#that's kind of how it goes with me and writing

[enigmaris]

Lois writes the article. The Justice League freaks out. Investigations are done, meetings are held. In the mean time, a suspected connection between ghosts and the lazurus pits means that there is a very specific person who wants a one on one with Phantom even though all of the heroes agreed to not approach phantom until the anti ecto acts are gone. Jason never follows the rules anyway:

“Daniel Phantom, do not even think about it.”

Her tone of voice made every bone in his body yearn to turn invisible immediately, Lois jumped up trying to catch him. Danny grinned and got ready to fly away, a game of tag would keep Lois from questioning him! Right before Danny’s plan could commence, the sound of Lois's phone ringing cut it off. Danny froze as Lois pulled out her phone and looked at the screen.

“It’s Batman. Wonder what he could possibly need.”

Danny let himself fly all the way to the ceiling, until his back was pushed up against it. He looked down as Lois answered her phone, helpfully putting it on speaker.

“You’re on speaker Bats, what can Lois Lane and her plucky new intern do for you?”

“Intern?” A voice Danny didn’t know answered back. “I thought Superman was the only one for you. I guess you move fast, Lois.”

“Nightwing.” Lois said. “What are you doing calling from Batman’s phone?”

“If B didn’t want me to use his phone, he should have called you himself. You know how he is, Lois. Won’t ever ask for help unless he’s about to die and not even then.” Nightwing snarked back. “Gotham’s got a bit of a supernatural concern that I think I need a consult from your intern for.”

Danny tilted his head, not moving closer to Lois when she looked up at him.

“What sort of concern? I’ll pass along your message if it's interesting enough. My intern’s got enough on his plate getting me coffee to watch after you birds.”

“Fair enough.” Nightwing allowed. “We think one of our own is ecto-contaminated. To be entirely fair we all might be a bit, not that we’ve gotten our hands on a GIW scanner. The real concern is with Red Hood though. I know your report said that ecto-contamination is harmless but Red Hood has had some interesting side effects since he took a bath in some glowing green goop.”

“A bath?” Danny asked, his voice echoing out from the ceiling.

There was a pause on the other end of the call before Nightwing spoke again.

“Yes. A bath. Do the words Lazurus Pit mean anything to you, Miss Lane’s Intern?”

“Never heard of it.” Danny said, trying not to let himself sound ashamed by it. “But I don’t like the name. Sounds spooky.”

“Aren’t you a spook?”

“Different kind of spook.” Danny defended.

“Well. We think it might actually be the same sort of spook actually. The Lazurus Pits are pools of glowing green liquid, no one knows where they came from. There are a dozen or so dotted around the planet. If a sick or dying person goes into it, they are healed sometimes with side effects. If a healthy person goes in, they die.” Nightwing said. “Sometimes if people go into, they don’t come out again.”

Danny... might actually know what those are. Huh.

“What kind of side effects?”

"Homicidal rage. Memory loss. Temporary increased strength. Glowing eyes.”

“Okay. And how long has Red Hood being dealing with this?”

“On and off for about five years.” Nightwing answered.

“I might actually know what’s going on.” Danny said. “But I’d have to see him. I’m not like a ghost doctor or anything, but if it's what I think it is, then I can fix it for sure.”

“Fix it?” Another voice from the phone asked.

Danny could hear a scuffle over the phone as two people wrestled for it. He exchanged looks with Lois until the second voice seemed to get the phone under his control completely.

“What do you mean by fix it?” the second voice demanded.

“Erm. Who is this?”

“Red Hood. Who the fuck else?”

“I don’t know who has access to Batman’s phone dude, chill.”

“Don’t tell me to chill. Tell me what you mean by fix it.”

"Dude. I have ice powers I absolutely can tell you to chill.” Danny shot back making Lois snort.

"Start. Talking.”

“He wasn’t kidding about the anger issues huh?” Danny asked Lois instead of answering. Danny grinned when he heard a growl over the phone. “Look. Red Hood. I don’t know if it is what I think it is. I need to see you in person before I can tell you anymore. Do you know how many glowing green goops there are in the universe?”

“Do you?” Nightwing asked, voice muffled as he was further from the phone. Danny listened as Red Hood told Nightwing to ‘shut the fuck up’ with a hiss.

"I’ll send Lane an address in Gotham. Meet me there in an hour.” Red Hood instructed.

“How do you know I’m free in an hour? I’m a busy intern you know. You’re not being very polite.”

Danny could hear the teeth grinding on the other end. He grinned as Red Hood took in a deep breath through his nose.

“Can we please meet in an hour?” Red Hood asked.

“Yeah sure. I’ll fly by.”

“Now what do we say to people who do nice things for us?” Lois asked. “Especially poor lowly interns who have an entire branch of the government hunting them?”

“Would you like me to blow up a GIW base for you?” Red Hood asked.

"Hood no!” Nightwing shouted.

“Hood yes.” Hood said.

The two vigilantes started arguing with each other, so Lois just rolled her eyes and ended the call.

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

[harrysfolklore]

So since the Oscars are happening next week I wanted to ask if you could please write something about charles leclerc and actress!reader where she's been nominated many many times before but never won (kind of like saoirse ronan) but this time she finally breaks the curse and win her first Oscar and Charles being just proud husband

u know you can always count on me for a charles x famous!reader fic and honestly i loved this one 🥺 i hope you like ittt

The Dolby Theatre buzzes with anticipation as you sit between Charles and your co-star. This scene is familiar - the sixth time you've been nominated, the same butterfly-inducing wait during the Best Actress category. Your first nomination came when you were just twenty-three, and now at thirty, you've earned the title of 'most nominated actress without a win.'

Charles has been there for four of those nominations, watching you smile gracefully through each loss. You remember how devastated he was last year - more than you, even - when you lost for what critics had called 'the performance of the decade.' He'd held you all night, whispering about how the Academy didn't deserve you anyway.

Tonight, though, feels different. Maybe it's the way Charles keeps pressing soft kisses to your temple, or how he hasn't stopped playing with your wedding ring - a nervous habit he picked up during particularly tense races.

"Mon coeur," he whispers as the Best Actor category wraps up, "no matter what happens, you're already the winner in my eyes. But tonight... tonight feels like magic, no?"

You're gripping Charles's hand so tightly you might be cutting off his circulation, but he doesn't seem to mind. Your heart is pounding as Emma Stone opens the envelope on stage, the same way it has during the previous ceremonies where you'd left empty-handed despite the nominations.

Charles leans closer, his lips brushing your ear. "I'm proud of you, no matter what happens," he whispers, his thumb stroking soothing circles on your hand.

"And the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role goes to..."

Charles's grip tightens imperceptibly. You feel him holding his breath alongside you.

"YN!"

For a moment, you're frozen. The applause sounds distant, like you're underwater. Then you feel Charles's hands on your face, see his beaming smile through your blur of tears.

"You did it, mon coeur!" he exclaims, his own eyes glistening as he pulls you into a kiss. "You finally did it!"

You're trembling as you stand, Charles helping you up. He's looking at you the way he does after winning a race - no, even more intensely than that. Like you've just won every championship in existence.

The walk to the stage feels surreal. You can hear the announcement echoing: "This is YN's sixth nomination and first win..." Through your tears, you see the standing ovation, catch glimpses of familiar faces who've been on this journey with you.

Your hands shake as you accept the Oscar, its weight both foreign and familiar after years of dreaming about this moment. You take a deep breath, looking out at the sea of faces until you find those green eyes that have been your anchor through every high and low.

"Wow," you begin, your voice trembling. "They say sixth time's the charm, right?" The audience laughs warmly. "I've had this speech written in my head since I was a little girl playing pretend with my mom's hairbrush, but now that I'm here, those words don't seem enough."

You pause, gathering yourself. "To the Academy - thank you for not giving up on me. To my incredible director who trusted me with this role that scared me as much as it thrilled me. To my amazing co-stars who pushed me to dig deeper, be braver."

Your eyes find Charles again, who's watching you with such pure adoration it makes your heart swell. "To my husband, who has sat through more award shows than F1 races this year so far, who runs lines with me even though he says my accent is better than his, who believes in me more than I believe in myself - ti amu. You've watched me practice acceptance speeches in our kitchen, held me through the disappointments, and somehow made me feel like a winner every single time. You told me once that in racing, it's not about how many times you don't make the podium, it's about never stopping until you do. Well, my love, we finally made it to the top step."

You can see Charles openly crying now, nodding proudly through his tears. "To my parents who let their little girl dream big, to my team who've been with me through every 'maybe next year,' to every young actor who's been told 'not yet' - keep going. Your time will come."

Looking down at the golden statue in your hands, you smile through your tears. "And finally, to every person who's ever felt like they're always the runner-up, who's heard 'better luck next time' so many times they've lost count - this is for you. Because sometimes the longest waitings lead to the sweetest victories. Thank you, thank you so much."

Later, at the Vanity Fair after-party, Charles hasn't let go of your Oscar once. He's been carrying it around, showing it off more proudly than any of his race trophies.

"My wife," he keeps saying to everyone who'll listen, his accent thick with emotion, "she's brilliant, no? I told everyone she would win. I knew it."

"Charles," you laugh, watching him polish the statue with his pocket square for the third time. "You're going to wear it out."

"Non, I'm protecting it. It's very precious." He looks at you with those soft green eyes. "Like you."

You lean into his side, feeling the familiar warmth of his arm around your waist. "You know what this means, right? Now we both have something gold to polish obsessively."

He chuckles, finally setting the Oscar down to pull you closer. "Oui, but unlike my trophies, this one was a long time coming." His expression softens. "You deserved this years ago, mon coeur."

"Well," you say, straightening his bowtie, "someone once told me that the sweetest victories are the ones you have to fight for."

"Sounds like a wise man," he grins.

"He's alright," you tease. "Bit of a show-off though. Keeps trying to steal my Oscar's spotlight."

Charles laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Never. Tonight is all yours, my love. Though..." he adds with a mischievous glint in his eye, "I might need to win another race soon. Can't have you being the only champion in the household."

You reach up to wipe a smudge of your lipstick from his cheek. "Race you to the next gold trophy?"

"Deal," he says softly, pulling you into a proper kiss. "But you've already won the most important race."

"Oh? Which one is that?"

His smile is tender as he touches his forehead to yours. "The race to my heart."

"That was terrible," you laugh, but you're already pulling him closer.

"Terrible but true," he murmurs against your lips. "Now, shall we go home? I need to practice my 'proud husband watching his wife's Oscar-winning performance' face for when we rewatch your movie for the hundredth time."

"You love that movie."

"I love you," he corrects.

And as you watch him carefully wrap your award in his suit jacket for the journey home, you think that maybe this victory is sweeter than you imagined - not because of the golden statue, but because of the golden heart beside you who never stopped believing it would happen.

[scorpioriesling]

Hear me out: (an x reader)

Liam, Ridoc and Dain.

Liam/Ridoc/Reader start with some #7 for celebrating.

Goes into a lil bit of #34 ofc cuz alcohol.

#34 plays into #13.

#13 turns into the other first year (whoever isn’t mackin on reader) doin a bit of #61.

Then Dain somehow catches them and they invite him in bc who doesn’t love a squad leader joining his fav first years ;)) with a bit of #68. He’s hesitant but he secretly loves it sooo.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. :)

Life Of The Party

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Modern!Liam x Ridoc x Dain x reader

Warning(s): 18+, mdni, smut

Summary: When attending a sorority party with your two roommates, you never imagined anything could go wrong -- but, how could it be so wrong if it felt so right?

SR’s Note: You guys are HUNGRY for these foursomes lmaoooo I love it. This is my first ever story with Dain... oof, let's see how that goes. I did change up a little, making it more of a modern-college-frat-roomie situation, and Y/N is in her sophomore year with Liam and Ridoc (let's pretend, here) while Dain is in his junior year. Other than that, enjoy some more smut involving our favorite men (; This uses prompts #7, #13, #34, #61, and #68! This is long, and took 3 days to write -- but on God, it might be one of my favorites of all time.

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Y/N, I already told you -- I do not want to go to Violet's party-"

"Oh come onnnn," you whined, sporting a pouty face when Liam frowned at you. "She's our friend, and it'll be really fun!"

Your tone isn't convincing enough.

"I just don't want to go through an entire night watching her and Xaden eat eachother alive-"

"Woah!" Ridoc exclaims, waltzing into the kitchen lazily. He scratched at his tousled hair, his eyes still widening from his slumber. "Who's eating who?"

Liam chuckled at your shared roomate, but you only rolled your eyes.

"Violet is throwing another party tonight," you explained, hoping that the mention of your shared friend would pique Ridoc's interest. "She said it's some kind of fundraiser for her sorority-"

"Ooh, yeah. Uh. I'm out." Ridoc holds up both hands in surrender, and you huff.

"What is it with you two and not wanting to go tonight?" You frown, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's a party, for Christ's sakes -- I figured you of all people wouldn't want to miss that," you accuse, your eyes slicing to Ridoc.

"And you," you continue, zeroing in on Liam. "... wouldn't miss the chance to see your best friend. Isn't it obvious that Xaden will be there?"

Liam shrugs, his eyebrows raising as if he's considering the invitation.

"Yeah, he'll be there -- those two are connected at the hip," Ridoc starts.

"They're connected in more places than just that-"

"Ew!" You shout, covering your face with your hands. "Liam, that's disgusting."

Him and Ridoc howl in laughter as you work to get the mental image of your friend and her boyfriend being... well, connected.

"Anyways," Ridoc says, working to control his breathing. "What I was saying was that if Xaden is there, so is the rest of his frat." He shrugs as though he'd made up his mind.

"And, what's the problem with that?" You ask, brow raised. Before Ridoc can respond, Liam answers for him.

"You know those guys, Y/N -- the short one that tries to be everybody's friend... well, he's okay I guess."

"Sawyer?"

Liam nods. "Yeah, hes fine -- but the other ones, I mean... Bodhi, that freshman Aaric," he grimaces. "Their new VP? What's his name?"

"Dain." Ridoc says flatly, and Liam snaps his fingers before pointing at him.

"Right! Yeah, him." You huff a short laugh.

"I've never even met the guy before, what could be so-"

"Everything, Y/N." Ridoc responds lowly. "Everything, is so wrong with the guy."

You roll your eyes for what felt like the millionth time this evening.

"He isn't just the VP for their frat, ya know." Liam continues, and you slide your gaze to him. "He's the top of their class, apparently he's being considered for the class president role-"

"Okay, how do I not even know who we're talking about?" You ask.

Ridoc holds a flat hand just above his head. "About, this tall? Brown hair, tan-ish guy... I'm sure you've seen him around," he explains. You rack your brain, trying to think of anyone you'd seen on campus with that description. No one was coming to mind, which was concerning since you were sure you'd know someone just a year older than you with that kind of title.

"I don't know," you give up, and Ridoc drops his hand. "I thought their class president title was given to Imogen, anyway?"

Liam shakes his head.

"Nah, they wanted that asshole over her I guess." Ridoc remarks.

You frown. "What is it with this guy that you guys dislike so much?"

They both start talking at once.

Overbearing.

Controlling.

Know-it-all.

Entitled.

Douchey.

"Alright, alright -- I got it," you hold your hands up. "So what, this one person you don't like will be there, big deal."

"Big deal?" Ridoc's voice pitches. "This guy was the one responsible for Halloween last year -- and you remember how long it took us to clean all that up."

Your mind flashed to the memory. Your two roomates didn't live in a house with their fraternity, in fact, they didn't even really have one. Nonetheless, the Halloween prank war between all the fraternities didn't quite go in their favor last year...

...let's just say, they spent more time in the bathroom than you did for the following month. And your shower smelt heavily of eggs and fish.

"Waa waa, so what." You shrugged, and they both looked at you incredulously. "Is it so hard to ignore him? You both know we should be there to support Vi," you try reasoning with them. Liam sighs, running a hand over his face before looking at you solemnly.

"This is her first fundraiser, and she really wants us there."

Ridoc huffs, scratching his post-nap hair again.

"You know Jesinia will be there..." you tease quietly, and Liam's eyebrows raise.

"I'm in," he says immediately, and Ridoc scoffs.

"Dude -- you won't even talk to her until you're two beers in," he says, and Liam rolls his eyes.

"So? It is a party, won't they have-"

"No dude -- it's a fundraiser," Ridoc says slowly. "They won't provide any alcohol, since they're hosting. Sorority rules." He shrugs, and Liam groans.

"Okay -- just hear me out," you say, walking toward the fridge. You open it silently, and gesture to the half-empty boxes of various alcoholic beverages inside. Ridoc shakes his head, and Liam seems to weigh his options.

You stare pleadingly at the pair before Ridoc speaks again.

"Fine. We'll go. Only on one condition. We get plastered first."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

You stumbled out the front door, following after your friends as you headed for the sidewalk. Liam said something ahead of you, and Ridoc let out a rediculous laugh.

"W-what... are you guys talking about?" You grinned, and Liam looked over his shoulder at you.

Ridoc let out another chuckle, and the two of them glanced at eachother.

"Nothing, nothing." He mumbled, and you rolled your eyes.

"You know, if Rhi were here, she'd torture the answer out of the both of you." Rhiannon, your third roomate, who was conveniently out of town this weekend visiting her family.

"Good thing she isn't," Ridoc says, tossing an arm around your shoulders. "You're stuck with us this weekend."

You look sidelong at him, giggling at the pink staining his cheeks. He'd chugged three Nutrls before you left, and Liam was in fact already twp beers in -- he shouldn't have any problem talking to his crush.

"Damn! She really decked the place out!"

Ridoc's voice faded as the three of you stalked closer to the soririty house, the music blasting through the wide-open front door. People loitered in the front lawn, enjoying their filled solo-cups while enjoying the nice weather and setting sun.

"Hey, I thought you said no alcohol?"

Ridoc shrugged at Liam's question as you crossed the street, making your way up the stone steps to the front door.

"Maybe it's soda."

A girl to your right laughed loudly, tripping over her own feet as she worked to regain her balance -- using the arm of male next to her, of course. Liam turned sharply, chuckling at his friend's incinuation.

"I can guarantee you... it isn't water, in those cups."

Once crossing through the doorway, you look around in amazement. Purple streamers, multicolored balloons, and silver glitter adorned the high ceilings and grand staircase of the sorority house. It looked like Elle Woods just threw up on the damned place -- if Elle Woods didn't wear pink, anyway.

"Guys!" You heard the familiar shriek of excitement, and you turned to see Violet bounding over to the three of you. She threw her arms around you, and you embraced her right back.

"I'm so glad you could make it!" She looks to Liam, giving him a warm smile.

"Wouldn't miss it," Ridoc says sarcastically, and you elbow him in the ribs. Violet didn't seem to catch his tone.

"So -- what do ya think?" She asks, gesturing to the decorations and the people mingling under them. Liam nods, his eyes peering through the crowd surely in search of the brunette he fancied.

"It's... it's so cute, Vi. You did great," you muster, the effects of the single White Claw lightly clouding your brain. She looks to you again, her eyes wide.

"Can you tell what the theme is?" She asks, and you look around quickly. With all the random decorations, the mix of colors... you spot a blown up plastic snake in the corner, that looked similar to a pool floatie. Shake It Off blaring over the speakers didn't really help your mental state, either.

"Uhh... Taylor Swift?" You guessed. She laughed, tossing her head back.

"No! Silly," she mused, her words dripping with the effects of a drink or two herself. "It's Greek Mythology -- you know, because sororities are, greek?" She shrugs, and you paste on a knowing expression.

"Right! Right, I totally see it now." You didn't see it at all.

She pointed to the snake balloon. "See, this one is like that one goddess with the snake hair, and," she takes ahold of your arm, guiding you further into the foyer. You toss Ridoc an apologetic look, but he only chuckles at your predicament.

"...and I did purple for like, Atremis, ya know... oh, and the silver glitter for like, magic or whatever." You nod as though you understood her reasoning. Was she intoxicated when she came up with this plan?

She lead you into the kitchen, where you were greeted by more familiar faces. She eventually dropped her arm, rushing over to the back door as her boyfriend waltzed in, his posse behind him.

"Babe!" She squealed, running to him and pressing a kiss to his lips. You continued your conversation with Cat, another one of Violet's sorority sisters -- but your attention began to waver as each member of Xaden's frat followed through the door behind him.

Bodhi, of course, walked in and had girls flocking him immediately -- his polite smile and kind eyes were vaguely similar to his cousin's. Aaric, the freshman, followed after; he looked sky, but cute nonetheless.

And then... holy shit.

It may have been the most beautiful man you'd ever seen.

"Yeah, so anyways -- Vi wants me at the booth out back, I'll catch ya later?"

You shake your head, trying to refocus on Cat as she left the kitchen island.

"Yeah... I'll... see ya..."

Fuck.

His toned arms were sun-kissed beneath the thin material of his tank, the clean white of the material only enhancing the contrast between skin and clothing. His hair looked so soft, swooping to the side and revealing his deep brown eyes--

"Might want to close your mouth, Y/N; you'll catch a fly."

You glare over your shoulder, Ridoc's body approaching behind you. You heard his mocking tone before you saw him, walking over with two pink cups in his hands.

"I wasn't..." you start to protest, and he reaches around you to put one in your hand. You swish the liquid around, discerning what he'd just handed you. Water.

"Oh for the love of God -- do not tell me you were seriously checking out--"

You ushed back against him, craning your neck as you held the back of your hand to his lips.

"Shh!"

He leaned in, taking your hand in his as he moved your arm back down to your side. His lips tickled as he spoke softly against your ear, his voice low.

"...Dain, Aetos."

You huffed, lifting the cup to your lips as Ridoc moved behind you, opting to sit on a clear space of countertop as he looked to you quizzically. You took a large gulp, the refreshing feeling a welcome one as opposed to the burn of the alcohol you'd consumed earlier.

