead he held himself up by locking his left arm rigidly on the bed and grabbing your throat with his right. Your breath caught, and the moan you were about to release was nothing more than a silent vibration against his fingers.

“You heard me--” Max grunted as he slammed his hips against you. “So, just tell me--” He gave a hard thrust and a deep sound of exertion. “What I want to hear--” thrust. “And we can both walk away--” thrust. “Richer men.”

He was close, you knew it, surely he wasn’t audacious enough to finish while he was still on the phone. Who were you kidding? It was Max--of course he would.

You reached up and tried to shove his face to get his attention, put your fingers in his mouth like he had done to you earlier. He obliged and turned his head to suck your pointer and middle between his lips with a loud ‘pop’, laving them with spit. You took the opportunity to then shove them between your legs and play your clit in time with his sloppy thrusts.

“Perfect!” Max said suddenly, and loudly enough to startle you, causing you to buck up against him. “That’s what I like to hear! Ted will send over the paperwork and I’ll get it on Monday--fuck, shit--no, Bryce not you--” he bit his lip and squeezed your throat. The added pressure was just what you needed to peak over the edge of your orgasm. Your eyes rolled back and you hand stilled between your legs as you clenched down around his cock and it was apparently enough to bring him with you.

“Max!” You said, strained against his grip around your neck as you leaned up into his body, and held on tightly to his sides.

“Yeah--yeahthatsoundsgreat--Bryce, shut up. Ask Ted--bye---fuuuuuck!”

Max all but flung the Bluetooth across the room as he collapsed almost his full weight on top of you. He buried his face in the crook of your shoulder and groaned as he came deep inside of you, hot and hard like his breath against your already flushed skin. You clung to him, drawing full breaths now that his hands were occupied with digging into your back.

“I can’t--” you panted against his hair as you turned your head to kiss his temple. “Believe you just fucking did that.”

“What?” he chuckled against your collarbone as he held you tightly and grunted as his cock gave a last twitch inside of you. “You think those big wigs never have a Skype meeting without their secretary under their desks sucking their dicks?”

“That’s different--gross. We’re not debating this.”

“You have to admit, it was at least kinda hot--” he grinned against your skin as he kissed from your pulse point down your clavicle, to the tops of your breasts. You rolled your eyes, putting your hand in his hair as he continued to nibble on all of your weak spots.

“Don’t think you can use your mouth to get out of trouble. I mean it Max--” you words stopped as he took one of your nipples in his mouth and bit down gently.

“Uh huh, yes, of course, sugar tits--ow!” He laughed as you gripped his hair and pulled at the nickname you hated. He settled his face between your breasts and you kept your tight grip on his hair.

“I swear to god, if you try to motorboat me right now, I will kick you out of this bed.”

“You’re no fun.” He pouted as he kissed down your stomach and you slowly loosened your grip on his hair. His hands slid down your body, over the swell of your hips, pausing only briefly to cup your ass as he walked his knees down the bed.

“And where are you going?” You watched him, raising an eyebrow as he rolled his eyes back up to you with a smirk.

“Using my mouth to get me out of trouble--lay back,” he breathed gently against the insides of your thighs and ran his tongue along the front of his teeth. You knew he wouldn’t out right ask, but if he made you come again, you’d gladly let him feed from your thigh.

“You sure you don’t have another phone call to make?”

“It’s going to be awhile before you quit holding this over my head, isn’t it?” he chuckled.

“Oh, you bet your ass, it is. Get to work, Mister.” You put your hand back in his hair and pushed his head down against your cunt. The moment his mouth opened to envelop your clit, you leaned back against the pillows with a heavy, contented sigh and closed your eyes. “Hmm, that’s the ticket...champ.”

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[northofdespair]

Well. This was going to be a 500-character anonymous ask. I had no plans of using this forgotten Tumblr account. And then I wrote 2k in one sitting this afternoon.