"So?" You shrugged, and Ridoc shook his head slowly. "So what if I was?"

He chuckled, pincing the bridge of his nose.

"Just know, I wish you all the luck, Y/N." He says, his tone resigned. You roll your eyes, walking over to stand between his knees. He stares down at you, raising a single eyebrow.

"I don't need, your luck, Ridoc," you say, and his thumb and forefinger lightly grip your chin.

"You don't need, that," he says the word as though its poisonous, glancing toward Dain again. Your eyes follow, watching as he greets a few girls on his way through.

You look back up at your dark-haired friend, your eyes catching on a few strands that fall across his forehead.

"You have no idea, what I need."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

It'd been a pathetic hour that you roamed the house, talking with friends as you searched for Liam. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a orangey glow throughout the mansion. You dodged person after person, scanning for a certain face you were sure you wouldn't forget.

Did you want to run into him? Oh, yes. But what would you even say?

The thought made your stomach churn.

A stranger to your right brushed past you, uttering a giggly apology as htey continued on their way. Many of the partygoers seemed... more than happy, at that. Where were these people getting the goods?

"In the back!" Violet's voice rang through the hallway, her sing-songy tone ushering people outside. "The booth is in the backyard -- only a dollar!" She called, her face coming into view as more people filed through the kitchen and out into the sun.

She grasped her arm when she found you, her eyes glazed. Her brow furrowed as she looked down at your cup, noticing the emptiness of it.

"You don't look like you're having enough fun," she comments, and you shrug.

"It's a great fundraiser, Vi," you assure her, and she chuckles.

"Wanna drink?"

Now it's your turn to frown in confusion.

"I thought you weren't allowed-"

"We're not," she cuts you off. "But Xaden's frat brought a bunch of coolers -- they're in the back," she shrugs, and your face falls. This entire time, you could've been enjoying yourself more, and didn't know it?

She pats your arm once, then rushes off, ushering more people to the backyard. You round the corner and find Liam in the study, his unmistakable blonde hair glinting with the setting sun. Beside him stood Jesinia, smiling politely at something he was saying.

You didn't want to intrude, but... the girl looked like she might be grateful for it.

"Where the Hell did you get that?" You asked, looking at the Coors Light bottle in Liam's hand. He looked to you, a flash of annoyance and... something else crossing over his face before he answered.

Jesinia beat him to the punch, pointing at the door through the kitchen toward the backyard.

"Xaden and his bros brought them in," he said with a chuckle, glancing down at the poor girl when she didn't laugh with him. You swore, his dorkiness could only go so far -- and this, this was proof.

"Right," you said slowly, glancing over your shoulder and doing a double take when you watched a familiar white tank top saunter through the open door. Liam laughed, lightly shoving your shoulder.

"Hmmm, I see she's taken a liking to Dain Aetos," he dawls, and you glare at him. Jesinia only shrugs, chuckling as you smile knowingly at her.

The three of you are interrupted as a strawberry blonde approaches, leaning into the doorframe as he stares directly at Jesinia.

"Hey, Jes -- play flip cup with me?" He asks, and her cheeks pinken at his request. Nonetheless, she gives Liam a polite nod before joining the new male, leaving the two of you in the study.

Liam tips his bottle back as he watches her walk away, the guy's hand resting on her lower back.

You glance up at him, and he only shakes his head lowly.

"Fucking Sawyer," he grumbles. "Maybe I don't like the guy much."

You place a comforting hand on his upper back, rubbing back in forth comfortingly. His back muscles flex beneath the thin fabric of his black tee, and he looses a long breath.

"Come onnnn; let's go get you a drink."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

You'd managed to snag and finish two more drinks before Ridoc caught up with you again -- all the while, avoiding Dain.

"Make a move on your new little crush yet?" Ridoc taunts, and you smack his shoulder.

"No," you say assertively, and he grins down at you.

"She's being a chicken." Liam says, glancing around the full yard over the rim of his cup. You glower at him.

"I am not -- I just... would rather have better conditions to meet him for the first time." Your cheeks flush. A cropped graphic tee and jean shorts didn't exactly scream "fuck me, please"!

Ridoc snorts. "Like, what, in a wedding dress?"

Liam laughs, Ridoc following right along. You roll your eyes in annoyance.

"Why don't you guys leave me alone? Go figure out what those tables are for or something." Their eyes catch on the long white pop-up tables, adorned with a pie at every folding chair. Liam shrugs, tossing his can in a nearby bin before heading that way.

You thank God when Ridoc follows.

"Y/N!"

You hear Imogen's voice over the crowd, and your eyes search for her bright pink hair. When you find it, you start making your way toward her -- next to the kissing booth.

"Listen, Gen, I understand why, but, I'm straight."

She laughs, leaning against the wooden frame that Cat sits behind. She looks miserable, biting on the edge of her solo cup as she sits there.

"No no, not for me," Imogen assures, gesturing to Cat. "My friend here hasn't peed in two hours, andddd since I can't find the other girls, I was hoping maybe you could cover?"

Your brows shoot up, and Cat widens her eyes.

"Please, Y/N -- just for a minute, I really gotta go," she pleads. You look around the backyard, searching from person to person.

You try to ignore the way Dain's muscles flex when he tosses a beanbag.

"Why can't Sloane do it?" You point to the freshman, standing shyly near the entryway to the kitchen.

"Because freshman aren't allowed to run the booths," Imogen says sternly. The idea of sitting here, waiting for some gross guy to come up and pay for a kiss? Gross.

You glance to her again. "Why not Vi?"

Imogen snorts. "Really? You think Xaden Riorson is letting any other man put his mouth on her?"

You shrug in agreement. "Why not you, then?"

She levels a hard stare at you. "I've already done my time with fundraiser booths. No thanks."

You huff. "I'm not even in this sorority-"

"Pleeease," Cat begs, her eyes as round as saucers. "It's just a few minutes, and I've barely had anyone all night." She assures, and you groan in defeat.

"Ughhh, fine." She excitedly slips from behind the booth, and you shuffle to take her spot. She scurries toward the house, and Imogen slaps a hand on the wooden frame once.

"It'll be fine," she reassures. "I think Cat's only made like, five bucks all night."

You sigh, glancing out at the lively scene around you. You spot Ridoc in his red jacket, talking with a redhead near the pie table. Liam is near the cooler again, rummaging through for surely another beer.

"Are you open?"

Your gaze fixes on the male before you, and your breath catches in your throat.

You open your mouth to answer, but it just hangs open. No sound comes out.

"It's... one dollar right?" Dain asks, sitting on the short stool on the other side of the booth. You force your mouth closed -- don't want to catch a fly, right? -- and nod, swallowing hard.

Dain nods once, a light smile playing on his lips as he tears his gaze from yours and moves to take out his wallet. He rifles through it, his long fingers filing between receipts, cards...

Ugh, his hands.

"Shoot, well, I only have a five," he says, his gaze finding yours again. He pulls it free handing it to you. You take it, glancing at the money jar behind the counter to find only a couple of bucks.

"I-I don't have, change," you stutter, and he chuckles.

"Guess I'll just have to redeem all five then — your boyfriend isn’t mad that you’re doing this?”

Your brows knit, and fully furrow when Dain motions to Ridoc.

“He’s absolutely not my boyfriend.” You scoff.

Dain grins.

“Good.”

He leans in immediately, pressing his lips to yours. You don't have time to react as his mouth moves against yours, the kiss feeling like five minutes and only thirty seconds at the same time. When he pulls back, he smiles at you -- his teeth impossibly white.

You blush as he pushes a hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"Four more to go."

You nod, a dorkish grin spreading across your face as he stands. He licks his bottom lip, waving to someone behind him as they call him over. He leans in one more time, speaking while staring you right in the eyes.

"But, we have all night."

With that, he grins and walks off, leaving you flustered and hot and ... everything, all at once. Your chest heaves, the weight of what just happened settling in.

You look across the yard, realizing everyone also just saw that happen.

But, no matter where you look, you only find one pair of deep brown eyes glaring back at you.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Pie time!"

Violet annouces with a clap of her hands, and the crowd gathers before the tables as men from Xaden's frat take their seats.

"I mean, I'm glad you like someone but... him?" Ridoc chastizes, shaking his head as the two of you join the herd.

You scoff. "Ridoc, what is this obsession over Dain Aetos? I mean, really." You ask, and he takes a long swig from his can.

"The guy is just an ass, and thinks he's better than everyone. At everything."

"One more spot!" Xaden calls, motioning to the chair before him. "Somebody come claim it! Only five bucks!"

"And that bothers you...?" You continue, watching as Ridoc's face shifts into a mask of cool calm.

"It bothers me because he isn't better. At anything." He hands you his canister, breaking through the crowd as he makes way for the table. He holds up a $5 bill.

"Ridoc! What are you-"

"I'll take it," he annouces, reveling in a the cheers sounding around him. You shake your head, watching as Xaden takes his cash and then ties his hands behind his back. He smiles cheekily at you, and the male sitting next to him follows his line of sight.

That's when Dain Aetos' eyes meet yours once more.

"3...2...1... go!"

The thoughts that filled your mind were... unholy.

Your eyes were glued to Dain, watching as his face devoured the pie before him. His tongue, stained by the red berries inside, swooped out and into the pie as he feasted on it, licking around the indention he'd made with his teeth.

Gods, his lips had tasted good. Better yet, he still had four more this evening to go.

In your hazy, lust-stricken gaze, you found yourself almost distracted, your eyes catching on the dark head of hair next to the handsome male.

Your mouth watered more, despite your inner protests.

Ridoc was your friend, one of the best at that -- however, your mind began to race watching him nise-deep in the pie tin. The obscene sounds of slurping and sucking didn't help either.

Mental images raced through your head, each one sending more and more flurries through your lower stomach.

Ridoc's lips on yours.

The feeling of Dain's hands on your body while you kissed.

Ridoc over top of you, kissing over your neck and chest.

Dain pulling down your soaking panties.

Ridoc sliding his rough fingers into your wet cunt.

Dain's tongue on your clit as he ate you out.

Ridoc's forearm across your waist, holding you down as you cried out for him-

"Y/N!"

You snapped out of your daze, realizing how far you'd gone into it. Your best friend appeared before you, his shit-eating grin telling you all you needed to know.

"I won, Y/N! I told ya I could," he smirks, his mouth stained a deep pink. You chuckle, watchign as he wiped his lips across the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

"Proud of you," you tease, and he slings an arm over your shoulders. His scent of freshwater and sage wafted in -- you'd never pondered how good he smelled.

"Let's get you another drink, to celebrate."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

You were happy to blame the alcohol for the situation you were in.

Somehow, Violet had convinced you to join the large group game called Medusa -- one you'd never played before. However, all the singles were urged to play and had to pay $1 for what Violet was selling as "the luckiest 10 rounds of your life".

You weren't too sure of that.

The game was simple; every one closed their eyes, and when Violet shouted Medusa, you opened them and looked at another person in the circle. If you locked eyes, you had to kiss -- if the person was not looking at you and instead looking at someone else, you simply waited for the next round.

"Okay everyone, eyes closed!"

Violet of course, wouldn't be participating.

"Medusa!"

You warily opened your eyes, your gaze locking on Imogen. She was looking elsewhere, and somehow, no one locked eyes this round.

"Ooh, okay," Violet mused. "9 rounds left. Eyes closed!"

You obeyed, waiting for her call. Ridoc squirmed beside you, and you huffed in irritation.

Irritation for his movements, and potentially because a certain third year was not participating also.

"Medusa!"

You'd gone three more rounds after that, and by round five someone finally made eye contact with another person. In round eight, Cat and Aaric looked at eachother before he leaned in, pressing his lips to her quickly.

"One I didn't have to pay you for," he smirked, and Cat shoved his shoulder.

"Hush it, freshman."

The next round, your eyes found Liam -- he of course, was not looking at you. You followed his line of sight, straight to Jesinia of course.

But, she was looking at Sawyer.

And he, was looking at her.

The redhead smiled, leaning in and kissing the brunette as though he'd done so a million times. Liam's gaze grew cold, his brows furrowing as he gripped his beer tighter. You wished you could do something, make him feel better some how-

"Eyes closed! Last round!"

You closed your eyes, Ridoc sucking in a breath as he took in his friend's angered expression.

"Medusa!"

You felt Ridoc's eyes on you, burning into the side of your head -- however, your gaze was locked squarely on Liam.

And his, hard and vengeful, was looking right back at you.

Violet gasped, but Liam didn't say a word. In fact, he made a show of standing and walking over to you, not even daring to look sidelong at his crush.

When he was within mere inches of your face, he kneeled, pressing his torso between your parted thighs as you sat helplessly on the plastic folding chair.

"Liam, you don't have to-"

His lips crush yours in an instant, his mouth moving furiously with yours. The taste of his drink felt good on your mouth, even better when he slid his tongue past the seam of your lips. You nearly groaned when his hands found your cheeks, cupping your face with his caring touch so at odds with the way he was practically devouring you-

"Alright, alright. Damn."

Liam pulled away, his darkened blue irises peering up at you from the floor. You grinned, enjoying the view of his handsome face as well as the lingering feel of his mouth on yours. He chuckled, his hands falling from their position as Ridoc continued his brooding beside you.

"He didn't have to," Violet teased. "But, I think he wanted to." She giggled.

Yeah, you'd definately be blaming the alcohol tonight.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

10:07.

How was it already 10 o'clock at night?

You tipped back your cup, welcoming the water into your system once more. You were listening to Sloane, another freshman, drone on about her classes this semester as you worked to regain some sort of control over your body and mind.

The reminders of the last game you'd played though -- you couldn't surpress those.

It was wrong, thinking of your long time friend and roomate in such a way. Never had you been attracted to that blonde head before, but... tonight...

Shit.

"Hey, I'm gonna go grab another box of the Coors!"

Your head snapped in the direction of the voice, watching as the third year made his way toward the front door. You felt bad, abandoning Sloane this way, however... you wanted to follow him. You wanted to, but didn't at the same time.

You cut the blonde freshman off with a quick, drunken hug.

"Hey, I'll be right back, I'm so sorry-"

She shook her head, smiling at you.

"Go! Go, I'll catch up with you later."

You gave her a hazy smile before walking (as straight and fast as possible) up to and out of the front door, your eyes scanning the front lawn for that white tank.

Sure enough, there he was -- braced against the side of a huge black truck, reaching into the bed in search of more alcohol.

Bingo.

You walked over, coughing once and working to mask your face in cool indifference.

"Use some help?"

He turned at the sound of your voice, a smile instantly curling his lips.

"From a pretty girl like you?" He hopped off the back, abandoning the beer on the grass as he looked to you. "Anytime."

Your cheeks flushed at his words, and he leaned against the side of the Ram.

"Do you have more you need me to-"

"Nah," he said, inching closer to you. His arms crossed over his chest, and you stared up into his deep brown eyes.

"I'd rather just take a minute and... talk,"

You arched a brow, offering to answer whatever he wanted to inquire about. It felt so natural, your conversation coming so easy with him -- that was, until Bodhi appeared in the front door and called to him.

"Dain! Beer? C'mon man," he shouted, and Dain waved him off.

"Guess I should probably take this back inside," he chuckled, leaning to reach for the heavy box. You absentmindedly reached for his arm, your hand bracing against his bicep.

He looked up, your pleading eyes on his face.

"Wait," you said, and he straightened. A small smirk tugged the corner of his lips up, and he stepped closer to you. So close, your chests touched.

"Hm?" He asked, his right hand slowly finding its way to your waist.

"I... uh," you stuttered. "You have four more left to-"

He pulled your waist to his, cutting you off with a kiss to your lips. Your breath hitched, drinking in every inch of his toned body pressed against yours. Both hands now rested on your hips, and your arms tangled around his neck to pull his mouth to yours. He broke away only for a moment, smiling down at you.

"Three."

He kissed you again, harder this time. His lips slid across yours, the sweet taste of whiskey rolling off his mouth and onto yours.

"Two."

You whimpered, parting your lips as his tongue dove into your mouth. He squeezed the exposed skin of your waist, groaning into your mouth as his hardening length made its presence known as it pressed against you.

"One."

He whispered the last word, not going in for more this time. You sighed, looking up at him.

"C'mon," you pleaded. "You still have one left-"

"I'm saving it," he said, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek. "I want to use it later."

He said it with such sincerity, the soft gaze sweeping over your face that you wished it were later already.

Oh God...

Your pussy clenched at the thought.

"I don't know how we've never met before," he started, shaking his head at you. "You're... not like, anyone I know."

You blushed again, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth.

"Well, I am a sophomore-"

His hands were off of your hips, sliding slowly down as his face fell.

"Wait -- what?"

"Your brow furrowed in confusion.

"What?" You asked. "Is that, an issue?"

He huffed a short sarcastic laugh.

"Uh, yeah," he said, staring at you as he backed up a step. "I'm... I mean, I'm the head of my class, and with the frat -- you know we're not allowed to get involved with girls outside our year."

You rolled your eyes.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

He picked up the box, heaving it onto his shoulder.

"Maybe, but it's the rules."

He started toward the house, and you followed behind -- your steps shaky with the aftereffects of the alcohol. Your head swam, thinking of any way that this situation could be worked around.

"Then why do Xaden and Violet get to be together?"

He sighed, slowing to walk beside you again.

"Because, he's the head of our frat. He doesn't have to follow the rules." He shrugged. "And, quite frankly, as his second in command, I'm more in charge of keeping freshman and sophomores in line anyways."

Your brow furrowed as you approached the front door.

"If you're the VP, why do you have to-"

"Because it's the rules, Y/N."

He walked inside, the light from the mansion bending around his tall frame. Anger welled inside of you -- what a stupid regulation they had. What did it matter to anyone that he was involved with someone only a year younger?

No matter the frustration, your heart still skipped a beat as you though of his touch once more.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

Your mind was a blur as you waded through the crowd in search of your roomates. You thought you spotted Liam, but realized it likely wasn't him. He was probably off brooding somewhere, you were sure. After all, you had passed Jesinia and Sawyer in the study, their mouths in a tango.

God, he was probably pissed.

Finally, Ridoc's familiar red jacket came into view across the yard as he stood talking with a few guys before a bonfire. You reached a hand up, preparing to wave him over.

"Ridoc! Hey-"

Your call was cut off by a gasp. Cold, fermented liquid doused the front of your shirt -- and a freshman girl stood before you in shock.

"Oh my God!" She squeaked. "I'm so sorry, I-"

You held up a hand, your lips pressed into a tight line.

"It's fine." You said, your words short and temper even shorter. Partygoers around you stopped to gawk, staring straight at your chest as the pink liquid soaked through the white fabric. You turned on your heel, embarassment creeping its way up your neck and across your cheeks as you stomped toward the house once more.

You'd ignored the sound of your name behind you, not even stopping to look as you angrily bounded up the stairs and made way for the upstairs bathroom.

The exhaustion of the night weighed heavily on you, and you really just felt like going home at this point -- but door after door, you grew increasingly frustrated as the bathroom was not where you remembered it to be from last time.

You groaned, angry tears pricking your eyes as a couple of seniors walked out of an empty bedroom, glancing pitifully at the front of your favorite tee. You turned around in frustration, the never-ending hallway not yeilding any sort of washroom.

Just then, an iron-grip closed around your arm and yanked you into the vacant bedroom.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Here," Ridoc said kindly, pulling you through the door and guiding you to sit on the bed. You obeyed, sitting on the plush mattress and glancing around the rather bare sleeping quarters. He moved before you, unzipping his jacket.

"How did you know this was vancant?" You asked, and he slid the material over his shoulders. His tan skin poked out beneath his own gray t-shirt, the arm holes straining around his biceps.

You tried not to stare.

He chuckled, his fingers hooking under the hem.

"Let's just say... I've been in here before," he winked, lifting his arms over his head and taking his shirt with them.

Holy fuck.

His abs flexed, the tattoos along his left side swirling over his hardened muscle. He sighed as he pulled the shirt completely off, balling it in his hand and extending it to you.

"Here," he said softly, his expression full of concern and ... something else. You silently took it from him, and he breathed deep before settling on his knees between your legs.

Just like Liam had.

No, you scolded yourself. Stop that.

You sat silently, staring down at the floor as he inched closer. His fingers reached for the edge of your own ruined shirt, his eyes asking permission before you nodded.

Yes. Please.

He slowly lifted your shirt, gently pulling it over your head as he sucked in a harsh breath. Goosebumps erupted over your skin, the cool night air coming in from the open window mixed with the way his eyes roved over your exposed top.

Your nipples hardened beneath your lacy bra.

His face inched closer to yours, his right hand pushing your hair behind your ear.

"Can I kiss you right now?"

His question came out strained, his voice gravelly as though he was holding back. Your eyes met his, ablaze with a fiery lust you'd never quite seen before.

You answered wordlessly again, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth as you nodded your reply.

Yes.

He pressed his lips against yours, the touch so gentle and at odds with his usually overecstatic, joyous attitude.

Neither of you moved, his lips stayed on yours and yours stayed on his. You reveled in the feeling, replaying every time you'd thought about this very inappropriate, very sinful thing.

Every time he left the bathroom in nothing but a towel.

Every time he came home late, spending the evening with yet another female.

Every time he cooked breakfast shirtless.

Your panties grew wetter.

He breathed in deep, pressing up onto his knees to kiss you deeper. You leaned back slightly as his hands found the small of your back, pulling you into him as he finally continued the kiss. His soft lips glided on top of yours, the remaining taste of the sweet pie on his mouth a warm welcome.

Just when he swiped his tongue over your lower lip, asking for entrance did you pull back. Your eyes were wild when they met his.

"Ridoc... we can't, this... this is so wrong."

A look of defeat flashed in his eyes before being quickly replaced with something else. His hands caressed your skin, rubbing small circles on your back as he hovered closely to you.

"It doesn't feel wrong to me," he admits, his voice low.

You sigh, your hands draped over his shoulders.

"Tomorrow will be one Hell of a morning-after," you suggest, and he grins.

"I don't care. I'd take a million hellish morning-after's just to do this."

When his lips found yours again, it wasn't soft. It wasn't nice.

It was hungry.

Your hands tangled in his hair, and he groaned when you tugged lightly on it. Your hips moved along the edge of the bed, the growing ache in your lower belly near unbearable as his mouth continued to assault yours.

He seemed to take the hint, one hand moving from your back to press against the fabric of your jean shorts. He rubbed back and forth, his strong fingers pressing into your most sensitive spot.

You didn't care that the window was open. You didn't care that the door was unlocked. You moaned loud, the feeling sending what felt like champagne bubbles right up to your brain.

"Ridoc," you panted, grinding your hips into his touch. "More."

That's all it took.

He pushed you back onto the bed, laying you flat across the plush duvet as he rose, unbuttoning his jeans and kicking them off along with his shoes. He worked on you next, unzipping your shorts and then hooking his fingers through your beltloops, removing the garment in less than a minute.

"Please," you begged, and he chuckled darkly at you.

"Don't beg," he teased, settling on his knees once more. His breath was warm against your thighs, but his touch was cold as he placed a small kiss to the inside of your left one. "Not yet."

Your mind flashed back to the pie contest, his face smeared with the berry filling, the sounds he made as he ate--

None of that, compared to this.

"Oh my God," you squeaked, your hand finding a fistful of his hair as he licked up your folds. His tongue worked, swirling mercilessly through your folds as you clenched around nothing. You sucked in breath after breath, your head falling back in pleasure as he continued eating you out. The way his lips roved and sucked, his nose nudging your clit with the movement; fuck, it was electrifying.

Your gaze lifted as you heard the doorknob turning, a jolt of fear running through you. Ridoc only paused a moment, looking over his shoulder as the door opened slightly. Your eyes met the wide blue ones you were so familiar with, and his jaw dropped.

"What the fuck-" he muttered, unable to tear his gaze away from your body. He unashamedly looked you over, not moving into or out of the room.

"Liam, please-"

You were cut off with a whine as Ridoc shoved his forefinger and middle inside of you, your face contorting in pleasure. He smirked, looking at his friend once more.

"Ahhh, come on man -- you know you don't want to go back downstairs."

Liam watched, looking almost horrified as Ridoc continued fingering you. The small squeaks coming from you must have propelled him inside, as he quickly crossed the entrance and shut the door. He sat down his glass on the nightstand, his eyes taking in the scene before him.

Ridoc set a punishing pace, curling his fingers inside of you every time he pulled out and re-inserted them.

"Oh God," you whined, and Liam quietly walked around the other side of the bed. He sat behind you, awkwardly for a moment, just watching. Your fingers found your nipples, pinching hard as you toyed with your boobs in front of the two men.

"Seems like you have a little problem," Ridoc taunted, and you arched off the bed a bit. Your gaze foudn Liam sitting behind you, upside down, yes, but you didn't miss the tent in his pants.

No going back now.

"Liam," you whined, feeling your impending orgasm nearing its peak. "I want to cum."

He sucked in a short breath, leaning over on the bed and pressing his lips to yours once. You moaned into the kiss, queaking as his large hands found your breasts and squeezed.

His voice was a mere growl as it found your ear.

“Let me help you with that.”

"Oh fuck!" You chanted, the feeling of Ridoc fingering you and now lapping at your clit almost too much -- especially with the way Liam pinched and rolled his thumbs over your hardened peaks.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm cumming-"

You unleashed your orgasm with a sigh, your quivering hole clenching around Ridoc's digits over, and over, and over again. Your abdominal muscles flexed and unflexed, the feeling of Liam's hands cupping your boobs made you want more.

Before you could think too long about it, Liam was sliding off the bed behind you, his gentle hands guiding you to lie flat on your back. You did as such, submitting to whatever he gave you.

It turns out, he wanted something from you.

Your head hung over the edge of the bed, and your gaze found the floor. Liam hovered over you, the distinct sound of his jeans zipper cut through the otherwise quiet room before his fingers gripped your chin.

He tapped his hard cock on your lips once, twice -- groaning when you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out flat. His fingers pumped his dick above you, before guiding it into your wide mouth.

Fuck.

You garbled around his thick length, the sheer size of it forcing your throat to open wide. He shoved all the way in, his pelvis meeting your nose before he pulled out, and pushed back in, slowly fucking your mouth.

"So fucking good baby,"

You blushed at the praise, your head still swimming with the effects of the alcohol you'd consumed. In the back, you could hear Ridoc's soft praises as he fisted his own cock at the sight.

"So pretty, taking dick down your throat."

Your pussy clenched at his words.

Liam continued thrusting, only slowing when his dick began to lurch. He was close, and you could feel it.

"Fuck -- oh fuck," he chanted, ramming his cock down your throat before halting. He breathed heavily as cum sprayed your throat, his release bittersweet as you swallowed it.

"Mmm yes... swallow all of it."

You do as your told, gulping down the last remnants of his seed before he yanks his cock from you. Gasping for air, your mind swims. Lifting your head up and regaining focus is a monumental task -- and before long, Ridoc is trading places with his roomate.

"Hands and knees, gorgeous."

His rough tone sends a shiver down your spine, but you obey. You lean forward, ass up and pussy spread to Ridoc behind you. Liam appeared before you, leaning onto the bed once more before fisting your hair in his hand. You whimpered, and felt the unmistakable tap of Ridoc's length on your ass cheek.

"Gonna take all of me? Like the good girl you are?"

All you could do was nod, unable to look back at him. Liams fingers toyed with your breasts, his other hand still gripping your hair tight. Your mouth fell open as Ridoc pushed in, inch by agonizing inch, until he was seated at the hilt.

"OH-"

You cried out when he retracted, slamming back into you at full force.

"Fuck, babe -- perfect pussy," he praised, his rough pace already causing a weakness in your knees. Liam licked his lips, his fingers trailing lower toward your aching clit.

"Please -- oh fuck, yes Ridoc," you chanted, lurching forward with every sharp drive he gave you. Your eyes rolled back as Liam found your clit, rubbing slow circles around it.

"What... the Hell... is going on here?"

Your eyes shot open at the tone, your cheeks immediately pinkening in shame. Ridoc nor Liam let up, still rubbing and thrusting into you as though Dain Aetos wasn't standing in the doorway.

"D-Dain.... oh fuck," you groaned before meeting his gaze. His brows narrowed as he took in the scene, though he didn't leave the doorway. "P-please, it's not what it-"

"What it, what, looks like?" He scoffs incredulously. "Because to me, it looks like you're fucking your non-boyfriend, or, boyfriends? Maybe?" He shakes his head, his eyes not so subtly tracing over your form.

Your mouth twists as Ridoc hits a particularly sensitive spot.

"Correction," he says, finally adressing the junior. "We, are fucking, her." He chuckles. "And, no, we're not her boyfriends."

Dain shakes his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Look, I don't give a fuck what you all are. But, I swear to God, everyone can fucking hear you through that window-" he gestures to the open window, moonlight pouring in.

Liam pinches your clit, and you squeal.

"See?" He throws his hands up. "Everyone can fucking hear you."

"Why don't you come shut her up then?" Liam asks, taking on a tone you'd never heard before.

"Yeahhh," Ridoc agrees, his fingers gripping the meat of your ass. "You're the VP here -- teach her a lesson."

Dain sighs, stepping into the room and locking the door behind him.

"I fail to see how this is a good idea," he hesitates, but nonetheless stalks closer to the bed. You peer up at him, your rounded glassy eyes only sending a rush of blood straight to his cock.

"P-please, Dain," you beg, biting your lower lip. "You still... oh," you pause, feeling Liam's fingers rub your clit. "Y-you still have... one more..."

"Oh, I'm well aware." He grumbles, his fingers wrapping around the base of your throat as he squats before you. At eye level, he's even more devastating. He leans in, kissing your lips timidly before backing away, studying you with uncertainty.

"Come onnn," Ridoc pants, egging him on. "I know you want to -- you've been undressing her with your eyes all night."

Dain sighs, his tongue running along his bottom lip before he rises. He unbuckles his belt, letting it fall to the floor before sliding down his jeans. His cock springs free, slapping against his pelvis. He takes it in his hand, rubbing his fingers up and down the length.

"There you go -- now, show her how to be quiet." Liam urges.

Dain steps forward, his darkened eyes meeting yours as he guides his cock to your awaiting mouth. He slides it past your lips, shuddering when you swirl your tongue around the tip.

"Shit," he groans, his hand finding your jaw as he pushes in further. You gag as he stuffs your mouth, reveling in the way he throws his head back in pleasure.

He syncs with Ridoc, his cock pushing down your throat with every thrust Ridoc drives into you. You're moaning, the sound strangled around Dain's dick as he continues fucking your mouth, slow and deliberate.

"Shit, I'm fucking close-"

Ridoc drives in harder, his cock rubbing your g-spot before he bursts inside of you. His warm seed paints your walls white, pushed further inside as he delivers a last few, languid strokes. You clench around him as you find your own release, the fire in your lower abdomen burning hotter than it did the first time you came.

Liam sighs beside you, abandoning your pussy as he makes to rise off the bed. You groan at the sudden loss of Ridoc inside of you and Liam's fingers on your clit, the primary focus now being on Dain and his jerking cock. He growls as he fucks your face faster, his eyes studying your arched back and rounded ass as he drives himself in.

"Fuck sweetheart," he grumbles, his hand cupping your chin as he fucks your face with fervor. "This is what happens when you don't follow the rules, gonna get me in trouble-"

He pull shis cock from you, his hand pumping it before your face as you realize his impending release. You look up at him innocently, laying your tongue out flat for him. He moans, loud and clear, before semen shoots from the head of his cock, painting your face white with each ejaculation.

He breathes heavy, working to come down from his high while the other two quietly dress and make to leave the room. You continue to stare, flashing him an unabashed, drunken grin.

"Maybe I'll break the rules more often, then."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH7

You spend the night in the woods and find solace in Daddy's arms. Meanwhile, Mommy isn't too happy he disrupted her plans for the day...

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Dom/sub undertones. Pet names. Age gap. Size difference. Frottage/dry humping. Fluff. Angst. Fear of doctors. Medical exams. Date night with Mommy. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 6.3k 🔷️READ ON AO3🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6–7

A/N: So, spoiler but: in this chapter, Reader (more info on her listed in the last chapter's A/N) gets a birth control implant. Now, I am not an expert on birth control, not even that particular kind, I am just an author with a bit of research on her hands. And I will not explain in detail how it works or why I chose it, it fit my story telling needs, and that's why. Please educate yourself if you want to learn more and do not take a word I'm writing here at face value. This is fiction, and in fiction anything goes, exactly how I, the author, want it to go. ❗ (Please READ THIS if you're confused about the tags I listed this under!) ❗

Chapter 6 🔷️ Chapter 7 🔷️ Chapter 8

The two of you spent the rest of the night huddled together on the hard floor, the food Daddy brought spread out in front of you. You were sitting between his legs, warm and cozy with your back to his chest (and his groin to your ass) as he leaned over you to reach for the thermos.

You were snuggled into the hoodie he had put into your backpack, while both of you were wrapped in the blanket. It was a picnic in the dark, with only the flashlight pointed at the nearest wall to give some light. He said his chef (it was still a somewhat otherworldly thing in your mind to have a personal chef) had prepared all kinds of finger foods, and while you expected chicken wings or fries or maybe nachos, it looked more like these fancy little snacks you'd only ever seen in movies (canapés or something? You weren't sure).

There was also a container full of cut fruit: apples and strawberries, pear and mango, and another full of cherries and all kinds of berries. You tasted something of each, quickly feeling full. Daddy was sitting behind you, sipping the tea he brought. Occasionally he'd feed you something, and you'd do the same, giggling happily when you watched the cherry slip between his lips. He'd kiss you after, sharing the taste.

You felt good, safe and protected, warm and happy. A strange feeling. In the quiet moments you wondered if it was real. Maybe you were still on that park bench, dreaming these things up. But then you'd feel Daddy's hands around your waist, rocking you gently against him as he nibbled on your neck, and you didn't care if it was real or not. It felt too nice to nitpick.

When the first yawn broke on your face, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed, wrapped the blanket around you like a cocoon and sat on the edge beside you, rubbing his large hand over your hip. You looked up at him, smiling tiredly, wanting to ask him to join you, but the words wouldn't come. And the bed was really small also...

He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, lingering there a little as he watched you. “Sleep now, pumpkin,” he whispered, his breath ghosting your lips.

“What about you, Daddy?” you managed to croak out.

“I'll clean up our mess and will take the other bed, don't worry about me,” he replied, leaning back slowly.

“Let me help,” you mumbled, trying to get your arms out of the tightly wrapped blanket.

“No, it's fine,” he said, pushing you back down, his hand heavy on your shoulder. “It was a long day, you need your sleep, baby girl.”

You huffed a sigh, snuggling into the blanket, blinking up at him. “M'kay,” you pressed out under your breath, your lips pursing into a pout.

He gave a short chuckle and pressed his mouth to yours. “No pouting, pumpkin, go to sleep. Another long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

You inhaled deeply, stretching your neck to keep close to him, but he leaned back, causing you to slump down again. “What's tomorrow, Daddy?” you whispered, already fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Mommy has something planned for you, I don't want to spoil the surprise,” he said, his voice quieter as he stood up, his hand leaving your arm.

You gave an unintelligible noise before you sighed, your eyelids fluttering closed. “Okay...” you breathed.

“Good night, sweet girl,” you heard his voice from a little away.

“Good night, Daddy,” you mumbled back, inhaling deeply before sleep gripped you fully.

You woke up with a voiceless shriek, your eyes flying open, but there was nothing but darkness around you. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a cold breeze washing over your sweat-slick face. A whimper escaped you as you lay stock-still on the hard bed, the blanket wrapped around you in a suffocating manner. You couldn't remember what woke you, if it was a nightmare or dream or just the noises of the forest. Oh. Forest. Right.

The hoot of an owl brought you back to the little cabin in the woods, and as your heart slowed a little, you could hear the deep breaths, almost snores, from the other bed. Without thinking about it much, you scrambled out of yours and stumbled through the dark towards the comforting noises, ignoring the cold shudder crashing down your spine as you left the safety of your cot. The blanket was still around your shoulders, dragging after you, and when you extended a hand to feel where you were, your fingers brushed against something warm.

“Daddy?” you whispered barely audible, voice heavy with sleep, a hint of growing panic vibrating through you. The impenetrable dark around you was beginning to feel suffocating. He didn't stir, just kept breathing deeply. “Daddy...” Your hand was on his shoulder, moving up, blindly feeling around until your fingertips nudged against his beard, the scratching sound sending pleasant shivers over your skin, dispersing the cold that had settled there.

Biting your lip, your heart beating faster, you decided to climb into his bed. There was no space, he was already filling out the small frame, so you clambered on top of him, carefully putting your knees on either side of his hips (having to spread your legs quite far to fit him between your thighs) before you lay down slowly, resting your weight on his torso, one arm cradling his head, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

A garbled snore escaped him, before his hand shot up, feeling around until it curled around your side. “Pumpkin?” he rasped, his voice so low it was a mere vibration through your body as you pressed your chest to his, trying to relax on top of him. “What's wrong?”

“Couldn't sleep,” you mumbled into him, your hand teasing his neck, producing more scratching noises as you rubbed your fingers into his beard.

He exhaled loudly, making your hair fly. His arms closed around your body as he shifted beneath you. “S'okay,” he muttered hoarsely, pulling you against him.

For a moment you just lay there, your eyes falling closed again, the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his body lulling you to sleep once more. Then his hands moved, rubbing from your shoulders down to your rear, and when his long fingers curled around your ass, you gave a little squeak, suddenly wide awake.

You leaned back on your elbows, looking down at him, trying to, but the room was too dark to see anything but more shadows. Your hands cupped his cheeks, the feel of his beard a calming thing under your palms. He kept kneading your rear, somehow the blanket had slipped off, adding a cold breeze to the shivers that traveled down your spine.

He breathed loudly against you. “You have no idea how hard it is to resist you, baby,” he growled, his voice just a rumble in the air, a thrum against your chest. “If you do things like this... all I want to do is grab you, turn you around, spread you open and sink my cock into your tiny cunt.” His low words, so lewd and tempting, but frightening too, made you gasp softly.

His hands tightened around your ass cheeks, pulling them apart, kneading, fingers slipping along the hem of your shorts. You were breathing harder, feeling a tense heat growing inside you, low in your core, a little throb, a clench, and then you were grinding your pelvis into him, against the bulk of him, hard and warm.

He gave a low grunt, pushing you against him, hands heavy and scorching, even through your clothes. “I can't do this, pumpkin,” he muttered. “Not yet. As much as I want to, as much as I need to... ugh,” he groaned, bucking his hips up against yours. “Little temptress,” he breathed, one of his hands moving up to grab the back of your head, pulling you down until your lips collided with his, his tongue quickly forcing into your mouth, a desperate gliding and rubbing and tasting.

He kept talking between kisses, his fingers tight around your nape, the other still groping your ass. “Soon...” he growled, kissing you harder with each word slipping past his warm lips. “Soon I'll fill you up, fill you up so good, all mine, you're mine, baby, mine to fill up, mine to open and use, your cunt will be molded to my cock and mine alone...”

You felt hot all over, his kisses and touches and words melting into a strange sensation floating through your body. You squirmed on top of him, grinding into him, your thighs trembling with how far they were spread over the bulk of his legs. Your fingers dug into his hair, holding on, kissing him back just as hungrily, your motions guided by pure instinct, by need, by unbridled lust. Nothing you'd ever felt before.

Your panting breaths mingled with his groans, the rubbing and grinding getting faster, more intense, his hand bruising your soft flesh. You wished there weren't so many layers of clothes in the way, it all felt too much, too warm, your clit throbbing under the constant friction of your underwear and shorts pressing into it. The hand on your neck was heavy, pressing you down, keeping you glued to his mouth, his tongue licking into yours as if he wanted to eat you alive (a thought that made your head spin). You tried your best to mirror the motion.

The tension in your stomach grew and grew, coiling so tight you were afraid it would break you from within. That heat gathering in your core, in your cunt, felt like liquid fire, burning through your nerves, setting everything aflame. Whimpers left your throat, your hands gripping his hair tighter, your hips rutting into him with desperate need now. His hands moved, gripped your waist, started pushing and pulling you over the bulge in his pants, a consistent pressure, burning friction, a deep shudder.

And then the lights came as you gasped into his mouth, a stifled little “Daddy!”, a swarm of fireflies dancing at the edge of your vision, your breath hitching in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You felt your orgasm crashing through you like a wave, the first rough impact made you stiffen, then turned into a gentle lapping as it glided through you, spreading from your core into your trembling limbs, until your toes curled and your fingertips tingled.

He held you as you shivered, erratic breaths fanning over his face, his own body hard beneath you. Still shaking, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, his hands rubbing over your back, gently smoothing down your jittery nerves. Your core was pulsing, throbbing, blood pumping just beneath your skin. A low thrum that slowly eased into a little buzzing, fizzling out like a sigh in the wind. A sticky warmth settling in your underwear.

“My good girl,” he cooed softly, his lips brushing against your ear, voice low and soothing. “You're alright, baby.”

You relaxed on top of him, practically melting into the hard shape of his body, a little boneless thing held by strong arms. Head empty, filled with cotton, no thoughts, except for a tiny nudge of something, of wanting to give back, of wondering how he felt, but you were too tired to voice it. He didn't seem to mind either way, only shifted slightly beneath you before you slipped into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

This time you woke up to a rumble below you, a little bump that made you shift against a warm body. Grumbling under your breath, eyes too heavy to open, you snuggled into the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your legs were angled, knees pressed into your chest, your head slightly lifted, resting on something warm and solid.

A hand rubbed along your arm, a soothing noise coming to your ears. “Go back to sleep, pumpkin,” you heard Daddy's quiet voice, but the low thrum of it surged through your body, giving you the energy you needed to open your eyes.

Squinting into the light, you found yourself curled up on the bench seat beside him, your cheek resting on his thigh, his hand on your arm. The truck rumbled beneath you, a constant drone that almost lulled you back to sleep, but you forced yourself to wake up fully. Slowly you turned onto your back, legs stretched out as far as possible (they remained angled at the knees, sock-clad feet pressing into the passenger door), before you looked up to the upside-down view of the tall man behind the steering wheel.

He gave you a gentle smile and a short gaze, then focused back on the road. “Good morning, Daddy,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes.

“Morning, pumpkin, did you sleep well?”

“Like a stone, apparently,” you whispered, looking around. “Did you... did you carry me all the way back to the truck? You could have woken me, I could have walked...”

“You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb your beauty sleep, baby,” he said with a slight smirk, his fingers digging into the blanket, teasing at your armpit. You scrunched your nose, squirming against the touch, feeling your lips twitch.

“Did you get some sleep too?” you asked carefully when he pulled his hand back, brushing it over your forehead before gripping the steering wheel. Last night came into your head, hazy and fuzzy, a buzz in the back of your head and deep in your core. Heat crashed into your face. “I... I didn't mean to –”

“It's okay, sweetheart. I slept really good, you make for a great weighted blanket, so soft and cute how you snored right into my ear,” he teased, his hand back to caress your hair. You turned your head and pressed your hands to your face, hiding the blooming warmth on your cheeks. He laughed softly. “Don't be ashamed. And don't stress about sneaking into my bed. You are welcome to do so, it makes me so happy to know that you're comfortable enough with me to do that.”