So, Clem, this is for you! Hats off for drawing me out of the abyss to pen a little pseudo-fic for my favorite pairing of all time. Forgive (m)any mistakes and the informal style, I suppose I really could have refined it, but I wanted to get this out here before it went to collect dust with the rest of my 30k+ of Obikin WIPs due to crippling perfectionism. 😅 I will say it’s a bit angsty and a departure from Anakin finding Obi-Wan’s fighting nothing but sexy… there is nothing to say he didn’t in the past, but my brain just went on auto-pilot and this is what happened. Hope you get a little enjoyment out of it anyways! 😘

For those of you who have not read it yet, you’ll get a lot more out of this post if you read @obiwanobi’s posts here, here, here, and here. <3

~*~

So Fight Club AU, right? What if Ahsoka and Anakin make their way down to the lower levels, following a lead on their latest undercover assignment. They decide to split up to search for what they’re looking for and Ahsoka soon finds herself weaving through the cheering and jeering crowds of a club that is far too loud and flashy. She peeks curiously over the tops of various creatures’ heads to see what they’re shouting about and sees a human and a Devaronian trading blows. A fight, whatever. They happen all the time in the lower leve-IS THAT MASTER KENOBI?!

That is DEFINITELY Master Kenobi and boy, she’s never been one to rat out fellow Jedi, but even if he’s grinning like a madman, he is hurt, and oh she is getting Anakin right now, because she doesn’t know exactly what to do, and Force knows that if Obi-Wan will listen to anyone, it’s Anakin. He’s not far away, and when she drags him into the club, he goes a little pale at the sight of Obi-Wan in the ring, standing victoriously over his opponent. 

 She thinks that he’s going to go get him, pull him aside and do something to fix this, but suddenly someone else in the crowd spots him. Suddenly the cheers and taunts are directed at Anakin, and Ahsoka has no idea what the kriff is happening. All at once Anakin is being pulled and pushed, and then both of her Masters are in the ring, eyeing each other up and down and squaring off. Obi-Wan flirts with Anakin as though he expected him to be there, as though he were an enemy, and her jaw drops as Anakin flirts back. Anakin quickly glances at Ahsoka over the crowd, and they begin.

 It is both everything and nothing like watching them spar at the Temple. She sees all the ways in which they are familiar with each other’s strengths and weaknesses, but here the graceful arcs of lightsabers have been traded for brutal, bare-knuckled blows. They sweep under and over each other, deftly avoiding blows as much as landing them, and the crowd loves it. She spares a glance at the bookie, who looks like the tooka that caught the mouse-droid.

 As the fight goes on, Ahsoka realizes two things. 

 One, this is not the first time that they have fought in this ring. Even for Jedi–an identity that they are suppressing extremely well considering the circumstances–they are altogether too at ease with the brutal hand-to-hand combat. The way they dance around each other and strike viperously quick would be beautiful if it weren’t so horrible. It is certainly awe-striking, and while all Jedi are trained in hand-to-hand, she’s never seen them fight like this.

 Two, Obi-Wan is incredible. Anakin is holding his own and powerful in his own right, but even after knocking that Devarionian to the floor, bruised, bleeding, and tired, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a force to be reckoned with.

 In a flurry of movement, Obi-Wan pins Anakin to the ground, just managing to overpower his former student despite his injuries. Ahsoka can barely see over the crowd as he sits on top of his Padawan, then offers him a hand up. She can’t discern their expressions, but they do not say anything to each other and make their way out of the ring, going in vaguely the same direction. 

 Ahsoka presses her lips together and follows Anakin to demand what in Sith Hells just happened. Suddenly the mysterious bruises that Anakin had started showing up with–the ones that he thought he was hiding well–make some sort of surreal sense.

 She catches up to him in an abandoned alleyway seven blocks or so away from the club and opens her mouth to lay into him, but before she can draw breath, Obi-Wan’s figure melts out of the shadows from the other direction. Neither man has seen her, and something about the intense look on Obi-Wan’s face makes her slip into the shadows herself. 

 She has to slap a hand over her mouth to tamp down on a surprised squeak a second later as Obi-Wan takes Anakin by the shoulders, slams him into the wall, and kisses him hard. Anakin kisses him back, hands coming up to scrabble at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and breaks the kiss to get out, 

 “Wait, Obi-Wan,“ he gasps as Obi-Wan bites at his neck and Ahsoka wants to flee, but she feels rooted in place. “Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, she- hhhn- stop, would you?” He finally brings his hand to the side of Obi-Wan’s face, catching his attention for long enough to realize that he’s serious, if a little dazed. “Ahsoka saw us fight.” 