You spread your fingers and peeked through them as he talked, his words burning the doubts away again. His fingers brushed over your hair (you noticed he'd loosened the braids and smoothed it out again). He seemed to have had a whole morning while you were unconscious. You wished you could remember how he carried you, probably on his arms, through the waking forest, tugged you into his car, positioned your head on his thigh...

You turned onto your side again, shuffling closer until your chin rested on his leg, your eyes directly in line with the bulk of his cock behind the thick denim of his jeans. His hand moved over your forehead, tucking a few stray strands back, before his fingers dug into your hair, grabbing a bunch of it as he tugged lightly.

Your eyes moved up as you watched him from under your lashes, your cheeks still warm, your hands resting on the side of his thigh to steady yourself. “Are you okay, Daddy?” you whispered, watching his face, the creases in the corners of his eyes deepening as he smiled down at you.

“I'm fine, baby. Why do you ask?”

You licked your lips, that little urge in your stomach crawling up until it sat heavy in your throat, making your mouth both dry and saliva to pool on your tongue. You looked back at the bulge in front of you, your fingertips itching to touch it, feel how hard it really was. Wanting to give back.

“I just... uh... did you... did you come... last night? When I...” you stammered, swallowing thickly.

“It's fine, pumpkin,” he said, easing your stuttering. “Don't worry about me.”

“But –”

“No,” he shot down your attempt to voice the growing need. To feel, to taste... You blinked up at him, frowning slightly. “Sorry, baby girl, we don't have time. Mommy is already very angry with Daddy.”

“Oh,” you mouthed, biting your bottom lip as you sank back into the seat, away from his crotch. Exhaling loudly, you curled up against his side, pulling the blanket back over your body. “I'm sorry...”

“Don't be, it's my fault,” he said quietly, his hand back on your shoulder, warm and heavy, a comforting touch. “I should have planned this better. But it'll be fine. We'll be back in town in a bit, and then Mommy can have her day with you. Try to relax now, I don't know what she's up to after your appointment, but expect a lot more walking and shopping and whatever else girls do, hm?”

You frowned, feeling something cold and heavy in your stomach. Slowly you turned your head to look up at him. “What appointment, Daddy?”

“She's taking you to the doctor, baby girl,” he replied nonchalantly, while you stiffened. “Don't worry about that, just a check-up, some precautions and all that jazz. You were not on birth control, right, pumpkin?”

You looked away, swallowing. “No,” you mouthed, curling more into the blanket, not really wanting to face the reality of things. You hated going to the doctor's office, but in the back of your mind you knew it was important, a necessary step to assure your new life with these generous people. You still felt weird about it, and the implications of it all made you a little nervous.

His hand rubbed over your arm. “You'll get an implant, darling, Mommy's got one too, it's the best way, won't hurt much either. No need to be afraid. And once that's settled,” he added quietly, his hand slipping down your front, giving your chest a gentle squeeze, “well, I can't wait to get real close to you...”

The innuendo wasn't lost on you (your cunt giving a little clench), but you focused more on his other words. It felt as if you didn't have much of a choice in the matter, they had already planned out your life, and while it was comforting on one side, it made you feel a little useless and trapped on the other.

Then again, you did sort of trust them, Mommy and Daddy, somehow you knew they only wanted the best for you, and if that one little inconvenience (that felt like a big stone in your guts though) would ensure that you could stay with them, hug them, kiss them, feel Mommy's fingers and Daddy's cock, then it had to be done.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you exhaled loudly, grabbing Daddy's hand and cradling it to your chest. “Okay,” you muttered, snuggling into his side.

“It'll be fine, baby,” he said, squeezing your hands. “Mommy will be with you, she'll take care of you today.”

“What will you do?” you asked after a moment of rumbling silence, the tires droning over the road beneath you.

“I have to go to work, pumpkin,” he replied with a sigh. “But I'll be back tonight. We'll have dinner together and watch another movie, okay?”

“Okay,” you said again, closing your eyes as you let the noises of the car and his warmth lull you back to sleep.

“You're late.”

“You already said that...”

“Seriously, you gotta work on your time management. And maybe next time you could have the decency of telling me if you plan to spend the night somewhere else? I was worried sick!”

“I didn't think you'd care.”

“Of course I care! What is that supposed to mean? She is mine too, you know? Our little girl, Noah! Our! We take care of her, we, both of us! Get that into your thick skull!”

The voices were muffled, slipping in and out as you slowly regained consciousness. Inhaling deeply, you rolled onto your back, blinking your eyes open. You were in your bed, in your room, alone, a sudden cold crashing over you.

Listening to Mommy and Daddy's heated voices reminded you of your childhood, spent under the covers with your hands on your ears, trying to drown it all out. The constant fights, the screams and shouts, everything ultimately leading to your father leaving and your mother bringing in new men every now and then, before it all happened again, and again...

Your door opened, making you flinch and gasp. Mommy came in, confident steps before she slumped down on the edge of the bed, her hands grabbing yours. “Hello sweet pea, are you alright?” she whispered, cradling your hand, giving you a soft smile. Her cheeks were slightly flushed.

“I'm fine,” you replied, sitting up slowly, watching her. “Please don't be mad at Daddy,” you then said, furrowing your brows as you looked into her pretty face.

“I... Did you hear us? Oh baby girl, I am so sorry,” she cooed, scooting closer before she pulled you against her chest, her arms tight around your shoulders. “I was just worried. This is all new to us, too, you know? Daddy has to understand that he can't just whisk you away without telling me.”

You leaned against her, breathing deep, her soft scent, warm and somewhat flowery, filling your nostrils, calming you. “It's my fault,” you mouthed into the soft slopes of her breasts, the low neckline of her dress allowing for your cheek to press directly to her skin. “I... I distracted Daddy...”

Mommy laughed softly. “I bet you did, but that's not your fault. It's his for not being able to control himself.”

“I don't want you to fight...”

“Oh honey, don't worry your pretty little head. We do that sometimes, but it's nothing bad. It's natural and necessary to talk about things, even if we don't always see eye to eye. I still love and respect your Daddy, but he does need a little kick from time to time, you know? And I'd do it more, but he's kind of into it...” she added with a chuckle.

You still felt a little bad for disrupting their plans and making them argue, but the longer you snuggled against Mommy's warm body, the quieter those doubts got. At least until she suddenly grabbed your arms and leaned you back, looking at you.

“Alright, so, I did plan for our day to be a little less stressful, but it is what it is now. We gotta get you ready and then we have to go.” She stood then, grabbing your hand to pull you up.

It was a blur how she nudged you into the bathroom and made you brush your teeth. While you did, she untangled your hair and braided it into a thick side braid that she fastened with a little pink bow. You blinked, and suddenly you stood in front of your closet, your reflection showing you that you had stripped (or were stripped?), before Mommy pulled a pink sundress over your head. She crouched beside you and helped you into a pair of white lace panties, then pulled frilly ankle socks onto your feet and made you step into a pair of pink ballerina flats.

She was gentle, though anything but calm, time (or lack thereof) probably making her a little hectic. You didn't protest, just let her do her thing, feeling more and more like a little lifeless doll. Somehow that was a comfort, not having to think what to wear, what to do, but it also unnerved you a little. When you were dressed, she turned you around and smiled, then grabbed your flushed face and brought her mouth to yours.

Her kiss was sweet, tasted like the glossy stuff on her lips (peach maybe?), her tongue giving yours a gentle massage you tried to meet in equal. It was only a short delight, before she grabbed your hand and pulled you after her. Down the stairs, a fleeting look through the house, realizing Daddy was already gone, then through the front door and onto the yard, a car waited there and she motioned you onto the backseat before slipping in beside you.

A few more hectic heartbeats later, the car stopped again and she helped you out. You were shaking then, noticing the sign on the building. She held your hand and you just followed, trying to breathe easy, telling yourself it'd be alright. At first you felt invisible next to her, a mere child pulled along by a parent, when she talked to the lady at the reception, when she did small talk with other people waiting there as well, but then it was your name echoing through the room, your name being called, and you slipped back into the focus with a clenching feeling in your guts.

But Mommy stayed with you, led you into another room, told you to sit down on one of those reclined chairs. The air was tight, it smelled so sterile and clean, and you hated it. She must have noticed your erratic breathing, how clammy your hand was, and she stepped to your chair and cupped your face, rubbing your cheeks, smiling down at you softly.

“It'll be alright, cariño,” she cooed. “Be a good girl, okay? No need to be afraid. It's just a check-up, some questions, a few tests, and then a tiny poke into your arm. But you're a big girl, you can handle this, can't you?”

You wanted to sink into the floor, vanish from her warm gaze. You didn't feel like a big girl, you felt helpless and small and pathetic, and you were ashamed that at your age you were still afraid of doctors and needles and examinations. You felt horrible, your stomach so tense it hurt, your throat tight, mouth dry, lips wobbling uncontrollably, tears burning in your eyes. And one thought came back over and over again.

I want my Daddy.

It was silly, he couldn't help you through this any better than Mommy did, but maybe he could have talked you out of your fear, held you tighter, his low voice thrumming through you, calming you. Mommy did her best, but she was not Daddy, wasn't as tall and broad, as strong, there was no soothing scratch of a beard or the steady heartbeat in a warm chest, coarse hair tickling against your cheek.

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, thinking back to your time with him, thinking ahead to later, after, when you'd see him again. You realized then that it wasn't fair. Mommy was here now, holding your face, trying to calm you. And you remembered her words (“our girl... we take care of her, both of us...”), knowing she was right. You agreed to live with both of them, Mommy and Daddy, and you shouldn't choose one over the other. They both let you into their lives, made you a part of their routines, they both took time out of their busy schedules to be with you, help you, make it better.

And being here, getting a check-up, was a step into that better future, you knew it, you didn't like it, but you accepted it.

Exhaling loudly, you nodded into Mommy's hands. Opening your eyes, you attempted a weak smile, and hers widened before she leaned in to give you a quick kiss. She stepped away when the doctor entered the room, but kept a hold of your hand. You barely remembered his questions or your answers or what Mommy said to fill in the blanks. You couldn't concentrate on the explanations of whatever procedure you were supposed to be getting either. Your mind was reeling, in a bad way, but you forced yourself to stay strong, to not cry, and it took all of you not to flinch or wince when you felt cold gloved fingers between your legs.

You tried to shut it all out, go back in your mind to the better moments, Mommy's kisses, Daddy's touches, her soft laugh, his low voice praising you, pumpkin, baby girl, words like caresses, Mommy's fingers in your cunt (a different set of fingers parting your labia), the rise and roll of your orgasm as you dry humped Daddy this morning, how your clit had throbbed against your panties (how it was prodded at now, the hood lifted, a clinical gesture), your insides feeling as if frozen in place, forced to remain neutral (this isn't sexual, not sexual, a normal thing, an examination, nothing more).

Your head was spinning, your hand tensing around Mommy's, your eyes glued to the ceiling, not acknowledging what was happening below. Didn't matter, it'd be over soon, very soon (soon... he'd said... soon he'll fill you up... your cunt that belongs to him... for Daddy's cock to mold into his shape... soon).

And then it was over. You blinked in confusion when a nurse wiped something over your upper arm, then put a band-aid on a spot on your skin that felt tense and as if on fire, a warm feeling soothing through you.

Mommy was on your other side, rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand, smiling softly. Her other hand reached out and wiped under your eye. “My good girl,” she whispered. “You've been so brave. Barely cried. I'm proud of you.”

At first her words stoked your embarrassment, flared up the unease that had settled low in your guts (you already felt like a stupid child, she didn't have to talk to you like you were one too), but the longer she looked at you with her warm eyes, the calmer you felt. You blinked, licking your dry lips, taking a shuddering breath, focusing back on her. Maybe you were a child (no matter your age), but you were also hers, her little girl, she was taking care of you, and that was all that mattered.

Later you sat opposite her in a cute little restaurant tucked into a charming side street, soft piano music was playing in the background, the lights were dim and cozy, paintings of old architecture lined the walls, chatter was hushed. The waiter brought bread sticks and a menu you couldn't read, so you had Mommy choose something for you.

It felt nice, almost like a date. The wine arrived, and you were allowed one glass too, and when she raised hers, you grabbed yours and gently clinked it, smiling at her. “To new beginnings,” she said quietly before bringing the glass to her full lips and taking a sip, watching you over the rim.

You gave her a shy nod, taking a sip yourself, feeling the rich flavor glide over your tongue and down your throat, a fruity taste ending with a buzz. You liked it.

“Don't tell Daddy,” she mused with a chuckle. “He was quite impressed that you said you didn't drink, a kid your age no less. Now, I don't want to be the one to seduce you after all, but this is a special occasion, wouldn't you say?” She took another sip. “By the way, is there a reason you don't drink? Usually?”

You put the glass down, looking at it for a moment. “Well, I... I saw what too much alcohol could do to a person...” you replied quietly, unable to look into her eyes.

Her hand reached out to you, her fingers curling gently around yours. “Oh honey, I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, looking around the room. “No, it's fine. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“Hmm,” Mommy hummed, squeezing your hand. “If you change your mind, I'm here for you, always, okay?”

You looked up at her, meeting her warm gaze. “Thank you,” you whispered.

The food came then, pasta you couldn't pronounce, but liked all the same, nothing you'd ever eaten before. Mommy tried holding the conversation with simple topics like food or travel or exotic countries you might like to see one day. The more she talked, the smaller and poorer you felt. You had your dreams of seeing the world one day, but deep down you knew you would never be able to afford it. She, however, seemed to have seen it all already.

Though you felt a little jealous at first, you soon realized that this kind of lifestyle was open to you now. And while you imagined traveling the world with Mommy and Daddy, you opened up more and more, the fears and doubts of earlier falling off you bit by bit. By the time you'd finished your dessert (the most delicious tiramisu you'd ever seen and eaten), you were fantasizing about sitting in a gondola with Mommy, her arm around your shoulders, listening to some Italian dude singing as he steered you over the Canal Grande.

Mommy either kept holding your hand or bumping her knee into yours under the table, her other hand rubbing up your leg occasionally. It felt nice, she was so attentive when you did manage to say a few more sentences, smiling softly, her dark eyes wandering over your face. In a way it really felt like a date.

After a while, she was sipping on her third glass of wine, you gathered the courage to speak up again. “Can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head. “Of course.”

“I... uh, I told Da– uh, well, I'm... I'm not too comfortable... yet... to call you and him... uh, the names I'm supposed to call you... you know? In public? So I asked him for his name, and he said I could call him that when we were around people, and I was wondering... if –”

“Isabella,” she said with a smirk and her beautiful accent. “And yes, you can call me that in public. But when we're alone, I'd prefer... the other name,” she added, winking at you.

“Of course, Mo– Isabella,” you replied with a timid smile. She squeezed your knee under the table. “That's a really pretty name...”

“Thank you,” she laughed. “I think your Daddy, Noah, may see that differently. He only uses it when I screwed up somehow.”

“Oh,” you mouthed, blinking at her.

“But don't mind that, we do have a special relationship as you may have gathered by now. I do like it when he calls me by my name, with that deep voice of his. It really turns me on...”

Her confession made you blush, and you looked away, inhaling deeply. “M-me too, his... his voice, I mean,” you then mumbled, earning you another laugh and squeeze of the leg.

“Yeah? Well, I'm glad we share the same taste in men then,” Mommy said with a smirk in her voice. “Honestly, cariño, no need to be embarrassed about it. This is an open relationship, a love triangle if you will. We are sharing him, as well as he is sharing me, and I am sharing you, and however else you want to see it. And there's nothing weird about it. You are our little girl, you chose to be with us and we welcomed you into our midst. Say, after these few days, how do you feel about it? Do you still want to be our girl?” she asked, nudging your knee to make you look at her.

You nodded as soon as you met her gaze, almost a little too desperate for your taste, but it was true. You couldn't imagine being anywhere else at the moment. “I do,” you said quietly. “I really like it, being with you and Da– Noah, you've been both so kind to me, so patient and welcoming. I... I've never felt this safe before...”

Her features softened as she watched you, her dark eyes so warm and caring. Your own started watering the longer you watched her, recounting your experiences.

“I am really grateful,” you choked out, your eyelashes fluttering as you fought the tears trying to spill from them. “Really, thank you... so much, I... I have no idea how I will ever repay you for your generosity...”

She gave a soft chuckle, leaning over the table to grab your hand and cradle it between hers. “Oh sweetie, do not worry your pretty head about that. You will, very soon. You already made me so happy, and Daddy too, and I'm sure you will be just as perfect in the future. I honestly can't wait...”

She didn't say it, barely grazed the topic, but you felt it in your core, the implication. Daddy hadn't been as subtle about it, and you knew what was expected of you once you settled in more. Somehow the idea both scared and aroused you, and you wondered whether you could live up to those expectations in the first place. The last thing you wanted was to disappoint them, Mommy especially.

Apparently your worries were plastered all over your face, because suddenly she was there, had rounded the table, and crouched down beside you, cupping your face, resting her forehead against yours.

“It'll be fine, mi amor, do not stress,” she whispered. “All you have to do is submit to us, we will guide you through it all. You just let it happen. Do you want to let it happen? Do you trust us?”

You swallowed, biting your lip. “Yes,” you breathed. “I do, both, I trust you, I want this...”

“Good girl,” she cooed.

Her eyes bored into yours and the restaurant around you faded. All you saw was her, and when she tilted her head and brushed her lips against yours, she was all you felt. Warm, soft, the subtle taste of peach flavored lip gloss and red wine, and you soaked it up like a sponge, meeting the delicate swipes of her tongue, tasting her, feeling her...

She was gone before you could really register it, sitting back on her chair, licking her lips as she smiled at you. Your cheeks were aflame, but you didn't care who saw them. You were focused on Mommy, the beautiful woman who could honestly convince you to do anything with just a kiss.

What a dangerous gift.

Chapter 6 🔷️ Chapter 7 🔷️ Chapter 8

End notes: You may argue that some of the things that Mommy and Daddy do to pumpkin are dubcon, as they just “force” them onto her without asking first. Yes, maybe that's the case, but remember this is fiction and Pumpkin is too mentally unstable to decide on her own at the moment. It's for her own good, they really only want the best for her! There is no bad intent, even if it feels like dubcon.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: Mommy takes you to a special shop...

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[5targh0st]

NUMBER ONE GIRL

78. don’t kick his ass (written)

prev // m.list // next

Looking at the ceiling, still feeling something between numbed and overwhelmed, Yeonjun convinces himself that he did what he had to do. It’s just a little break until he manages to get Yuna to stop harassing him. Once she’s out of the picture, all those feelings will go away. Once she’s gone again, he can go back to the life he’s worked so hard for, right? He knows he’s hurting the person he loves most in the world, but it’s all for a good reason. Surely, you will understand. He will explain and you’ll understand. Just not right now. Not when his old wounds are wide open and you can see his pitiful soul covered in blood. He just needs a few days, maybe weeks, and everything will be okay again.

He really wants to believe that, because it’s been just a couple of days and he’s already dying to talk to you and go back to how things were; how they’re supposed to be.

“Can you please calm down?” Dahyun sighs yet again.

Joshua’s been angry and anxious ever since he saw those posts. Just what the fuck is Yeonjun doing.

“I can’t!” He’s beyond exasperated right now. “She literally said nothing’s going on and yet has gone radio silence ever since. I need to know she’s okay, and she won’t talk to anyone. And I can’t go to Seoul ‘cause we’re closing an important deal and those fuckers insist on seeing me.”

“Hansol says he’s going,” she tries to reassure him.

“That’s way worse!” He complains.

As if sensing they were talking about him, Halson walks into the living room. He looks like he’s ready to kill someone.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get there.” He announces while he makes sure he has his passport with him.

“Just don’t kick his ass right away,” Dahyun pleads.

“I’m not making any promises,” Hansol rolls his eyes.

“She’s gonna hate us if you do,” Josh reminds him. “Just make sure to get both sides of the story.”

“We’re literally meddling in her private life, she’s gonna hate us regardless.” Sarcasm drips from his voice. “So I have to at least land a good punch on that fucker.”

Joshua can’t help but sigh again. Contrary to popular belief, Hansol is way more prone to be a lot more overprotective than he is, and that already says a lot. Of, course, Joshua knows he’s intense and kind of abrasive, but he’s never one to resort to violence. Josh admits he’s the bark, and Hansol is the bite. That’s why they make such a good team. And that’s why he didn’t want him to go alone.

“I really hope you guys don’t regret this,” Dahyun says hugging his waist.

“I think we will.”

During the flight, Hansol tries to think about something else. He really, really tries to write a song and even read the book he always carries around which title he’s already forgotten. He can’t. His mind goes back to his little sister and, by extension, to Josh.

He still remembers the day they met, they were both five and trying not to die of boredom at one of the fancy dinners their parents used to host all the time. Joshua’s chubby cheeks and proud grin are still clear in his mind, “I’m gonna be a big brother soon,” he remembers Joshua bragging. That summer, they met every day and Joshua would say he’d be his big brother too. He was bossy, even more than now, but he was fun. Joshua would try to teach him stuff and care for him, he really enjoyed flexing those few months between their birthdays. Hansol has to admit that he was a little jealous of Joshua’s unborn sister, he liked the attention and felt that the little girl would steal Joshua from him.

And then he saw her. So tiny and fragile, she stole his heart. “Can I be a big brother too?” He remembers asking Joshua. And it’s been like that ever since. He was there as much as he could and tried to help here and there. He thought little Yn would interfere with his time with Joshua, but it was Joshua who’d always tried to cut short his time with the little girl. He loved attending her tea parties and letting her and Karina paint his nails. He’s loved her ever since he first saw her, he’d give up his life for his sister. Blood doesn’t matter, that’s his sister. And he’s gonna make sure Yeonjun understands.

That’s what made him lose his mind in the first place. He was the first to welcome Yeonjun to their little family and even encouraged him to finally ask Yn out. He was really grateful for his presence in his sister’s life. He never expected that he would do something like this, especially completely out of nowhere.

“What the hell is going on?” He mutters looking out the window. There’s nothing to see, though, not besides some dark clouds in the distance.

Three days. It’s been three days since Yeonjun said he needed some space. You still can’t make sense out of his words. You tried texting him, calling him. You haven’t shown up to his place, though, you don’t think you could handle such a direct rejection if he refuses to see you even then. Where did it all go wrong? Everything was going great, better than great even. Everything was perfect.

Were you too pushy? Too clingy? Just too much? Or maybe he got scared? This was his first relationship after a really long time, after all. Maybe everything got way too serious way too fast. He did say he wanted to take things slow, see where it goes. But you thought you were on the same page, you thought you both had the same goals and desires. What if he was just trying to please you? What if you were just a means to an end? What if he was just trying to prove that he could be in a relationship?

But he said he loved you? Loved? When did you start to think about him in past tense? Isn’t he your present and future? Fuck. Everything is a little too overwhelming.

“I need to get out,” you say before grabbing your keys and going out.

You walk around for a few hours but turns out that that’s not enough to ease your mind. Your thoughts are still driving you crazy. Your heart still aching. And Yeonjun’s still missing. When did you get so used to him being around? You miss his jokes, his laugh. His yapping, his random stories. Every single part of him became a part of you. How is it possible to love someone that much in such a short time? His little quirks are engraved in your mind. And you miss him.

And then you see the best way to forget about everything. Even if just for a little while. You just want to forget. Life would be easier if you could just disappear until everything is right again.

“Just one drink,” you say before making your way into the bar.

Very bad idea.

notes:

please tell me you get the modern family reference 😭

joshua trying to be reasonable is my favorite thing ever

han is a real one

if you don't hate my writing and storytelling, you can help me choose my next story here lol

taglist: open! (3/50)

@estella-novella @poetryforthesad @lisaswifey @angelzforu @ihrtlix @gloriousqueenking @domfikeluva @conwunder @miniature-tragedy @jeonginplsholdmyhand @sh0dor1 @yourenzoo @tkshairband @realrintaro @castingjinx @amara-mars @hwangrfrnd @nujeskz @jisungs-iced-americano @zeizeisjy @va1entinaa @beomgyusluver @to-toad @akindaflora @hoefororeo @mandydxndy @nyanamii @delulu4-life @thatonexcgirl @starsunoo @4lndr17 @nbjch05 @borahae-reads @mrsstayfox @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @mrsminseochoi @velvetmoonlght @night-storm7 @lilbrorufr @hyunjinstolemyheart @mangojellyyy @ihrtantn @lausnotverybright @hwangism143 @wa1kinggh0st @skz-ot8-stay @athens-09xx

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Undercover Challenge 🕵️

Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of March AND April, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including someone undercover using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Character ships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed! Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.

There are prompts below the cut, so keep going!

(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)

General Prompts 🔍

Characters go undercover as a married couple.

A goes undercover as an escort to gain intel on B.

A feigns distress while undercover and is surprised when B saves them.

A goes undercover as a sex worker. B is shocked by their sexual persona.

Halloween masks offer the perfect opportunity to snoop on your coworkers.

A is excelling at their undercover work... until B shows up, also undercover.

Character goes undercover to a mystic who immediately identifies them as a spy.

A struggles with the more psychopathic aspects of their undercover work. B doesn't.

Character becomes close with their agent handler... they've never felt so cared for before.

Character is an investigative journalist trying to learn about the inner workings of the BAU.

It would be a lot easier to pretend if Character wasn't actually in love with their partner.

A thinks they've successfully tricked B... when B leans forward and speaks directly into their wire.

Character is surprised when their undercover partner is very good at pretending to be in love with them.

A becomes worries when B gets injured on an undercover mission that they were supposed to go on instead.

Character goes undercover as a stripper. This is how everyone learns they already knew how to pole dance.

Characters are both undercover, but think the other is in the organization they're investigating. They learn nothing.

Anything else you can think of!

Dialogue Prompts 🔍

"It's not real." / "It feels real."

"You should dress like that more often."

"You look... different." / "That's kind of the point."

“Did you really think this was going to work on me?”

“Your diamond ring is fake.” / “So is the engagement.”

"Maybe in another universe, I could’ve been different."

"You haven't even scratched the surface of my skillsets.”

“I’m just acting.” / “Oh? So you can make your heart race on command?”

“We should focus on the mission.” / “I’m trying, but you’re making it very difficult.”

“I know you have to go undercover, but do you really have to dress like that?” / “No, but I look good, don’t I?”

Rules

Your fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I collect both! You can also tag “#mentioningmargins”

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed. Please also include some indication of rating if it is NSFW.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post. For xReader fics, PLEASE specify if your reader is Female, Male, or Gender Neutral.

Have fun!

The Masterlist of fics will (hopefully) be posted around April 30 If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!

Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️

Happy writing!

[octaneink]

Could you do some dating willne headcannons or some willne smut but like in an established relationship? I’m obsessed with your fics, I swear I’ve read them so much I could recite them from memory 😭😭

Ahhh thank you so much for the kind words! I'm really happy that you like what I've written. I've never done headcannons or write smut lol so bear with me. I don't really know how to write smut ngl so I hope you like the spice (I think thats spicy? I don't know) at the end, I've never really written anything lke that before so I hope its...realistic?

Warning for some steamy stuff at the end!

Dating Will Lenney Headcanons

Playful Banter

In your relationship with Will, playful banter is the base of your dynamic, and he uses it to keep things light, fun, and endlessly entertaining. Whether you’re curled up on the couch, out for a walk, or in the middle of a mundane task, Will’s teasing is a constant—a reminder of how much he adores you.

He’s the kind of person who can’t resist poking fun at your quirks, but it’s always done with so much affection that it never feels mean-spirited. For example, if you’re watching one of your favourite romantic series for the hundredth time, he’ll lean over with a smirk and say, “Oh, this again? Let me guess—they’ll hate each other, then fall in love, and you’ll cry even though you know exactly how it ends.” But then he’ll stay right there beside you, secretly enjoying how much you love it—and secretly enjoying the series himself. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’s grown fond of the predictable charm of your go-to media.

Will’s teasing isn’t just one-sided, though. I think he’d love it if you gave as good as you get. If you catch him singing off-key in the shower, you’ll absolutely call him out on it. “Wow, I didn’t know cats could sing opera,” or something, and he’ll laugh so hard he almost slips. Or if he’s trying to fix something around the house, and it goes wrong, you’ll be there with a camera and a sarcastic comment like, “Handyman of the year, everyone.” He’ll pretend to be offended, but the twinkle in his eyes gives him away.

The best part is how his teasing always comes with an undercurrent of love. He’ll joke about your “weirdly specific and unnecessarily complex” coffee order, but he’ll still remember it perfectly and surprise you with it on a rough day. And if anyone else dares to tease you, he’s quick to jump to your defence, proving that his playful jabs are reserved for him alone.

Your banter becomes a language of its own—a way to say “I love you” without actually saying it. It’s in the way he grins when you roll your eyes at his jokes, the way he nudges you gently when you’re being stubborn. The way he always knows exactly how to make you laugh, even on your worst days. With Will, every day feels like a game, and you’re both winning.

Supportive Partner

In your relationship with Will, his unwavering support is one of the things you cherish most. He’s not just your partner—he’s your biggest cheerleader, your hype man, and your safe haven all rolled into one. No matter what you’re going through, whether it’s chasing a dream, tackling a new challenge, or just having a rough day, Will is always there to lift you up and remind you of your worth.

When you decide to try something new—whether it’s skating, learning an instrument, or even something as simple as baking a complicated recipe—Will will be the first to encourage you. He’ll sit with you while you practice, offering gentle advice when you ask for it and cheering you on even when you feel like giving up. “You’re a natural,” he’ll say, even if your first attempt at playing the guitar sounds more like a cat in distress. “Seriously, I’ve never heard anyone make that chord sound so… unique.” His teasing is always light-hearted, but it’s paired with genuine admiration for your willingness to try. And when you finally nail it? He’s beaming with pride, as if you’ve just won a Grammy. “Told you! I knew you could do it. Now play it again—I need this on video for when you’re famous.”

On tough days, Will’s support is a quiet, steady force. He has an uncanny ability to sense when you’re feeling down, even if you try to hide it. Without a word, he’ll wrap you in a hug, press a kiss to your forehead, and say, “Talk to me.” And when you do, he listens—actually listens. He doesn’t try to fix everything (unless you ask him to), but he’ll remind you of your strength and resilience. “You’ve got this,” he’ll say, his voice firm but gentle. “And even if you don’t feel like you do, I’ve got you. Always.”

Will’s encouragement isn’t just reserved for big moments, either. He celebrates the small victories with just as much enthusiasm. Did you survive a particularly gruelling day at work? He’ll show up with your favourite takeout and a movie, ready to pamper you. “You’re a rock star, and rock stars deserve the VIP treatment.”

But what makes Will’s support so special is how deeply personal it is. He pays attention to the little things—your favourite comfort foods, the way you light up when you talk about your passions. He knows when you need a pep talk, when you need a distraction, and when you just need someone to sit with you in silence. And he’s always there, without fail.

His belief in you is unshakeable. Even when you doubt yourself, he’s there to remind you of all the reasons you shouldn’t. “You’re brilliant, you’re kind, and you’re capable of anything you set your mind to,” he’ll say, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if anyone says otherwise, they’ll have to deal with me.”

With Will by your side, you feel invincible. His support isn’t just words—it’s in the way he shows up for you, day after day, in big ways and small. He’s your partner, your teammate, and your biggest fan. And no matter what life throws your way, you know you’ll always have him in your corner, cheering you on every step of the way.

Car Rides

Car rides with Will are an experience in themselves. He’s always the one behind the wheel, and you’re perfectly content being his passenger princess. With you who's in control of the music, and you take full advantage of it. Whether you’re in the mood for girly pop, rock and roll, Afrobeats, jungle, reggae, or even a random playlist of your favourite guilty pleasures, Will never complains. He embraces it, turning every drive into a mini concert filled with laughter and the occasional side-eye from strangers at traffic lights.

You love how he lets you take charge of the aux, trusting your musical instincts even when your choices are… questionable. One day, you might blast upbeat pop anthems, singing at the top of your lungs as he chuckles beside you. “Okay, but why do I lowkey know all the words to this?” he’ll say, pretending to be embarrassed before joining in on the chorus. Another day, you might switch it up with some smooth reggae or high-energy Afrobeats, and he’ll bob his head along, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm. “You’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that,” he’ll tease, even if he’s secretly adding some of your songs to his own playlist.

The best moments are when you both get so into the music that you forget the world around you. You’ll be belting out a duet to some cheesy love song, completely off-key but having the time of your lives, when you catch people in the next car staring at you. Will, never one to back down from a bit of fun, will roll down the window and shout, “What? Never seen a Grammy-winning performance before?” before bursting into laughter and speeding off when the light turns green.

Long drives are your favourite. Whether it’s a road trip to somewhere new or just a leisurely cruise around town, the car becomes your little bubble of happiness. You’ll pack snacks, throw a blanket in the backseat just in case, and let the music set the mood. Will’s driving is smooth and confident, and you love how he occasionally reaches over to hold your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he focuses on the road. “You good over there, princess?” he’ll ask, glancing at you with a smile. And you’ll nod, feeling completely at ease because, with him, even the simplest moments feel special.

Sometimes, the drives are quiet, the music playing softly in the background as you both enjoy the comfortable silence. Other times, they’re filled with lively conversations, random debates, or Will’s hilarious commentary on whatever’s happening outside. “Did that guy just try to parallel park in one go? Bold move,” he’ll say, shaking his head in mock disbelief. Or, “That billboard says ‘World’s Best Coffee.’ Challenge accepted.” And just like that, you’re pulling into a random café to test their claim, laughing the entire time.

But no matter where you’re going or what you’re listening to, the car rides always feel like yours. It’s your space to be silly, to be serious, to be yourselves. And Will wouldn’t have it any other way.

Protective Side

Beneath Will’s laid-back, easygoing exterior I see lies a fiercely protective streak, especially when it comes to you. While he’s usually the type to brush things off with a joke or a sarcastic remark, the moment someone disrespects you or crosses a line, his playful demeanour is gone.

Will’s protectiveness isn’t the loud, over-the-top kind. It’s subtle but firm. He’s the type to notice things others might miss—a snide comment, a dismissive tone, or even a lingering look that makes you uncomfortable. And while he might not always call it out immediately (he prefers to gauge how you feel about it first), he’s always ready to step in at the moment you need him.

Like if someone makes a backhanded comment about you in a social setting, Will’s response is sharp but calculated. He’ll tilt his head, feigning confusion, and say something like, “Oh, I’m sorry—did you mean to say that out loud? Because it sounded like utter bullshit.” His tone is light, almost playful, but there’s an edge to it that makes it clear he’s not joking. And if the person tries to laugh it off or double down, he’ll hit them with a perfectly timed quip that leaves them speechless.

But it’s not just about witty comebacks. If someone genuinely hurts you—whether it’s a friend, a coworker, or even a stranger—he’s quick to reassure you that their behaviour says more about them than it does about you. “Anyone who can’t see how amazing you are doesn’t deserve a second of your time,” he’ll say, his voice soft but firm.

What makes Will’s protectiveness so endearing is how he balances it with respect for your independence. He never tries to fight your battles for you unless you ask him to. Instead, he understands that you can stand up for yourself and is often there offering quiet support and encouragement. “You don’t need me to defend you,” he’ll say with a grin. “You’re perfectly capable of putting people in their place. But just in case, I’ll be right here, ready to back you up.” (definitely would hold your earrings and purse if you were to scrap with someone)

And when it comes to physical safety, Will’s protective instincts kick into overdrive. If you’re walking home late at night, he’ll insist on accompanying you, even if it’s out of his way. If you’re feeling uneasy in a crowded place, he’ll subtly position himself between you and whatever—or whoever—is making you uncomfortable. And if anyone dares to threaten you, his calm, sarcastic facade drops entirely. He becomes a force to be reckoned with, his voice low and steady as he says, “You have one more chance to apologise and walk away before this gets ugly.”

With him by your side, you feel safe, cherished, and fiercely defended. And while you might not always need his protection, it’s comforting to know that, no matter what, Will will always have your back.

Surprise Dates

Between his busy schedule and the demands of everyday life, you make it a point to plan dates that are thoughtful, fun, and meaningful. You’ve made it a tradition to try something new at least once a month, while the other dates revolve around activities you both love. Whether it’s a spontaneous road trip, a nostalgic arcade night, or a fancy dinner at a place he’s been wanting to try, you always find ways to make him feel special—and he absolutely adores it.

You know how much Will appreciates surprises, so you’ve become a master at planning ahead. You keep a mental (or physical) list of things he mentions in passing—like a new restaurant he wants to check out, a movie he’s excited to see, or a place he’s always wanted to visit. Then, when the time is right, you spring the surprise on him. His face lights up every time, and the way he grins when he realises what you’ve planned is worth every bit of effort.

Another month, you might plan a random road trip to a nearby town neither of you has explored. You’ll pack a picnic, create a playlist of his favourite songs, and let him take the wheel. The excitement in his eyes when he realises where you’re headed is priceless. “You’re seriously the best,” he’ll say, squeezing your hand as he starts the car. Along the way, he’ll take detours to roadside attractions, insisting on stopping for silly photo ops and spontaneous adventures. “Look at this place!” he’ll exclaim, pulling over at a giant dinosaur statue or a retro diner. “We have to take a picture. This is peak road trip material.” And of course, you’ll oblige, laughing as he strikes ridiculous poses and insists on making the memories as over-the-top as possible (though he takes cute couple pictures as well).

And then there are the fancy dates—the ones where you pull out all the stops. You’ll book a table at that upscale restaurant he’s been talking about for weeks, or you’ll surprise him with tickets to a show or event he’s been dying to see. On those nights, you love seeing him dressed up, his usual casual vibe swapped for something more polished. “Look at you, all fancy,” you’ll tease, and he’ll shoot back with a smirk, “What can I say? I clean up nice. But not as nice as you.”

What makes these dates so special is how much thought you put into them. You know how busy Will’s schedule can be, so you always plan ahead to make sure the timing works. You’ll coordinate with his friends or coworkers if needed, and you’re not above bribing them with coffee or baked goods to keep the surprise under wraps. And when the day finally arrives, you love seeing the look on his face. “You planned all this for me?” he’ll ask, his voice soft with disbelief. “Of course I did,” you’ll reply, smiling. “You deserve it.”

But it’s not just about the big surprises. You also make time for the little things—like cosy movie nights at home, complete with his favourite snacks and a blanket fort, or lazy Sunday mornings where you cook breakfast together and spend hours talking and laughing. Those moments are just as important, and they remind you both why you fell in love in the first place.

With every date, whether big or small, you show Will how much he means to you. And in return, he makes sure you know how much he appreciates it. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he’ll say, pulling you close after a particularly memorable outing. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not letting you go.” And as you smile up at him, you know that these moments—these carefully planned, perfectly executed surprises—are what make your relationship so special.

Social Media PDA

I think Will is the kind of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, and that extends to his social media presence. While he respects your desire to keep a low profile due to your job, he’s not shy about showing the world how much he adores you. His Instagram is a mix of his work, his hobbies, and, of course, glimpses of your relationship. He’s the type to post pictures of the two of you without a second thought, whether it’s a candid shot of you laughing at something he said or a cosy selfie from a date night. Or a goofy photo of you both making faces at the camera.

His captions are always playful and affectionate. “Caught this one mid-laugh. Guess I’m funnier than I thought” or “Date night with my favourite person. Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in one piece.”. The comments are always flooded with fans gushing over how cute you two are together, and Will loves reading them, often showing you the funniest or sweetest ones with a proud grin. “Look, they’re saying we’re goals. Can’t argue with that.”

But it’s not just the photos. You occasionally pop up in the background of his videos, whether it’s a behind-the-scenes clip from one of his projects or a casual vlog. Sometimes it’s just your hand in the frame as you pass him a coffee, or your voice chiming in with a sarcastic comment that makes him burst out laughing. Fans have come to love these little moments, dubbing them “crumbs” and saying that they’re being “fed” whenever you make an appearance. “We see you back there!” they’ll comment, or “The way he looks at her when she talks… I can’t. 😭”

Will finds the whole thing hilarious and endearing. He loves how much his fans adore you, even though you’re not in the spotlight yourself. “They’re obsessed with you,” he’ll say, scrolling through the comments. “Can’t blame them, though. I’m obsessed with you too.” And while you prefer to stay out of the public eye, you can’t help but smile at the way he proudly includes you in his world, even if it’s just in small, subtle ways.

There are times when he’ll sneak in a little more PDA than usual, just to mess with you. Like the time he posted a video of the two of you cooking together, and he casually dropped a kiss on your forehead mid-sentence. The internet went wild, and you playfully scolded him for it later. “You’re such a show-off,” you said, and he just shrugged, grinning. “What can I say? I like showing the world how lucky I am.”

Despite his public displays of affection, Will is careful to respect your boundaries. He never shares anything too personal or invasive, and he always checks with you before posting something that features you prominently. “You good with this?” he’ll ask, showing you a photo or video before hitting post. And if you ever say no, he doesn’t hesitate to scrap it, no questions asked. “Your comfort comes first,” he’ll say, and it’s one of the many reasons you love him.

For Will, it’s simple: he’s proud of you, proud of your relationship, and he wants the world to know it. And even though you prefer to stay behind the scenes, you can’t help but feel a little flutter of happiness every time you see one of his posts and realise, all over again, just how much he loves you.

Spicy Headcanons

Rough or soft?

Will is the kind of partner who knows exactly what you need, even before you do. Whether it’s a night of tender affection or one where he pushes you to the edge, he always makes sure you feel safe, cherished, and utterly consumed by him.

Soft Moments

When the mood calls for softness, Will is all about making you feel adored. He’ll take his time, his touches gentle and deliberate, as if he’s memorising every inch of you. His kisses are slow and sweet, starting at your lips and trailing down your neck, your collarbone, and everywhere else he knows you love to be touched.

“You’re so beautiful,” he’ll murmur against your skin, his voice a low, soothing rumble that makes your heart swell. “I could spend forever like this, just you and me.” His hands will roam your body with reverence, tracing patterns that leave you shivering. He’ll whisper praise in your ear, telling you how perfect you are, how much he loves the way you respond to him, and how lucky he feels to have you in his arms.

These are the moments where he’s all about you—your pleasure, your comfort, your happiness. He’ll hold you close afterward, his fingers brushing through your hair as he presses soft kisses to your forehead. “You’re my everything,” he’ll say, and you’ll believe him, because in those moments, nothing else exists but the two of you.

Rough Moments

But then there are the nights when Will’s more dominant side takes over. It’s not about anger or frustration—it’s about trust, about pushing boundaries, and exploring the raw connection between you. On these nights, he’s in complete control, and he knows exactly how to make you unravel.