 His voice is quiet, but Ahsoka has always had good hearing, even for a Togruta. Obi-Wan freezes, and the two stare at each other for a long moment, breathing heavily into each other’s space. 

 “She led me to you because you were hurt,” Anakin whispers, and the tender concern on his face as he brushes a thumb over Obi-Wan’s swollen cheekbone is enough to cause Ahsoka to avert her gaze. 

 “Anakin, you know-“ Obi-Wan’s voice is different from any time she’s ever heard it, deep and rumbling with an emotion she doesn’t... quite want to think about, but Anakin cuts him off. 

 “I know, Master. I know. But she was worried, and I don’t... think she was wrong to be,” it comes out hesitant, and she looks up to find that Anakin looks like he’s prepared to flinch away from a blow. 

 Before tonight, Ahsoka never would have thought that her Grandmaster was capable of dealing any such hit to Anakin, but Anakin’s split lip and blackened eye prove her wrong. She still can’t believe it, and her heart tells her that even now he would never hit Anakin outside of the ring or the training salles, but it’s a hard thought to reconcile with as her Master stands before her with such prominent injuries.

 Obi-Wan stares at Anakin again before sighing softly. “You don’t want to fight. You don’t want me to fight,” he says, and it’s a flattened-out question. Anakin bites his lip, wincing at the painful reminder of the cut there. 

 “Not- not like this,” he whispers. “Obi-Wan, I... I know that this is an escape from everything. I’m not saying it’s even bad, Force, I’d be one hell of a kriffing hypocrite to tell you that. I know I’ve given in to my own methods of escape, but Master, I-“ His voice cracks and he breaks off, working his jaw as he stares at Obi-Wan with an expression so open that it hurts. “I have you now, and you’re- you’re all I ever wanted. You’re all I need. Obi-Wan, if I’m not- if I’m not enough, then tell me how-“

 Obi-Wan cuts him off with a kiss, raking his fingers through Anakin’s golden curls and holding him there. Anakin’s eyes flutter shut as he lets out a whimper from the back of his throat, and Ahsoka has to avert her gaze once more. She’s intruding on something so viscerally personal, but she still cannot command her feet to move. 

 So she listens to the sound of lips parting for little kisses that make a larger whole, that bring a low moan from Obi-Wan’s throat in answer to Anakin’s desperate pitch. She listens until they part, and then risks a glance up at her Masters. 

 They are somehow closer than before, foreheads resting together with their eyes shut, breathing each other in as Obi-Wan strokes Anakin’s hair and Anakin shivers. 

 “Dear one,” Obi-Wan whispers. “You are enough. I… was afraid, my love.” Anakin’s eyes open in shock as the confession falls from Obi-Wan’s lips. “I was afraid that this... was the only way I could have you. It’s different down here. What happens here stays here, and I thought-“ 

 “Obi-Wan. I only ever came down here in the first place because I want you. All the time. Force, I want you so badly it hurts. I don’t want this to stay here. I- do you really-“ 

 “Yes.” 

 Anakin chokes a laugh and fixes Obi-Wan with a fondly exasperated look. “You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he accuses, resting his head back on the wall. 

 Obi-Wan leans forward to pursue him, placing a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth, then another directly on his lips. “I do, darling. Of course I do.” 

 And as Ahsoka watches Anakin’s expression change from incredulity, to wonder, to overwhelmed adoration, she knows that her Grandmaster was not simply speaking of knowing the question that never left her Master’s lips. 

 “Me too,” Anakin whispers, voice thick, and Ahsoka can see the shape of Obi-Wan’s grin even from the severe angle that her perspective offers. 

 Anakin smiles back and flinches again as his lip pulls taut. Obi-Wan hums and reaches up to brush his thumb over the wound.

 “Not a good look on you, is it, darling,” he remarks. 

 Anakin scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully. 

 “You should see the other guy,” he smirks. 

 “Ha, ha,” Obi-Wan intones dryly, and Anakin laughs. 

 They sober quickly, and Ahsoka holds her breath as the air and the Force around them seems to charge once more. She knows by the look on Anakin’s face that he’s working towards saying something, and Obi-Wan runs bloodied fingers through his curls in patient strokes.

 “I won’t tell you to stop,” Anakin finally speaks quietly, looking down between them. 

 “But you want me to,” Obi-Wan matches his volume and sincerity. 

 After a moment, Anakin nods quietly, still averting his gaze from Obi-Wan’s face. Her Grandmaster lifts Anakin’s chin with a gentle hand, and their gazes meet once again. 

 “I meant it when I said you are enough, my dear. This habit... if I’m honest, it started when I failed to release certain feelings into the Force. The fighting cleared my mind and it was a good physical release. I don’t need it. Not if I have you.” 

 Anakin’s eyes grow wide, and Ahsoka thinks that she sees tears glimmering in his eyes in the low light. 

 “The Code, Master,” he croaks softly. 

 Obi-Wan shakes his head and strokes Anakin’s chin before tapping it lightly and resting his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We’re good at that, you and I. And we shan’t break the Code if we’re simply in a relationship, you know that.” 

 Anakin squeezes his eyes shut, and tears at last track down his cheeks. “It’s not just a relationship. Not to me. I- I love you, Master. I’m atta- attached. I’ve struggled with this all my life and I can’t let go. Of you, or Ahsoka.” 

 Her heart skips a beat at her name, then warms with a sad fondness for her Master. Oh, Anakin... he really thinks that Obi-Wan doesn’t know? That she doesn’t know? They do and they love him right back just the same. Ahsoka hadn’t truly known about the nature of her Masters’ feelings for each other before tonight, but she had suspected. Both she and Obi-Wan love Anakin with all their hearts.

 “Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan pulls him into his arms, and Anakin clings to him desperately and buries his face in his throat. “Dearest, love is no trespass, and attachment can be conquered. It is a part of human nature. It is nothing to fear. I am sorry I ever led you to believe otherwise, Padawan.”

 Anakin gasps a single, muffled sob into Obi-Wan’s throat, and his Master presses a kiss to the top of his head. They stay like that for a while, rocking slightly back and forth and holding each other tightly until Anakin’s breathing evens out.

 “You’ll stop fighting, then?” Anakin asks softly. 

 “Yes, dearest. I’ll stop,” comes the quiet affirmation. “And Anakin,” he steps back slightly so they are both looking each other in the face once again before murmuring, gentle as a spring breeze, “I love you too.”

 Anakin’s face crumples before a smile overtakes his expression and he lets out a tiny, overjoyed laugh. Obi-Wan’s hands slide up to frame his face once again and draw him into a gentle kiss that slowly deepens. They break apart to smile at each other before coming together more urgently than before, and Ahsoka knows that it’s time for her to go.

 She lets out a little breath–hopefully silent–and steps backward out of the alley. Once she has crept well away, she slumps against the wall herself. She... she’ll probably have to tell Anakin what she has witnessed. She really hadn’t meant to eavesdrop for so long, but she had needed to hear that promise from her Grandmaster almost as much as Anakin himself. As it is, she breathes out a sigh of relief knowing that for the moment they are both safe, happy, and that better times are coming. For all of them.

  They’ll figure this out together.

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Laito Dark [03]

ー The scene starts in the hallway at school

*Ding-dong ・ Ding-dong*

Yui: ( While at school, it almost seems like life is continuing on as per usual but... ) 

( I wonder how everyone’s doing back at the castle...? )

ー Laito approaches her

Laito: Bitch-chan~!

Yui: Ah, Laito-kun.

Laito: Say, it completely slipped my mind amidst all the chaos, but there’s actually this one assignment I have to hand in soon.

I really need your help with it but would that be asking for too much?

Yui: Eh? Sure. I don’t mind...

( Still, Laito-kun’s doing his homework...? That’s new... )

Laito: Thank god! I’m suddenly bursting with motivation! Follow me then!

*Rustle*

ー The scene shifts to the classroom

*Rattle*

Yui: ...? The art classroom?

Laito: Yeah. I want you to be the model for my drawing...

Yui: Eh? ...An art model?

Selection

→ Am I the right person for that? (M)

Yui: I don’t mind but...Am I the right person for that?