He’ll start slow, his touch firm but teasing, building you up until you’re trembling with need. But just when you’re about to tip over the edge, he’ll pull back, his grip tightening in your hair as he forces you to meet his gaze. “Not yet,” he’ll say, his commanding voice sending a thrill down your spine. “You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

He’ll edge you relentlessly, his hands and mouth working you to the brink over and over again until you’re a writhing, desperate mess. Tears might prick at the corners of your eyes, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you beg him for release. But he won’t give in—not until he’s sure you’ve reached your limit. “You can take it,” he’ll say, his tone equal parts challenge and reassurance. “I know you can.” Of course, you can; you haven’t said the safe word yet.

Foreplay

Will is the kind of man who takes his time, savouring every moment of intimacy with you. He’s not just interested in the end goal—he’s obsessed with the journey, with the way he can make you unravel under his touch. For Will, foreplay is an art form, and you are his masterpiece. He loves watching you moan, squirm, and barely hold onto yourself, knowing he’s the one driving you to the edge.

It starts with his hands, always so deliberate and sure. He’ll trace patterns along your skin, his fingertips leaving trails of fire in their wake. He loves the way you shiver under his touch, the way your breath hitches when he finds that one spot that makes you gasp. “You’re so sensitive,” he’ll murmur, the tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine. “I love how you react to me.”

His mouth. Damn his mouth. He’ll press kisses along your neck, your collarbone, your stomach—everywhere but where you want him most, just to tease you. “Will,” you’ll whine, your hands tangling in his hair, and he’ll chuckle against your skin, the vibration making you squirm. “Patience, love,” he’ll say, his lips curving into a smirk. “I’m not done with you yet.”

When he finally does give you what you want, it’s with a slow, deliberate intensity that leaves you breathless. He’ll watch you as he works, his eyes dark with desire, drinking in every moan, every whimper, every desperate plea for more. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he’ll say, his voice rough with need. “I could watch you fall apart all day.”

But Will isn’t just about physical touch—he’s a master of words, too. He’ll whisper filthily sweet nothings in your ear, his voice a mix of praise and promise. “You take me so well,” he’ll say, his breath hot against your skin. “I love how you sound, how you feel, how you’re all mine.” His words are like a drug, intoxicating and addictive, and they only make you want him more.

By the time he’s done with you, you’re a trembling, incoherent mess, barely able to form a sentence. But Will isn’t satisfied until he’s sure you’re completely undone. “Not yet,” he’ll say, his hands and mouth working in tandem to push you even further. “I want to hear you beg.”

I hope people don't mind that I only wrote two spicy scenes. Sorry, I kinda ran out of ideas lol. Anyways… how did people like the headcannons? These are headcannons right?

[cynicalmusings]

i’m kind of tempted to write a series of little anecdotes of socrates!reader interacting with each amphoreus cast member and just… either winding them up or confusing the hell out of them until the characters give up and leave the conversation.

mydei is the easiest to frustrate, and about three minutes into the discussion, he’s just like “i don’t care about this. go away before i want to punch you,” and goes off.

phainon is initially willing to have a discussion—it couldn’t hurt that much, right?—before regretting it severely. to do him justice, he fares relatively well, but after ten to fifteen minutes he has to leave (1) he has no idea what’s going on anymore and (2) he feels a crushing existential crisis coming on which he would rather suffer through in privacy (which is to say he breaks down from existential dread the moment he leaves your line of sight).

tribbie doesn’t get angry, but they’re another one who gets a touch confused. they get both the others in on it, too, and by the end you’ve got the whole group being like “…we’re sorry, we don’t think we can do this anymore” and flying off. they’re pretty polite and honest about what they don’t understand, though, which you appreciate.

castorice, having studied at the grove, has some background in this kind of thing, and she keeps up with the debate pretty well. when she doesn’t understand something, she’ll be open about it and ask you to clarify, making for a good conversation partner. she also strikes me as a pretty patient type, so she won’t lose her temper or anything while you get very particular in your arguments, either. i feel like the main reason she would call off the discussion is because she needs more time to think about how to respond to something you’ve said (and the constant interchange has probably tired her out a little, too).

hyacine is pretty honest from the get-go that philosophy isn’t an area she has much direct experience with, but because she’s nice and doesn’t want to let you down, she’s happy to go along with it. she gets a little emotion when you question her about why life is meaningful and whether it’s really worth inconveniencing oneself to help another (which isn’t to necessarily say you hold these views yourself; your main objective is to gauge her position and how she responds to such a challenge) — and soon tells you that she feels like she can’t do this anymore and needs a moment to herself.

aglaea would be really difficult to befuddle, frustrate, or get any major reaction from. she’s very calculated with her responses, good at keeping a level head, and doesn’t reveal her emotional position. the only way you could get under her skin, if you so wished to play devil’s advocate, is by challenging her about the value of okhema and its citizens. even then, she’d barely crack, but if you’re looking closely, you might be able to tell she’s

finally, debates with anaxa are… literally nothing new. you’ve been bugging him with constant questions for years, and he’s used to it by now (to be honest, he probably ought to thank you for it — you kind of act as his argument-checker to see if he’s overlooked any problems or made any assumptions with any claim he makes). he might pretend to be a little annoyed, but really, he enjoys your intellectual matches. the only ways you could wind him up is (1) committing a fallacy in your argument on purpose/ acting with intellectual dishonesty, which you would just… never do, or (2) saying something (probably negative) about yourself, which… also would never really come up in a discussion, because you’re interested in knowing stuff, not talking about yourself.

(he’s also definitely tried to convince you to take part in the annual great debate on multiple occasions, but you refuse every time. to be fair, every day is a ‘great debate’ for you and whichever unfortunate soul you run into that day… so it’s understandable why you don’t need to join some tournament to get, what, some public affirmation of your debating skill? who needs that? does it get you closer to uncovering knowledge about the world? no? well, you’re just not interested, then.)

[belit0]

Can you write about the uchiha men's reaction to their s/o being nerdy and know it all kind of brat who always tries to rationalize their emotions......if no then it's ok, I really love your work btw🫂🫶

Thank u so much darling, love u! (ngl i love how Indra's turned out ajsdhasdj)

Indra

(Y/N) is halfway through her latest attempt at psychoanalyzing him when Indra, quite suddenly, holds up a single, elegant hand.

-Enough.

She pauses, mouth half-open, momentarily caught off guard. -I—

-You presume to understand me,- he continues, tone light, almost amused. -yet you fail to acknowledge a simple, irrefutable fact.-

(Y/N) crosses her arms, raising a brow. -And what’s that?-

Indra leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

-I am always right.-

(Y/N) gapes at him. -That’s not—THAT’S NOT HOW THIS WORKS.-

-It is when you’re me.- He straightens, smug, enjoying this far too much. -And I am me, therefore...-.

-I swear I will THROW this book at your head—

Indra smirks, tutting, shaking his head. -Temper, temper. And you call me emotionally repressed.-

(Y/N) groans, throwing her head back in frustration. -You are the most insufferable man alive.-

-And yet, you keep trying.-

Her eye twitches. One day, she swears. One day, she will win.

…But today is not that day.

Madara

Madara listens, arms folded, expression flat as (Y/N) launches into her latest thesis on emotional suppression. She speaks as if she’s discovered some great universal truth, voice full of certainty, hands gesturing in that obnoxiously confident way she does when she thinks she’s right.

-it’s basic psychology,- she explains, pushing her glasses up her nose. -You bottle everything up because processing emotions makes you feel vulnerable. That’s why you’re so emotionally stunted.-

Madara blinks once. Then twice. Then, in the most deadpan voice imaginable, he asks:

-Have you considered, perhaps, that I am simply built different?

(Y/N) falters. -That’s—what? That’s not how psychology works—

-And yet,- he gestures at himself vaguely, -here I stand. Defying all your little theories.-

She squints. -You’re just proving my point.-

-And you’re proving mine,- he counters smoothly, stepping closer, looming over her. -That some things, no matter how much you study, are beyond your understanding.-

(Y/N) opens her mouth to argue, but Madara lifts a single brow, daring her to continue.

She scowls. Smug bastard.

Madara smirks. Checkmate.

Izuna

-Are you serious right now?- Izuna throws his hands in the air, pacing as (Y/N) calmly lists every single reason why his anger issues stem from childhood insecurity.

-Stop using big words to tell me I have issues!- he snaps, pointing an accusatory finger at her. -You don’t know everything—hell, you don’t even know me!-

-I know you project your emotions outward because internalizing them feels like weakness,- she counters smoothly, adjusting her glasses (because, of course, she wears glasses). -and that you always seek external validation, which is why you’re so affected when someone doesn’t take you seriously.-

Izuna gapes. Stunned. Offended.

-What the fuck—

(Y/N) smirks, triumphant.

-Oh my fucking- you’re unendurable.- Izuna groans, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning away. -And wrong, by the way! Just—so wrong.-

He storms off, muttering curses under his breath. Ten minutes later, he’s definitely looking up the psychological terms she used.

Obito

-THAT’S NOT TRUE.- Obito practically yells before she even finishes her sentence.

(Y/N) blinks. -I haven’t even—

-I AM NOT INSECURE!

She crosses her arms, unimpressed. -I never said you were.-

Obito freezes.

-…Oh.

(Y/N) smirks. -Interesting reaction, though.-

His entire face goes red. -SHUT UP.-

Shisui

Shisui leans against a wall, arms crossed, smirking as (Y/N) rants about why his constant deflection and humor are just coping mechanisms to avoid deeper issues.

-I mean, obviously,- he says, grinning -But it works, so why fix what isn’t broken?-

(Y/N) groans. -That’s not— God, you’re impossible.-

-Mm. But you love it.- He winks.

(Y/N) glares. -Your humor is a mask.-

-And your intelligence is a shield.- He raises a brow, tilting his head. -We all wear armor, sweetheart.-

(Y/N) falters, lips parting slightly.

Shisui grins, victorious. -Now, that is how you win an argument.-

Itachi

Itachi listens. He does not interrupt. He does not argue. He does not react.

(Y/N) talks, and talks, and talks. She dissects his every action, his every calculated move, until she is certain she has him figured out.

And then, just as she finishes and prepares for some inevitable debate, he tilts his head, watching her, silent.

She shifts.

-…You’re not gonna say anything?-

He hums, as if considering. -Would it matter?-

(Y/N) hesitates. -…Yes?-

A soft exhale, almost a laugh, but not quite. Itachi’s lips barely curve, a ghost of a smirk. -Then I will say nothing.-

And just like that, he wins.

[luvo27]

because they got me thinking about it, here's a fics I probably won't write: the idea behind my silly (by which i mean horrifying hopefully) wayne family adventures fic!!

premise: told through a weird and funky novelization of chapters of wayne family adventures. there is something something magic plague something something. the batfam (at as dysfunctional as you can get stage) is getting brainwashed/forced to play happy families in a shared dream (the dream being wfa)

there are little glitches as people fall asleep and characters join the hallucination one by one and sometimes people are like whattt the hell am i doing here and then they get zapped into happy family time. and it works because there's a part of them that wants happy family.

at some point things break a little too hard (a character references a really bad argument that never got resolved outside the dream or some such) and there's a glitchy blow up argument between a couple of characters, and then it cuts off. the next chapter resumes and those characters are still there, but Different. Happier and Smiley-er Family. from there it goes from shared hallucination to bruce's individual hallucination as the other characters are yoinked out one by one as the dream keeps breaking. and then bruce is left with these kind of like. happy smiling mannequin people. and he's alone in the dream.

this is when outside magic intervention comes in as the jla or some such have been doing actual work in the real world and the batfam start waking up slowly in a superhero hospital ward and none of them can look at each other because they all remember their happy family moments and they all go their separate ways as fast as they can

eventually they get all the information about the magic disease thing and they all find out that their shared dream/hallucination only worked (for however long it did) because there was a part of them that wanted it. and they have to face the fact that they wanted it, and they have to face the fact that even though the dream/hallucination magic was created to keep them in the dream together, they still managed to be so dysfunctional that they broke it. and then they have to deal with the fact that everyone else knows that they wanted happy families.

from here, depending on the characters involved in whichever different relationship, there are multiple ways it can go. they can realize that the other person wants to repair their relationship, reach out and make amends, as awkward as it might be. They can be haunted by the knowledge of how the other person wants to repair the relationship, and how they managed to break it in the dream even with the dream pushing the happy family reality upon them, and decide for good that they're better off without each other and learn how to grieve what could have never been. they can continue to hover awkwardly around each other and ignore everything that happened and fall back into the status quo, except for how sometimes they'll accidentally reference something that only happened in the Happy Families dream.

this is a story about the difference between the dream you can never have because there is too much history and hurt, and the horrible difficult reality of people who might truly want to repair a relationship and do better, and don't know how to get there and the different ways that reality can turn out.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 12

˗ˏˋ vanilla coffee ˎˊ˗

"There's a science to making perfect coffee, he says. But there's no science to explain why watching him make it—shirtless and sleep-rumpled—makes you forget every reason you shouldn't want him."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7,4k

rating: explicit (sex)

content: jungkook literally has a vanilla kink at this point i'm sorry that wasn't even planned he's just got free will, coffee lessons that are somehow hot, tiny shorts being instigators, verbal sparring as foreplay, protected sex, titty play, titty worship, penetrative vaginal sex, him fingering her

✧ author's note ✧

Listen. LISTEN. I don’t know what kind of demonic possession took over me while writing this chapter, but I had zero control over my own hands. Like, the coffee scene? The mug sharing? The delicious moment??? I AM IN HELL. (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

I started this chapter with the intention of them being petty little gremlins about vanilla-scented products, and somehow it ended with Jungkook making a whole latte just to flex on Y/N. A LATTE. And don’t even get me started on the mug proximity crimes. The way Y/N is actively short-circuiting over his hands and forearms like a Victorian woman seeing ankle for the first time?? We are ALL in trouble. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

And then—oh, god—the sweatpants menace. If you know, you know.

As always, please send thoughts, screams, and existential crises to the comment box. Love you, stay hydrated, and if a man ever offers to elevate your coffee… RUN. (Or sit in his lap. Your call.) (¬‿¬)

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Good tired is still tired.

Your bag hits the dining table with a thud that perfectly matches how your brain feels right now—heavy and slightly bruised. 

7PM. 

You gave him way more than forty minutes. Actually gave him two whole hours, not that you're counting. 

Not that you care. You're just... observant.

But then you catch it—that familiar scent hanging in the air. Vanilla. Your mind immediately goes to that specific vanilla body wash that costs way too much but is the only thing that doesn't make your skin break out.

Oh, he fucking didn't.

Your fist connects with his door maybe a bit harder than necessary. There's a loud thud from inside, followed by what sounds like someone falling off a bed, then a muffled "shit” before footsteps approach.

The door swings open and—oh.

Oh no.

He's shirtless, because of course he is. Hair a disaster, eyes heavy with sleep, that stupid silver ring catching the light as he runs a hand down his face. There's a pillow crease on his cheek and he looks... soft. Which is absolutely not what you need right now when you're trying to be angry.

"What," he growls, voice rough with sleep, "is your problem?"

Right. Anger. Focus on that.

"My problem?" You gesture vaguely at the air between you. "My problem is you letting random hookups use my shit!"

His brow furrows, like he's trying to process your words through a fog of interrupted sleep. Then his expression does this complicated thing—confusion to understanding to something else you can't quite read.

He presses his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Phoenix, I didn't." When he looks at you again, he seems more awake. "I told her your stuff was off limits."

"Then why does it smell like—"

He brushes past you, heading toward the bathroom, and you absolutely do not notice how warm he is when he passes. Or how he still smells like rain under the vanilla.

"Are you seriously walking away while I'm—"

He stops so suddenly you almost run into him. Turns. Points at the coffee table.

"It's your candle."

You follow his finger and... oh.

There's one of your vanilla candles burning quietly on the table, nearly at its end. Which means it's been lit for...

He groans, running a hand down his face again. "You said to open the windows, and I just..." He waves vaguely at the candle. "Whatever."

"You..." The words aren't quite computing. "You lit my candle?"

"You told me to air out the apartment."

"So you used my candle to get cozy with some random—"

"For fuck's sake, Phoenix." He looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him here. "I lit it because you like these stupid vanilla things, okay? Thought it'd make the place smell nice when you got back."

Oh.

Something warm and uncomfortable squirms in your chest. Because that's... that's actually kind of...

"Well." You cross your arms, refusing to acknowledge the weird feeling. "Maybe ask next time before using my stuff."

"Maybe don't ghost me for two hours when I asked for forty minutes."

"I was studying!"

"With your phone on silent?"

"Some of us have actual academic responsibilities, Rogue."

His mouth twitches. "Some of us have other responsibilities."

"Yeah, bet ‘pussy eating’ looks great on a résumé.”

“Didn’t eat her pussy. Just fucked it.”

You grimace. “TMI.”

He shrugs. “You brought it up.”

“You were the one bragging about responsibilities like it’s a noble calling.”

“Hey, takes dedication. Skill. Stamina.” A smirk. “Not my fault you’re fixated on it.”

Fixated—

“Right. Just like I’m fixated on your four-hour recovery nap.”

“Wasn’t napping the whole time.”

“Gross.”

“You asked.”

“I literally didn’t.”

He's fighting a smile now, you can tell. Which is annoying because you're trying to be mad about your candle. Or your body wash. Or... something.

"Whatever." You turn toward your room, because this conversation needs to end before you do something stupid like thank him for thinking about the smell. "Just ask next time."

"Before lighting your pretentious vanilla candles?"

"They're not pretentious."

"They're thirty dollars each."

"How do you know how much they—" You spin back around. "Have you been looking up my candles?"

"No."

"Oh my god, you totally have."

"I was curious why they cost so much when they all smell the same!"

"They do not all smell the same, you absolute heathen."

He raises an eyebrow. "French Vanilla and Vanilla Bean are literally the same thing."

"I'm not having this conversation with someone who probably thinks Old Spice is a personality trait."

"At least I don't need a PhD to buy soap."

"No, you just need—" You stop, narrowing your eyes. "Wait. How do you know what's in my shower?"

"You know what?" He stretches, and you absolutely do not track the movement with your eyes. "All this talk about vanilla is making me crave coffee. Specifically..." He grins, slow and deliberate. "Those vanilla capsules you hide in the back of the cabinet."

"Don't you dare—"

"The ones behind the protein powder?"

"Those are mine." You follow him as he saunters toward the kitchen, still annoyingly shirtless. "I specifically said they weren't for you."

"Come on, Phoenix." He's already moving toward the kitchen, all loose limbs and bare chest like putting on a shirt is beneath him. "Let me show you how to actually make coffee. Teach you some culture. Some technique."

You swat at him as he passes. "I know how to use a coffee maker."

"Sure you do." His laugh is rough with sleep, and you hate that you notice. "That's why you murdered a perfectly good espresso shot this morning."

"I did not—"

"The beans were crying, Phoenix. I heard them."

But you're already following him to the kitchen because apparently you hate yourself. 

He's wearing those stupid gray sweatpants that hang just low enough to be illegal in at least three states, and his hair is still a disaster from sleep, curling at the nape of his neck.

"First rule," he says, running his hands over the coffee maker like it's something precious, "is respecting the machine."

"It's a coffee maker, not royalty."

"See? No respect." His fingers dance over the settings with practiced ease. "That's why your coffee tastes like sad bean water."

You lean against the counter, watching as he measures grounds with ridiculous precision. 

"My coffee tastes fine."

"Your coffee tastes like betrayal and broken dreams." He adjusts the grind size, movements quick and sure. "You probably think instant coffee is acceptable."

"Only when I'm feeling particularly spiteful."

His horrified gasp is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh. "You're a monster."

"Guilty."

He shakes his head, tamping down the grounds with absolutely unnecessary focus. The muscles in his forearms flex with the movement, and you definitely don't notice. Just like you don't notice how his hands look wrapping around the portafilter, or how his ring catches the kitchen light when he locks it into place.

"Watch," he says, flipping switches with the confidence of someone who definitely spent too much time watching barista tutorials on YouTube. "This is where the magic happens."

"It's coffee, not alchemy."

"Shh. You're ruining the moment."

The machine hums to life, and okay—maybe you can kind of see why he's so precious about it. There's something almost hypnotic about the way the espresso streams out, dark and perfect.

"See how it's not running too fast?" He's fully in teacher mode now, gesturing at the flow. "That's what you want. Nice and steady. Not that waterfall disaster you created this morning."

"Are you done being pretentious yet?"

"Never." He grabs your vanilla capsules—the ones you specifically told him not to touch—and starts steaming milk. "But I'll make it worth your while."

"By stealing my coffee?"

"By elevating your coffee." The milk pitcher moves in his hand like it's an extension of his arm. "You'll never want that chain store stuff again."

"Bold of you to assume I want anything you make."

His smile is all trouble. "Liar."

And okay, maybe he has a point. Because the drink he slides across the counter a few minutes later looks... kind of perfect. The foam is glossy and smooth, and the vanilla smell hits just right.

"Well?" He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You take a sip and—fuck.

Fuck.

"It's..." 

No. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

But he's already grinning, the bastard. "Say it."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Phoenix." He leans forward, elbows on the counter. "Admit it. I made your vanilla whatever-the-fuck better than you ever could."

"I will literally die first."

"That good, huh?"

You flip him off, taking another sip instead of answering. But then he's there, right there, and when did he get so close? His fingers brush yours as he takes the mug, gentle but deliberate, and your throat goes dry.

He holds your gaze, something dark and playful dancing in his eyes. Doesn't ask permission with words—just tilts his head slightly, the question clear in the quirk of his mouth. And you should say something. Should stop him. Should—

The mug touches his lips. Your lips were just there. Three seconds ago, your mouth was exactly where his is now, and that shouldn't make your stomach clench but it does.

His eyes are too much. Too dark, too intense, too fucking knowing as he takes a slow sip. Have they always been this brown? This smoky? Like whiskey in low light, like trouble wrapped in honey. 