Laito: Nfu~ Of course! I’ll draw you super-duper cute!

Come on, take a seat here.

Yui: Y-Yeah...

( Modeling for a drawing...It’s a little embarrassing. )

( However, I wonder how he’ll draw me? I’m a little curious. )

→ I mean, I don’t mind... (S)

Yui: I mean, I don’t mind...

Laito: Haah...Gosh, Bitch-chan. Do you really have to put it like that?

Yui: ( ...? Did I say something weird just now...? )

Laito: Haah...! For some reason you sounded so uncharacteristically arrogant (1)  just now...It kind of got my heart racing...!

Yui: Eeh...!?

Laito: Haah...You really got my creative juices flowing. Come on, take a seat over here!

*Thud*

Yui: S-Sure...

Yui: ...Is this okay? Or should I pose in a certain way...?

Laito: Nfu~ In that case...

*Rustle rustle*

Laito: Why don’t we start by...taking off your uniform?

Yui: ...!? I-I can’t...!

Laito: Eeh~? Why not? Nude models are a staple in art, no?

Yui: Eeh!?

Laito: Nfu~ No need to worry.

Rest assured. I’ll make sure to draw you with a better figure (2) than you have in real life.

I’ll be generous with the chest area since we all know you’re a little self-conscious about that. Nfu~

Yui: T-That’s not what I meant...!

Laito: Ehー? You’re such a party-pooper~ I was just feeling so motivated too...

But well, I guess it can’t be helped.

I’ll draw a nude portrait of you as one of my personal projects sometime in the future.

Haah, well then, just sit still there, okay? You can’t move, understood?

Yui: Y-Yeah...

*Creaaak*

Yui: ( Thank god...Seems like I avoided being stripped naked here for now... )

Laito: Well then, Bitch-chan. I’m getting started.

To draw a good picture, I have to get a proper look at what I’m drawing first...

Like this...Carefully...No?

Yui: ...L-Laito-kun...?

Laito: Aah, don’t do that! Geez, Bitch-chan...

Didn’t I tell you? You can’t move...Remember?

Yui: Uu...

Laito: Haah...Perfect...

I feel as if I’ve got a good grasp of what I want the drawing to look like from observing you from up close like this...

For example...For the curve of your slender neck...

I should gently let my brush slide across like this...See...?

*Rustle rustle*

Yui: Kyaah!

( W-What was that!? I felt something on my neck...! )

Laito: Aah, you can’t. Don’t turn around! I told you to keep still, didn’t I?

Nfu~ Which obviously leaves...Doing the same for this side as well, right?

*Rustle rustle*

Yui: S-Stop! Laito-kun, what are you...?

Laito: Eh? What do you mean? ...I’m only expanding upon the composition of my drawing. 

Yui: ( I’m not the canvas...! )

Laito: Oh dear? Gosh, look at how flushed your cheeks have gotten...What’s the matter?

Nfu~ Are you perhaps...getting a little worked up?

Yui: ...! T-That’s not...

Laito: There you go again~! You really aren’t honest with yourself~ 

I’ve long noticed that when you say ‘no’, you actually mean ‘yes’, you know?

Ah, in that case...! I don’t mind if you decide to take off your uniform now.

Yui: I won’t do that!

Laito: Nfu~ The fun has yet to begin, you see?

Brace yourself, Bitch-chan~ 

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) I assume 上から or ‘ue kara’ refers to 上から目線 or ‘ue kara mesen’ here, which refers to someone who is bossy or condescending while looking down upon someone else. 

(2) スタイル or ‘sutairu’ from the English ‘style’ is used to describe someone’s figure/body type in Japanese, rather than referring to a fashion style.

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[sonnet009]

Wilder: Jamal’s Story (Route Summary)

PROLOGUE:

MC decides to flee Ziya alone. A rotund wine merchant named Barlow offers her a timely rescue, smuggling her out in one of the wagons in his caravan. On their journey across the Shining Sands MC learns that Barlow is a wealthy and ambitious man who can afford not only a team of djinn guards but even a pleasure slave. It is this pleasure slave who warns MC that Barlow intends to ransom her back to Ziya and urges her to leave the caravan. Though afraid, MC chooses to stay rather than risk facing the desert alone. Jamal is not pleased at the prospect of continuing to share his wagon.