The kind of eyes that should come with a warning label: Danger. Side effects may include stupid decisions and ruined underwear.

His tongue darts out, catching a stray drop on his lower lip. Slow. Deliberate. The silver ring on his hand catches the light as he lowers the mug, and his voice drops to something husky.

"Delicious."

Nope. Absolutely not.

You snatch the mug back, ignoring how your fingers tingle where they brush his. "Make your own, you coffee nerd."

Retreat. Strategic retreat to the couch is definitely the smart play here. Because your brain is currently short-circuiting, trying to process how one word—one stupid, fucking word—in that voice can make your thighs press together.

His laugh follows you, low and knowing. The sound wraps around you like smoke, like the way he smelled that thunderstorm night, like—

Griffin chooses that exact moment to slink into the living room, green eyes judging you both as he hops onto the windowsill. He stretches, impossibly long, before curling into a perfect orange circle, pointedly turning his back to you both. 

At least someone in this apartment has standards.

Focus. You're focusing.

But then you hear him moving behind you. The quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft appreciative hums as he works the coffee maker. The whisper of fabric as his sweatpants shift with his movements. Each sound feels magnified, like your brain has decided to process everything in HD surround sound.

Don't look back. Don't do it. Don't—

Fuck.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. Because his back is a work of art, all broad shoulders and defined muscle, and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair that even from behind he's attractive enough to make your mouth water. The way his shoulder blades move as he works the machine, the dip of his spine disappearing into those low-hanging sweats, the unruly hairs curling at his nape...

Snap your head forward. Drink your coffee. Stop being a horny disaster for five consecutive minutes.

But you can still hear him. Still feel his presence behind you like a looming cloud. Still taste the ghost of his lips where they touched the same spot yours did on the mug.

This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just tired and touch-starved and maybe a little worked up from your stupid assignments—

"Want another taste, Phoenix?"

His voice is closer now, right behind you, and you absolutely do not shiver. "Didn't anyone teach you to drink your own coffee?"

"Didn't anyone teach you that stealing tastes better?"

You refuse to turn around. Refuse to acknowledge how his words squeeze your chest. "You're impossible."

"You like impossible."

And that's... that's not something you're equipped to handle right now. Not with him standing there all sleep-warm and shirtless, voice rough like gravel, smelling like rain and coffee and sin.

"I like peace and quiet," you lie, taking another sip of your rapidly cooling drink.

His laugh is soft, dangerous. "Liar."

The couch dips as he drops down next to you, thigh pressed against yours like he owns the space. Like personal boundaries are just suggestions. He has a mug in hand now, and his coffee smells kind of amazing and you hate him for it.

You shift away, but his hand lands on your thigh—warm, heavy, there. His fingers span the width of it easily, and your brain helpfully supplies memories of those same fingers in other contexts. 

It doesn’t escape your notice, how his eyes linger on where your shorts have ridden up your thighs from your hours in the library. 

"No," you manage, swatting his thigh with yours.

"No what?" His voice is still rough from sleep, and it's doing things to you. Unfair things.

"No manspreading next to me." You try to sound annoyed instead of affected. "Keep your sweaty balls to yourself."

He squeezes your thigh, just once. Just enough to make you want to throw the mug at him. Or yourself. "My balls aren't sweaty."

"Bet they are.”

"Want to check?"

"You're actually the worst." But you don't move his hand. Why aren't you moving his hand?

"That's not what you said last time."

And fuck him for bringing up last time. Fuck him for smelling like rain and coffee and sleep-warm skin. Fuck him for the way his thumb is drawing absent circles on your thigh, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"Lapse in judgment."

His laugh rumbles through you, too close, too much. "Which time?"

"Pick one."

"I'd rather pick you up."

You turn to tell him exactly where he can shove that line, but it's a mistake. Because he's right there, all heavy-lidded eyes and sleep-soft mouth, and your brain fizzles. His hair is still a mess, curling at his temples, and you want to grab it. Want to find out if it's as soft as it looks. Want to—

"You're staring, Phoenix."

"Untrue."

His fingers flex on your thigh. "Big word for someone who can't stop looking at my mouth."

"I'm not—" But you are. You absolutely are. "Shut up."

"Make me."

Always those two damn words. Always saying ‘make me’, like he knows how it riles you up. Like he likes how it riles you up. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and you can feel his pulse through his fingers on your thigh. Or maybe that's your pulse. Everything feels too hot, too close, too—

"Your coffee's getting cold," you manage, voice embarrassingly breathy.

His smile is slow, knowing. "Yeah?”

His eyes drop to your shorts—the ones you've been wearing all day, the ones that rode up your thighs during your study session. And okay, maybe they're a little too short. Maybe you felt Jimin's concerned glance when you stretched in the library. But it's not your fault the AC in your car is temperamental at best.

"These can't be comfortable after sitting in the library all day," he murmurs, fingers playing with the hem. “Could help you out of them."

"Thought you were tired from your afternoon activities."

"Second wind." His thumb traces the seam where it cuts into your thigh. "Come here."

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring how your body wants to lean into his touch. "I am here."

"No," and his voice drops lower, rougher. "Here." He pats his lap, and the casual confidence of it irritating. Hot. Irritatingly hot. "Unless you're scared."

"Of what? Your ego?"

"Of how bad you want it." His eyes flick to your chest, where your shirt dips just low enough to be interesting. "Been thinking about these shorts all day. Since you drove me to class."

"Didn't realize my driving skills were such a turn on."

"Your driving skills are terrible." His hand slides higher, testing. "But watching you grip the steering wheel..."

You swallow. "That's kind of pathetic."

"Yeah?" His fingers find the spot where your shorts meet skin. "Then why are you breathing so hard?"

"Because you're annoying me."

He laughs, low and dangerous. "Hop on, Phoenix. Let me annoy you properly."

"That's your big move? 'Hop on'?"

“As long as it gets you on top of me...” He smiles now, actually smiles. “I’d say it’s working.”

And fuck him for being right. Fuck him for the way his eyes are all pupil now, for how his skin is still warm, for how he smells like everything you want to taste.

"You're awful," you breathe, but you're already shifting closer.

"Show me how awful."

His fingers hook through your belt loop and suddenly you're being yanked forward with zero warning. The squeak that leaves your mouth is embarrassing.

"Rude," you swat at him, but he catches your wrist easily. His hand is so warm around your cold skin.

"C'mere," he breathes, and before you can process it, you're straddling him. 

His hands slide down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the flesh and pulling you closer until you fall forward, catching yourself with hands on either side of his head.

He hums, the sound vibrating through you where you're pressed against him. And—yeah. Well. That's definitely not his phone in his sweats.

"Ride me?" The way he says it is almost lazy, but his eyes are dark, hungry. That half-lidded look that means tarnation.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Phoenix." His fingers flex on your ass, making you rock against him. "Don't be mean."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how good he feels under you. "Mean?"

"Been hard since I saw you in these fucking shorts this morning." He bites his lip, looking up at you through his lashes. "Just thinking about your thighs spread over my lap like this..."

"That sounds like a you problem."

His laugh is breathless, a little wild. "I’ll make it an us problem."

"Thought you were tired from earlier."

"Different kind of tired." His hands guide you into a slow grind against him. "This is more... inspiration."

"You're actually insane."

"Yeah?" He rocks up, making you gasp. "Feeling pretty sane right now. Feeling like I really want you to—fuck—" 

You'd rolled your hips, just to shut him up. Just to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. But now he's looking at you like you’re his favorite dessert, and his hands are everywhere, and—

"That's it," he breathes, voice gone raspy. "Just like that, come on..."

He guides your hips into another roll, watching you with that hungry, hazy look. His thumbs dig into your hipbones, controlling the pressure, the pace.

"Been thinking about this," he breathes, voice rough. "How you'd look bouncing on my cock. How your tits would—fuck—" You grind down harder, feeling him twitch against you. "Haven't even gotten to see them properly yet."

"Poor you," but your voice shakes when his hands slide up under your shirt, spanning your ribs.

"Poor me," he agrees, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "All I got was that quick fuck against the window. Then you cumming on my tongue." His eyes are dark, pupils blown. "But this? Getting to watch you ride me? See these bounce while you—"

"You talk too much." You're trying for annoyed but it comes out breathy.

"Make me shut up then." His hips snap up. "Come on, Phoenix. Show me how well you can take it, yeah?"

"That's your big plan? Get me all worked up in the living room?"

“Getting worked up anywhere you’ll let me.” His fingers find your nipples through your bra, rolling them until you arch. “Been waiting to get you like this. Spread out on top of me, swallowing me deep in this greedy pussy…”

You let out a breathy laugh, grinding down just to spite him. “Yeah?” Your voice is pure teasing, but the heat is real. “She didn’t wring you out completely?”

His grip tightens on your waist, nails pressing in just enough to make you feel it. “Seems like she didn’t.”

You hum, dragging your hips forward again, slow and deliberate. “Mm. That’s a shame.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips, rough and taunting, but his hands—his fucking hands—are already shoving your shirt up, fingers tracing up your spine before yanking your bra down just enough to expose you. His thumb drags over one nipple, his breath warm against your throat. “You wanna fix that?”

You pretend to consider, rolling your hips again, dragging your pussy right over the thick ridge of him. Fuck. He’s not even inside you, and it’s already so good.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t want to overwork you.”

His laugh is sharp, incredulous. “Nix.” His voice is wrecked—the kind of hoarse, hungry sound that goes straight to your cunt. “You feel what you’re doing to me?” He thrusts up, slow but deep, and you suck in a breath. “Think I’m fucking tired?”

And yeah, okay. He’s still hard as fucking steel beneath you. Still needy. Still looking at you like he’s seconds from losing what little patience he has left.

“It’s these fucking shorts,” he mutters, grabbing a handful of your ass like he wants to leave bruises. “Oh my god, this fucking ass.”

You hold back a laugh, rolling your hips again, enjoying the way his breath stutters. “That easy, huh?”

His hands tighten on you. “You know what you do to me.” His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make you quiver. “S’why you wore these, right?”

You don’t answer, just reach between you to shove down his sweatpants, dragging them low enough to free his cock. And—fuck. He’s so hard it’s almost obscene, thick and flushed and already leaking. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, running a teasing finger up his shaft, watching his stomach tense. “Didn’t even get a full reset, did you?”

His jaw flexes. “No.” A muscle in his cheek jumps as he watches you wrap your hand around him. “The fuck do you expect when you walk around in these little fucking—” His breath hitches when you thumb over the head, smearing the wetness there. “Shit—shorts. The second I saw you, I knew—”

“You knew what?” You press the question into his skin, lips just beneath his jaw, hand still working him slow.

His grip on your ass tightens, grounding, punishing. “Knew I was gonna end up inside you tonight.”

And fuck. That sends a fresh wave of heat through you, has your thighs squeezing around him. Because yeah, okay, maybe you had the same thought the second you walked in and saw him standing there in nothing but those damn sweatpants.

But there’s still one thing gnawing at you. One thing that makes your brain fight for a fraction of control through the heat.

“Did you use condoms?”

His head snaps up, brow furrowing like you just asked if water is wet. “Of course I did. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

You exhale, relief flooding through you faster than the heat pooling low in your stomach. 

“Okay, fuck. Okay.” You swallow. “Where are they?”

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—instead of answering, he grabs your tits. Both hands, rough and impatient, unclasping you bra like it personally offended him.

“Jesus—wait—” You barely manage to lift your arms before he’s yanking it over your head, flinging it somewhere behind him.

“You on the pill?” he murmurs, barely pausing his focus on your tits.

“No.” You don’t even hesitate.

And to his credit, he doesn’t either. “Okay. Condoms it is.”

Respectful. A menace, but respectful.

You barely have time to process that before his fingers are pressing into the small of your back, guiding you forward, making you press flush against him as he leans toward the coffee table.

And you—because apparently you’re both equally insane—just let him.

His other hand reaches forward, jerking open the small drawer in the coffee table, fishing out a foil packet with practiced ease.

“You keep condoms in the living room?”

Jungkook doesn’t even blink. “Yeah. Just in case.”

“In case?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t you fuck in your room like normal people?”

“Yeah?” He grabs the foil packet, tossing it onto the couch beside him before his hands are right back on your waist, thumbs sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “But, y’know… just in case you wanted it.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Me?”

“You, Phoenix.” He squeezes your hips like he’s grounding himself, like he has to touch you while he says it. “I usually fuck in my room. But you and me—we already did it against the window, so I figured…” He shrugs, casual as ever. “Might as well be prepared.”

“I—” You blink, processing, trying to form actual thoughts. “That’s crazy.”

He shrugs, so fucking nonchalant it’s unfair. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Think about it.” His mouth curls, eyes flicking from your mouth to your bare chest and back again. “Imagine I had to stop and go all the way to my room right now.” He pauses, letting the implication settle. “Wouldn’t that just kill the mood?”

And okay. You do snort at that.

Because this is ridiculous.

Because this is actually thoughtful.

Because he’s still hard as a rock under you, talking about condom logistics while casually groping your ass, like he’s planning for a fire drill and not fucking you senseless on the couch.

“No, like. You’re a complete nut case,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Quick access,” he corrects, and then—fuck.

His mouth is on your tits again.

No hesitation, no teasing buildup, just his tongue dragging over one nipple, warm and slick before closing his lips around it.

Your breath catches, fingers twitching where they brace on his shoulders. “Jesus—”

He hums against your skin, like this is just an extension of the conversation. Like he can talk about fucking you and have his tongue on your tits in the same breath.

And then, because he’s Jungkook and apparently completely fucking obsessed with your chest, he moves to the other one, sucking deep and slow, like he’s savoring it.

“Can’t help it,” he mutters against you, voice rough. “Tits too fucking perfect.”

Which—okay. You shouldn’t preen at that, but his mouth is so fucking warm, and his hands are so fucking big—

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and his breath stutters.

And then he’s leaning back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, pupils blown. “You gonna let me fuck you cowgirl now, or you wanna keep pretending we’re still talking?”

You poke at his dick playfully, watching with satisfaction as it twitches immediately.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking up to yours, but he doesn’t say a word. Just watches—completely absorbed—as you pluck the condom from the side and roll it down over him, slow and deliberate.

His jaw flexes, lips parting slightly, and when you glance up, you catch it—his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice all low and wrecked.

You smirk, dragging your fingers back up his shaft just because you can, because you like making him twitch, like how he watches you like he’s seconds from losing his mind.

His hands are already on your thighs when you lift up, finally removing those tiny ass shorts—but when your fingers hook into your panties, he stops you.

“Keep them.”

You blink, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” His hands skim up, palms rough against your bare skin. “They’re red and lacy and fucking beautiful—” His voice breaks off into a sharp exhale as he shifts under you, cock nudging against the damp lace between your legs. “Just shove them to the side and let me fuck you like this.”

Heat licks down your spine, and fuck, maybe it is kind of hot—his voice raw, gaze locked where you’re already so wet for him.

“Yeah?” You drag the fabric aside, slow and teasing, letting him see what he’s about to have. “You want me to ride you like this?”

“Nix.” His voice is all smoke and gravel. “Fucking sit on it.”

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders.

And then, in one swift motion, you sink down onto him.

“Fuck—”

Jungkook shudders, breath breaking apart as he bottoms out inside you, hands clamping down on your hips so hard it’s murderous. His fingers dig deep into your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to slam you down harder, deeper, but he doesn’t—he just grips, holds, feels.

And fucking watches.

Because this—this—is his favorite.

The way you stretch around him, the way he can see it, can watch himself disappear inside you from this angle. The lace of your panties bunched to the side, the way your slick coats his cock, the slow, obscene drag as he throbs inside you.

His jaw clenches, his head falling back, but his eyes stay locked on where your bodies meet. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You suck in a breath, thighs trembling slightly, trying to adjust to the stretch, the pressure, the way he fills you completely. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle shift beneath your palms as he groans deep in his throat.

“You feel that, Nix?” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Feel how deep you’re taking me?”

You bite your lip, trying not to squirm at the way that sounds coming from him, the way his cock pulses inside you like he can feel every little squeeze.

His grip on your hips flexes. “Come on, let me hear you.”

You swallow hard, already feeling too fucking warm. “I—”

“I what?” His hands slide down, palms rough and greedy as they find your ass, grabbing handfuls, spreading you just to push inside you deeper. “Fuck, Phoenix, you feel so fucking good.”

Your thighs twitch, heat licking up your spine, and okay—okay, maybe that makes something inside you tighten. The way he wants you to feel it. The way he sounds like he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you. Sitting so fucking pretty on my cock like this.”

Your breath stutters.

“Fuck—” His fingers flex again, grip punishing, possessive. “Knew you’d look good like this. In this position. Been dreaming ‘bout it.”

You exhale shakily, pressing your palms harder against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your hands.

“Yeah?” The word slips out before you can stop it, quiet, breathless, barely more than an exhale. 

And then, even as much as you convince yourself you hate dirty talk—his dirty talk—how you tell yourself it’s cringe… You find yourself engaging. You find yourself slipping. 

“You wanted me in this position, Ro? Riding you?”

And Jungkook? He fucking relishes on it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, dark eyes flicking up to yours, mouth curling slow, dirty. “Getting bold on me, Phee?”

Heat rushes up your throat, your pulse pounding, but you don’t look away. You can’t—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with how deep he is inside you.

“God,” he groans, hands gripping your ass again, spreading you wider just to watch himself sink into you even more. “You should see how you look right now.”

His voice is wrecked—half-growl, half-moan—and you have to fight the way your thighs want to squeeze around him, hold him there.

But he notices.

And grins.

“Fucking knew it,” he mutters, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like hearing it, don’t you?”

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers twitching on his chest. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He tilts his head, thumbs digging into your skin, grounding, teasing. “Think I finally got you to like it.”

And fuck—fuck—you can’t even argue, because his cock twitches inside you and your whole body reacts, a shiver running up your spine.

His smirk widens. “See?”

You exhale sharply. “Rogue.”

“Phoenix.” His hands tighten again, his voice a slow, taunting drawl. “C’mon, yeah? Ride me.”

Your thighs flex as you lift yourself up, the slow drag of him leaving you just enough to make you whimper, then you sink back down, faster this time, harder.

Jungkook’s jaw goes slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s barely holding himself together. “Christ—”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You move again, rising and dropping, setting a pace that has his breath coming out in ragged exhales, his nails biting into your skin. Every inch of him stretches you open, fills you up, makes your stomach coil tighter and tighter.

And then—

His right hand moves.

Fingers slipping lower, rough against your skin, then lower, lower—

Until he’s spreading you.

His fingers part your folds, stretching you open wider just so he can watch himself disappear inside you.

“For fuck’s sake Ro—”

“Shit,” he exhales, low and wrecked, eyes locked on where his cock is sliding in and out of you, the obscene wetness coating both of you. “Look at that. Fucking dripping for me, Phoenix. Can’t help it.”

Your thighs shake, breath shuddering, and you want to tell him to shut the fuck up—but you can’t, because you may not see it, but you feel it. The way your body takes him, how slick and messy it is, how deep he’s buried every time you drop back down.

It’s filthy. He’s filthy.

“You’re so nasty,” you gasp, nails digging into his chest for balance.

He laughs, dark and smug. “And you fucking love it.”

Before you can snap back, he finally—finally—looks up at you.

And his breath stutters.

Because, of course, in this position, your tits are bouncing.

His pupils blow wide, throat working through a hard swallow, and then—his hands fly up immediately.

Grabbing. Palming. Squeezing.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking apart, gaze flicking between your tits and your face like he doesn’t know where to look first. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging in, and then—his head falls back. His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, breath coming in sharp, desperate pants.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, voice wrecked, low and so needy you almost mewl, because you’ve never heard him like that. “Gonna cum so fucking bad—”

Your rhythm stutters. “Don’t you dare finish before me.”

“Fucking—” He grunts, muscles tensing beneath you as his hands clamp down harder, like he’s fighting it, trying to hold on, but— “Oh my fucking god, Phoenix—”

You can feel him struggling—his thighs trembling beneath you, abs flexing tight, his cock twitching inside you, buried so deep.

“How the fffffuck—” his breath shudders, “do you expect me—Jesus Christ—to hold b-back when your tits—god—”

His hands are everywhere—palming, grabbing, fucking worshiping your chest like he’s possessed—and then his mouth is there again, latching onto your right tit, tongue flicking over your nipple, sucking deep and wet.

“Shit,” you whimper, back arching.

“Fuck—fuck—” 

He suddenly leans back, dragging you down hard onto his cock as he thrusts up to meet you, hips snapping with short, frantic rolls.

Your breath shatters, thighs burning, your whole body jolting with every desperate slam of his hips. 

And his eyes.

Jesus.

His eyes are locked on you, wide and hungry, flicking between your parted lips and your chest.

And then—

“Grab ‘em,” he pants, voice rough, ruined. “Fuck—grab those titties for me, Phee.”

Your stomach flips.

“Grab’em while you ride me—” His breath catches, his abs flexing. “Fucking—God, I need to see it—”

Heat floods your spine, your pulse pounding as you do what he says—palms sliding up, gripping the soft weight of your tits, squeezing just enough to lift, to move, to give him exactly what he wants.

And his reaction—

“Jesus fucking—” His head falls back hard against the couch before snapping back up, completely fucking wrecked. “Oh my god—look at them—look at you—fuck, fuck—”

His fingers dig into your hips, forcing you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you as he thrusts up, trying to get deeper, trying to burn this into his brain.

“Oh god, oh god, Phoenix— I swear to fucking God—” His hands slide down, gripping your ass. “Fucking dripping— so messy for me—”

His voice breaks on a groan, hips slamming up, chasing it, his body seizing up as he loses it.

“Shit—shit—I’m—oh my god—fuck—I’m cumming—”

And then—he snaps.