CHAPTER I:

The caravan stops so Barlow can take his dinner out under the stars. MC joins him and Jamal while the djinn guards keep watch. Barlow is very blatant about his sexual relationship with Jamal and Jamal for his part fawns over Barlow in return. MC has never seen anything like it. Left alone for a few moments, Jamal teases MC that she can't keep her eyes off him.

During the next day's travel the caravan is attacked by a raiding group of djinn come down from the Western Hills. The djinn guards rally around Barlow to protect him but change their minds when the leader of the wild djinn offers them a free life with the tribe. Barlow and MC are pushed onto their knees, faces in the sand, and Barlow is beheaded. MC hears Jamal's horrified gasp.

MC does not share Barlow's fate. She is restrained and brought back to the Hills with the tribe and their new recruits. She is not sure why, but feels in her heart that this is no salvation.

CHAPTER II:

While the new djinn are welcomed into the tribe, Jamal sneaks over to where MC has been tied. He probes her about her rich, important family and muses that she must have connections in Umar. Though he knew she was fleeing Ziya he doesn't seem to have the full story – he certainly doesn't know that MC is an accused murderer and therefore utterly without connections or power.

After a ritual in which each new djinn must eat a piece of a raw deer heart, the disgusted Jamal has had enough. In the dead of night he frees MC in return for her promise to take him to Umar. They catch their breath by the river but are soon discovered by one of the ex-guards whose disdain for Jamal the pleasure slave is obvious. He calls out for the rest of the tribe and MC and Jamal run.

The tribe pursues them far, all the way to the base of the mountainous Knives. With little other choice, MC and Jamal head up – away from the Hills but only into more danger.

CHAPTER III:

MC offers condolences for Barlow's death. Jamal is dismissive and MC realises that though he appeared to adore the man it was all just an act. He doesn't miss Barlow, just the security that being his personal slave offered. Jamal insists that MC is his master now, though MC insists that she is not. Jamal reveals his intention for MC to sell him to a famous pleasure house in Umar, and for that she has to be his master.

Jamal whines and gripes the whole way up the mountain path. In contrast, MC finds a fortitude within herself she never knew she had. In the night he attempts to seduce her though she rebuffs him, saying, “I told you, you don't need to do that.” The next day they stumble into the path of a mountain lion. Jamal hides behind MC while she scares it away.

They come across a hot spring and MC spends most of her time trying to avoid looking at Jamal's naked and shameless displays designed to get her attention. But when he asks her to wash his hair it is with genuine, vulnerable wanting so she does so. It is the most intimate moment MC has ever shared with anyone.

CHAPTER IV:

In the sprawling farmland on the other side of the mountains, MC and Jamal are caught in a sudden downpour. Sheltering in an old barn, they share a sweet, quiet moment that turns into an argument when she once again refuses to claim him as her slave. MC is secretly very drawn to Jamal, but fears that his affection is all a lie and that she will be taking advantage of their positions if she lets herself believe him. He accuses her of looking down on him and gives her the cold shoulder. This means that MC has missed another chance to confess that she is not the connected noblewoman he believes her to be.

As they continue on their journey in strained silence, a group of bandits appear and block their path. MC is afraid but not as afraid as Jamal. However, when one of the men grabs MC and makes lewd comments, Jamal exclaims, “Hey!” surprising no one more than himself. As the scene turns to violence, MC and Jamal learn that even a light slap from a djinn whose claws have been growing for weeks can be devastating to a human body. MC thanks Jamal for his protection while he desperately tries to get the blood out from under his nails.

They finally make it to Dijarah, a port town where MC intends to board a ship sailing for Umar. The one problem? She has no money.

CHAPTER V:

To earn money in Dijarah, an innkeeper agrees to hire MC and Jamal to work in the kitchen. Jamal is aghast at the prospect, especially when he meets the old battleaxe of a cook on whom his charms utterly fail. Jamal is terrible at every practical task put before him and, after only a few days, is utterly miserable.

MC is gentle and encouraging with Jamal, and he eventually is able to put aside his pride (a little) and improve. He finds it amusing to think of a world in which he worked here instead of as a pleasure slave. But when MC takes this question seriously he balks and insists that he would never want an unglamorous life like this. “I know what I am,” he says quietly.

As the two grow closer, Jamal tells MC the story of his life. Bred illegally and born sick, Jamal was passed under the table from master to master, role to role, failing at all of them. Finally dumped in a pleasure house as an insult, Jamal actually flourished there – able to put his natural charm and artistic talents to use. That is why he cannot even consider another life. MC asks if he would choose the same life if he were a free man. Jamal goes quiet and does not answer.

CHAPTER VI:

One day MC walks into the kitchen to see Jamal scrubbing pots with all his might then absent mindedly tidying up some things – not as part of his assigned task but just because it needs doing. MC announces herself and they compare their palm callouses and growing arm muscle. One night Jamal is asked to perform for the inn's patrons by playing the lute – he is giddy with excitement to be the centre of attention once more, though the audience is not his usual clientele. He plays and sings beautifully and MC sets off a standing ovation that nearly makes him cry.

An evening shift turns tense when a group of drunkards start causing trouble. Jamal shocks everyone by taking charge of the situation and intimidating them into leaving. Though, as soon as they are gone, his legs turn to liquid and he slides to the floor declaring how terrifying the whole thing was. The innkeeper draws him a hot bath in thanks. Jamal asks MC to wash his hair again. Though she won't join him in the tub – despite his persistence – Jamal does wash and style her hair for her in return.

Finally MC and Jamal have enough money to book passage on a ship. As they are boarding MC catches sight of Hamza in the crowded street. She drags Jamal away to avoid getting caught, though now she is less afraid of being arrested than she is being exposed to Jamal who still doesn't know that she is a fugitive. She resolves that she must tell him soon, even if it ruins the... friendship... that seems to finally be blossoming between them.

CHAPTER VII:

Hamza has also boarded so MC spends most of her time hiding in her cabin – and Jamal has no objections to passing the days relaxing on a soft bed. She tries many times to broach his misconceptions about her but is consistently thwarted by interruptions and her own cowardice. A rich passenger tries to buy some time with Jamal from MC but she staunchly refuses. Jamal is delighted by this, then confused as to why he is so delighted.

One night they lie side by side on the bed and MC asks Jamal why he is so set on being sold to this particular brothel. He explains that, not only is it a famous venue, but if they purchase him then by Umar’s laws he will no longer be a slave but an indentured servant. MC says that isn’t good enough – she wants to free him. Jamal is dismissive of such an impossible idea but MC insists that Lord Yasir, the most powerful man in Umar, could surely help them. Jamal asks why MC would be seeking Yasir’s help for herself and she prepares to finally tell him the truth when– the ship’s bell rings. They have arrived.

Hamza catches sight of MC at just the wrong moment. She drags Jamal off the ship, pushing past everyone else, and manages to lose Hamza in the moonlit streets of Umar. They come to Minerva’s Pleasure House. Inside is a whole new world to MC but Jamal is in his element. Then he goes quiet. “I don’t want you to leave me here. I want to stay with you. I want to be–”. The madam interrupts, realises exactly who MC is, and throws her and Jamal out of the place, calling MC a murderer and threatening to tell the authorities if either of them ever return.

CHAPTER VIII:

MC hurries to Yasir’s estate, a confused and suspicious Jamal with her, and fortunately finds the merchant-turned-lord to be very welcoming and willing to provide sanctuary. Jamal confronts MC and she finally admits everything. Jamal is devastated. He accuses her of using him, of dragging him through danger and hardship just for the amusement of it, of being just as rotten as Barlow and the others. “You think so little of me. You think nothing of me.” MC cannot explain her actions without admitting – to Jamal and to herself – that she has been falling in love with him. Jamal is stunned. Then he turns and leaves the manor.

He returns in the morning and apologises for leaving, kissing MC on the cheek and saying that he understands she was only doing what she had to do – she’s a survivor. He turns down MC’s attempts to make him a free man and instead asks Yasir to use his influence to place him in the pleasure house. “No more pretending,” he says in response to MC’s protestations. “I know what I am.” Yasir arranges for the madam to accept him as an indentured servant.

MC and Jamal say a fraught goodbye in the gaudy room that is to be Jamal’s from now on. Jamal kisses MC and, at his soft declaration that he has fallen in love with her too, she gives in to her passion and they come together in a tangle of flesh and emotion. After, as they lie in bed, the door is kicked down and in bursts Hamza to arrest MC. Jamal is remarkably unsurprised. “I should’ve known it was all a lie from the beginning. All those things you said about my potential. Trying to make me doubt who I am; what I am. But you know something, mistress?” There is nothing but cold resolve in his eyes. “I’m a survivor too.”

CHAPTER IX:

MC is transported back to Ziya to face her execution. She spends the journey thinking on Jamal. That night he left the manor he must have gone to Hamza to arrange the ambush. Anger and betrayal come in cycles but always give way to regret and the knowledge that she brought this on herself. MC’s execution is a public event on the steps of the shah’s palace, but the proceedings are suddenly interrupted by Jamal and Yasir’s right-hand-djinn Royo. Since MC was under Umar’s protection, Ziya’s actions in abducting her have been taken as a hostile act. Hamza takes justice into his own hands and attacks MC with his sword. Jamal tries to protect her but she pushes him away, taking the blade in her chest.

MC wakes in her old bedroom in her Aunt and Uncle’s villa. The blade missed her heart and, though badly wounded, she will live. Jamal is by her bedside. He asserts that he hasn’t forgiven her, and he’ll never forgive himself, but he wants her to know that Hamza was the one who caught and pressured him into the betrayal that night, and Jamal convinced himself that she deserved it. But he regretted it immediately and went running to Yasir for help. He confesses that he wasn’t lying when he said he’d fallen in love with her. He thinks that’s their shared fatal flaw – they’re dreamers.

When MC next wakes quite a lot of time has passed. This time it is Royo who comes to see her, informing her that the political pressure from Umar – and Yasir specifically – has worked. To avoid trouble between the two cities, Ziya has agreed not to execute MC but to exile her. Royo must return to Umar now but says that MC is welcome there once she is well enough to travel. MC asks after Jamal but Royo shakes her head. He is waiting by the carriage to leave and will not return to the villa. MC asks Royo to take something with her when she goes – a letter addressed to the madam of Minerva’s.

BITTER END:

Two years have passed since the almost-execution and MC has been travelling ever since, working tirelessly in whatever jobs she can in order to save money and send it periodically to Minerva’s to bit by bit pay off Jamal’s “debt” to the pleasure house. Finally with enough to complete the contract she returns to Umar.

When Jamal sees her in Minerva’s he covers his shock by asking if she is there to taste him once again. They go to his room and MC interrupts his cold, emotionless seduction with the last of the money he needs to truly be free. He insists at first to not want it then finally cracks open, tears spilling down his cheeks. “But where would I go?” MC says he can go with her if he likes. He doesn’t answer, conflicted, still so afraid to trust. MC backs off and says he can go wherever he wants to go; anywhere in the world. She leaves the pleasure house but lingers outside, hoping that when Jamal comes out a free man he will choose to go with her after all.

SWEET END:

Two years have passed since the almost-execution and MC has been travelling ever since, working tirelessly in whatever jobs she can in order to save money and send it periodically to Minerva’s to bit by bit pay off Jamal’s “debt” to the pleasure house. However when she journeys to Umar with the final payment she is informed by the madam that Jamal has already been freed from his contract and left months ago. MC turns to Royo for help, who informs her that Jamal had also been working hard to pay for his freedom – taking on extra chores and responsibilities at Minerva's – and that last she knew he was heading for Dijarah.

MC sets sail immediately. When she disembarks at Dijarah’s docks she is stunned to find Jamal waiting, Royo having sent word ahead. There is a tense moment of uncertainty then Jamal launches himself at her, catching her in a tight embrace. He thanks her for contributing so much to buying his freedom and says he’s never worked so hard for anything before – for the chance to live a free life. To stand before MC as an equal. To say he loves her and for it to be the simple truth. Hand-in-hand, Jamal escorts MC to his new place of employment – the inn in which they spent so much time before. He winks. “I hear they're hiring. I’ll put in a good word for you.”