His grip on your waist locks, his whole body tensing beneath you, and his head tips back, mouth falling open as he moans—a deep, raw sound from the bottom of his fucking chest.

He creams inside the condom, hips jerking up in short, shallow thrusts, pulsing thick and hot as he spills into it.

His hands shake as they guide your hips down, grinding you onto him, milking every last drop, needing to feel every second of it.

And you—

You’re about to sigh, about to roll your eyes, because seriously? He just came? You haven’t even—

But before the frustration can even fully settle, he moves.

One second, he’s slumped against the couch, breathless, spent. 

The next—he’s flipping you onto your back.

Your gasp barely leaves your lips before his hands are on your thighs, gripping, spreading you open like it’s his fucking right, pushing your knees toward your chest.

And then—no hesitation.

No questions asked, no smug teasing, no half-assed effort—just his fingers shoving your panties back to the side, replacing his cock with two thick fingers, burying them inside you like he already fucking knows you can taste it.

Your breath shatters. “Jesus—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, focused, dark eyes locked on your pussy as his fingers curl, stretching you open, pressing deep. “Not leaving you hanging.”

And fuck—fuck—his thumb.

Right there, dragging over your clit, pressing just right with slow, deliberate circles.

Your thighs twitch, your hands clenching in the couch cushions as your body jolts from the sudden shock of pleasure. “Oh—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groans, gaze flicking up to watch your face, your wrecked fucking expression as he fingers you open. “Gimme that pretty little shake—know you’re close.”

You barely process your own whimper before he’s pressing in harder, thrusting his fingers faster, his thumb working you like he owns your orgasm.

“You think I’d leave you like that?” His voice is low, hushed, wrecked, pressing filthy into the space between you. “Think I’d fucking cum and not make you lose your mind, too?”

“Ro—”

“Nah, Phoenix.” His fingers drive into you, slick and obscene, thumb relentless. “You’re gonna cum all over my hand—” he leans in, breath warm against your throat, “and I’m gonna watch every fucking second of it.”

His fingers pump into you, wet and filthy, every slick thrust echoing between you. And god, the sounds are just so fucking obscene it makes you want to die a little.

“Come on, give it to me, Phee,” Jungkook rasps.

You can barely breathe. His thumb keeps dragging over your clit in these slow, devastating circles, the pressure just right, and your whole body is trembling, your thighs twitching where he holds them open.

“Listen to that,” he groans, gaze flicking down, mesmerized. “So fucking wet for me. Making a mess all over my hand.”

And then his mouth is on you again.

He latches onto your tit, sucking deep, tongue flicking over your nipple before pulling off just to groan against your skin. 

“God, your vanilla shit Phoenix. Makes you taste so good. Could suck on these all fucking day—”

“Jungkook—”

“Yeah? You gonna cum?” 

Your back arches, hands flying to grip his arms because—fuck—fuck. The pressure is too much, his fingers so deep, his mouth so hot, and you’re right there—right fucking there—

“That’s it,” he groans, hand drenched, your walls pulsing around his fingers. “Come on, give it to me.”

And then—

It hits.

Pleasure rips through you, fast and all-consuming.

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—just groans, watching you fall apart.

“Mm, yeah that’s it,” he mutters, fixated on the way you shake, the way your pussy flutters around his fingers, soaking his palm. “So fucking good, huh?”

His name slips out in a wrecked, shattered moan, and he loves it, enjoying every sound, drinking in every twitch and tremble.

He finally slows his movements as you shudder through the aftershocks, his fingers still deep, thumb pressing lazy circles to wring out every last second of it.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice a little breathless, and when you manage to blink down at him, he’s staring at his own hand—glistening, messy, coated in you.

His throat works.

And then—his eyes flick back to yours.

And he fucking grins.

Jungkook collapses on top of you.

Full weight. No warning. Just dead fucking weight pressing you into the couch, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Oh my—get off!” You yelp, struggling beneath him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Nnngghh,” he groans into your neck, voice muffled, completely ignoring you. “Shut the fuck up and let me rest for five minutes.”

You blink up at the ceiling, absolutely fucking done. “Weren’t you sleeping, like, thirty minutes ago?”

“Your point?” His breath is warm against your skin, his body solid and heavy, still way too fucking hot from everything that just happened.

“My point,” you grumble, wiggling under him, “is that you’ve done literally nothing today except nut and nap, so why are you tired?”

“Because,” he mutters, arms tightening around your waist, “I’m a growing boy.”

You snort, smacking his bare back. “You’re a menace.”

He just hums, pressing his face into your neck like he’s about to fall asleep right there, and for a second, you let it happen—just breathing, the two of you still wrecked, bodies cooling down, silence stretching.

But then—

“Oh, shit—”

Jungkook jumps, suddenly wide awake, jolting upright so fast he nearly knocks you off the couch.

You blink up at him, still catching your breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Wait—” He leans over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes huge and excited. “Do you have any toys?”

You stare at him. “What?”

“Toys,” he repeats, fully invested now. “Sex toys, Nix. I didn’t even think about it, but—fuck—I could’ve made you finish with one.”

You blink again, brain scrambling to catch up. “No?”

His brows furrow. “Why not?”

“Why would I—” You sit up slightly, pushing at his chest. “Do I look like I came here with a full-ass sex kit?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, genuinely baffled, “don’t you girls have dildos and shit?”

“Oh my fucking—” You shove his shoulder. “Do you really think when I was packing my shit to move in, I was like, ‘mmm, yeah, definitely need to bring my dildo’?”

His eyes narrow. “So you had one?”

“No—”

“So you’ve never had one?”

“No, Ro, my parents would’ve killed me.”

He pauses, frowning like he’s actually considering that for a second. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation—

“Okay, then we’re going toy shopping.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, no, fuck that.” He waves a hand, like this is a done deal, like you don’t even get a say. “You’re getting something. I refuse to believe you’ve gone your whole life without at least a vibrator. That’s a crime.”

“A crime?”

“Yes.” His face is serious, like this is a personal offense to him. “You deserve to cum even when I’m not here.”

“I don’t need you to cum.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Oh my fucking—” You drop your head back against the couch, groaning. “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m being a good friend.” He grins, smug as hell. “And an amazing fuck buddy.”

“We are not friends.”

He blinks. “What?”

“We’re not friends.” You cross your arms, looking him dead in the eye. “Fuck buddies. No friends.”

Jungkook gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you just deeply wounded him. “That hurts.”

“You’ll live.”

“Aren’t we, like, friends with benefits or something?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies. No friends. Just the benefits.”

“That’s the stupidest logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Coming from Mr. Stupid himself? Woah.”

“Pft. Right.” He stretches, cracking his neck, still grinning like an idiot. “Then we’re going this weekend.”

“To what?”

“Buy you a vibrator.”

“Fuck you.”

“Bet.”

You swat at him, grin still on his face and all. 

next | index

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@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw @mar-lo-pap

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[djarins-cyare]

Writer’s Tag Game: 5 Things You’ll Find In My Fics

Thanks for tagging me @burntheedges and @ace-turned-confused 💚💙 This was deceptively hard! I’ve settled on these 5…

Soft-dom Din I know I’m totally giving myself away, but the way that this man(dalorian) can be simultaneously so strong and fierce yet so polite and respectful… it’s the dream (well, mine, anyway) of Consent King absolutely railing you while praising you throughout and taking care of you afterwards. So it goes in all the fics.

Mature slow-burn relationship I’m a sucker for the pining, the yearning, the little touches and fleeting looks, the rush of adrenaline from crossing a line, the over-analysis of innocent gestures and comments… and the moment when it finally happens and you and your blorbo give in to the inevitable. By ‘mature’, I mean it burns slowly not because they’re idiots who don’t know how to recognise attraction (well, there’s a little of that), but because they have valid grown-up hurdles to overcome before they can let themselves be together. I find that sort of characterisation fascinating to explore.

An insane word count Yeah, I’m loquacious. Sue me.

(UK) Publishing house-level grammar I’d like to say this is because of my English degree and the fact I did semi-professional proofreading for a published author, but really it’s because I consider language and grammar an area of expertise, and I’d be mortified if I screwed something up. I think I would feel sick if I posted something I hadn’t proofread and edited the absolute fuck out of – like I’d posted nudes or something! And yeah, I’m British. Sorry.

Happy endings Not the smutty kind. Well actually, yes, those too, but mostly in that I can’t leave my characters suffering when I close the book/tab, so even if there’s angst, I have to resolve it. Fanfic is the place I seek the sort of conclusive positivity that doesn’t exist in real life, so I’ll always indulge in a happy (or at least hopeful) ending.

Some taggies, no presh (and sorry if you've already done this!) 💚💙:

@604to647 @almostfoxglove @amywritesthings @bitchesuntitled @cas-readsandwrites

@desert-fern @din-cognito @djarinmuse @everybodylovedcontractors @evolnoomym

@for-a-longlongtime @ishabull @javierpena-inatacvest @jennaispunk @joelalorian

@lady-bess @magpiepills @mermaidgirl30 @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @nerdieforpedro

@pedgito @quinnnfabrgay-writes @sawymredfox @sixhours @syd-djarin

@the-mandawhor1an @thundermartini @wannab-urs @whocaresstillthelouvre @yopossum

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Imagine Hydra coming back after Bucky’s adopted daughter when she is walking home from school (Bucky definitely told her NOT to walk home, that he or another Avenger would pick her up because of the risk, but she walked home to the Avengers HQ anyway)

Not Worth The Risk » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Dad/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Adopted Teen Daughter!Reader with the Avengers

Summary: Bucky tells you not to walk home from school cause it’s a risk, but you do it anyway and you quickly learn why it’s a risk to walk home.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, language, HYDRA, crying, nicknames

Age of reader: 15 years old

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

A/N #2: This is different from what I normally write so I decided to give it a try. Enjoy!

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

“Y/N, hurry up or you’ll be late for school.” Bucky says, walking in your bedroom.

“I’m ready.” You say as you finished tying your shoes.

You grabbed your backpack and slung it over your shoulder, following your dad out to the car.

“Dad, can I walk home from school today?” You asked.

“No.” Bucky answers, opening the car door.

“Why not?” You asked. “Some of my friends are walking home.” You say.

“I’m not your friends’ dad. I’m your dad and I told you, no.” He says.

You huffed and got in the car. Bucky got in the car and started it.

“Can you at least tell me why?” You asked.

“It’s too much of a risk.” He says.

“How’s walking home from school a risk?” You asked.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you, doll.” He says.

“Oh ok.” You say quietly.

Bucky pulled up to the school. You grabbed your backpack and got out of the car. He rolled down the window and called out for you.

“Have a good day at school, doll. I love you.” Bucky says.

“I love you too, dad.” You say.

You walked along the sidewalk of the school and went inside. You were greeted by your friends.

“Did you ask your dad if you can walk home from school with us?” Your friend asks.

“He said no. I think I should listen to him.” You say.

“What your dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Another one of your friends say.

You thought about it for a second. You know you shouldn’t be the kid who doesn’t listen to their parents. In a way, your friend is right. What your dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Ok. I’ll walk home with you guys.” You finally say.

The bell rang and everyone went to class. After school, you walked home with your friends. You were about halfway to the Avengers compound when all of your friends went their separate ways to go home. You were the only one left to get home.

You walked down a shady looking street when something didn’t feel right. It felt like someone was watching and following you. It was a gut feeling. Your gut feeling was right. Before you knew it, you were grabbed from behind and a hand with a cloth was put over your mouth. Your screams were muffled by the hand. You tried to fight the person of, but you grew weak and passed out.

“Who’s picking Y/N up from school today?” Bucky asks as he walks in the lounge room.

“Me.” Wanda said as she walked in the room. “She wasn’t there.” She says.

“What do you mean she wasn’t there? Where is she?” He asks.

“The school said she walked home with her friends.” She tells him.

Bucky scoffs and shook his head.

“She knows better not to do that.” Bucky says.

Bucky rubs his hands over his face and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to figure out where you might be.

“Where would she be?” Bucky says more to himself.

“Don’t you have some kind of parent app on your phone that shows you Y/N’s location?” Steve asks.

“Yes I do.” He says.

Bucky got his phone out of pocket and went on the app. Your location popped up within a few seconds. Bucky furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

“Why would she be downtown? She knows not to go down there unless if she’s with one of us.” Bucky says.

“I can get the precise location if you want.” Natasha suggests.

“Do it.” He says.

Natasha got on a computer and looked for your precise location, which took a few minutes.

“Got it.” She said. “It looks like she’s in some kind of lab that’s now abandoned.” She says.

“Why would she be exploring an abandoned lab?” Tony asks.

Bucky’s eyes went wide and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

“HYDRA.” Bucky said. “They have my daughter.” He says.

Bucky felt himself beginning to panic. You not listening to what he said this morning is the last thing on his mind.

“Suit up and get your weapons. Y/N needs our help.” Bucky says.

“Buck, we can’t go there without a plan.” Steve says.

“My plan is to save my daughter from the people who keep trying to ruin my life.” He says. “Are you guys going to help me or not?” He asks.

“We’ll help you.” Steve says.

The Avengers nodded in agreement.

Meanwhile, you woke up in some kind of lab. The room was dimly lit. You looked around the room to gather your surroundings. You looked down, noticing that your arms and legs are tied to a chair.

“What the hell?” You mumbled to yourself, yanking at the ropes.

You got startled when the door opened. A man in a white lab coat walked in the room, along with a few men dressed in all black tactical gear and had guns in their holsters.

“You’re awake!” The man in the lab coat says.

“Where am I?” You asked.

“That’s not important. What’s important is, you know someone who used to work for us.” He says.

You stared at the man in confusion. You had no clue who or what this man is talking about. Then you realized that he was talking about your dad.

“I have no idea who or what you’re talking about.” You say, lying through your teeth.

“Don’t play dumb. You know who and what I’m exactly talking about.” He says.

“What I do know is, my dad is going to be pissed when he finds out you guys kidnapped me.” You say.

All the man did was laugh at what you said.

“Ah yes, your father… the infamous Winter Soldier.” The man approached you and crouched down in front of you. “We know he adopted you a few years ago. So just give him up to us and we’ll set you free.” He says.

“No!” You say.

“Ok, suit yourself.” He stood up. “You guys know what to do.” He says to the HYDRA agents.

The agents nodded. Two of them held you against the chair so you couldn’t move. You watched the man in the lab coat pick up a syringe. Your eyes went eye. As you were about to start panicking, the door was busted down, revealing your dad and Steve. You felt relieved to see them.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Captain America and the infamous Winter Soldier.” The man says.

“Give me my daughter.” Bucky demands.

The man chuckles and puts the syringe down.

“She was never your daughter. I don’t know why you would go through the trouble to save a child who isn’t biologically yours.” He says.

“Shut the fuck up!” Bucky shouts.

Bucky walks over to the man and knocks him out in one punch. That’s when the HYDRA agents held their guns at him. He fought them off with Steve’s help. Then he untied you from the chair.

“Are you ok, doll? Are you injured?” He asks, checking you for any injuries.

“N-No, I’m fine. I’m just a little shaken up.” You say in a shaky voice.

“Let’s get out of here.” Steve says.

You got on the quinjet with your dad and Steve, along with the rest of the Avengers. During the flight back to the compound, you had a feeling that your dad was mad at you for not listening to what he said. You avoided eye contact with him the whole flight.

When you guys got to the compound, everyone exited the quinjet. You made a beeline for your bedroom to avoid a lecture from your dad, but there’s no way you can escape that lecture now.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Bucky asks.

“My room.” You say.

“Not until we talk. Sit down.” He demands, pointing to the lounge room.

You walked in the lounge room and sat down on the couch. Bucky stood in front of you with his hands on his hips.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled.

“I need a better answer than “I don’t know”.” He says.

“My friends talked me into it.” You tell him. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You and uncle Steve walked home from school when you guys were my age.” You say.

“The deal is HYDRA. They weren’t a threat when him and I were teenagers, but they are now.” He said. “I told you multiple times not to walk home from school and to wait for me or one of the Avengers to pick you up.” He says.

You looked down, avoiding eye contact with him. Now, you feel guilt for not listening to him. You didn’t realize it was such a big deal.

“I’m sorry, dad.” You apologized, your eyes tearing up.

You stood up and walked out of the room, going straight to your room. Bucky was about to follow you, but Clint stopped him.

“Let her cool down for a little bit.” Clint says.

Bucky nods and went to the gym to cool down himself. He punched the punching bag for a little bit. You were in your room, laying on your bed and staring at the in front of you. Tears stained your cheeks. You thought about how you didn’t listen to what your dad said. You felt bad and should’ve listened to him. You now realize it wasn’t worth the risk to walk home from school. You got out of bed and went to find your dad to apologize to him again. You walked in the gym to see your dad punching a punching bag.

“Dad?” You say.

Bucky stopped what he was doing and turned around to see you standing a couple feet away from him. He seen tears stained on your cheeks.

“Hey, doll. What’s up?” Bucky asks.

Instead of saying anything, you walked over to him and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I was just curious about what it was like to walk home from school. I shouldn’t have let my friends talk me into it. I promise to listen better and it won’t happen again.” You say, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Doll, look at me please.” Bucky says softly.

You sniffled and looked up at your dad.

“I want you to understand that I’m doing everything in my power to protect you. When I say no to something and when something isn’t worth the risk, that’s me protecting you.” He says.

“I understand, dad.” You replied.

“You’re a good kid and I love you.” He says, kissing your forehead.

“I love you too, dad.” You smiled, hugging him tightly.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[monstersinthecosmos]

kacy i need ur thoughts on marius and dom drop

Oh! My friend! I have several. 🤗

I have a lot to say and I’m not sure how to organize myself so be patient with me. But !

I think a lot about both the in-universe/non-diegetic kink in VC but also Marius’s own admittance that he lies to himself, and what that says about both his role as a dom and what it means, and his ego as a defense mechanism and what it means to his actual level of self-assuredness.

Like the short answer here is like: I LOVE thinking about a soggy Mawwius who feels really bad and goes back to his lair at sunrise feeling like a nervous wreck because there wasn’t enough time for aftercare LOL. I think it ties in really nicely to his hatred of anger/the humiliation around identifying with anger, and I wonder like in a moment of dom drop does it feel too much like he was being an aggressive brute, and does he lose sight of the fact that Amadeo (or whomstever) was into it?

Is he so ashamed of himself that he doesn’t even ALLOW himself aftercare? He takes the shame with him to be alone and punish himself, maybe! :D

WHAT A BARBARIAN!

And like I know I bring this up from time to time but the whole idea of non-diegetic kink/DOYLIST KINK IF YOU WILL, is that it’s kinky to the reader, on purpose, but not necessarily following “good” BDSM rules in the text, right? Like the whipping scenes in TVA are intended to be kink to the reader, but they’re not negotiated. So I wonder like, what does a dom role mean to him if he’s not slipping into it in a traditional/realistic way? If they exist in a world where negotiation isn’t warranted, how much aftercare do they need? And speaking to dom drop—there’s aftercare in both whipping scenes in TVA, but they’re focused on Armand, not Marius.

In some ways that feels appropriate, too, like, I don’t know man! What’s the etiquette when one of you is inhuman and there’s a 1500 year age gap? In real life we’d see BDSM as a consensual roleplay where the sub might want to check in, too, and is just as responsible, but in a situation like this, is it Armand’s job to take care of him after?

That’s the tricky thing about the non-diegetic setup that I’m getting at. As the reader, the EXTREME power imbalance is supposed to be tropey and entertaining and titillating, and it’s interesting trying to tease that out from like, how sincerely we take the actions on the page. (ie: the timeless discourse about whether or not the BDSM in TVA is abuse blah blah). So like, we can chose not to worry about it and write it off as Not That Deep, or we can say like, maybe it wasn’t Amadeo’s fucking job to care for the ancient creature that just beat the shit out of him lmao.

We have to ask, does proper etiquette exist/matter in this universe? (Either answer still works, it’s just like, what are we focusing on for this particular moment, like is it for meta or a fic or what, your mileage may vary). And like on that note, what was the BDSM etiquette in the 1490s, anyway? LOL Like does anyone give a fuck anyway? (This might be an ask for YOU, apoptoses!!!)

So it’s kind of interesting to think about this.

I mean!

Like, Marius can still have dom drop, whether or not Amadeo (or anyone else) cares to aftercare him. And that kinda feels appropriate with the no-rules non negotiated scenes in the first place. It’s appropriately messy if he’s torn up about it and then just goes back to his lair and stews and panics about it. Love that for him lol.

It also occurs to me like, if AMADEO also needs more aftercare, if Marius knows that but has to leave, I wonder how guilty that makes him feel. Like, I remember you and I talked about this LOL because I wrote this into Gallows Bird, that he woke up Riccardo to go sleep with Amadeo so he wouldn’t be alone, and you were gonna write some Riccardo/Amadeo about it!!! Like, how often did that happen?

We can say if there’s no negotiation and shit poor BDSM etiquette in universe, maybe he just left Amadeo to fend for himself at sunrise and that was that LOL and it layers into the extreme way it’s built for the sake of the story and exaggerated for the sake of the reader, but as always, I know that you and me both as fic writers like to think about this stuff on the ground floor because we try to envision more of a 360° view of what these scenes looked like from the inside and I simply have to ask all these questions to develop my understanding !!

And I have to ask how purposeful these scenes & roleplays are within the universe: is he slipping into the dom/disciplinarian role with intention? It asks that question like, what does this person need and how does the BDSM role help them? We can say that Amadeo is a brat, and that by necessity Marius must become a disciplinarian to take care of him. But is that something Marius would choose for himself? For Marius I can only imagine him thriving as a dom in the sense that it feels good to have control, but it’s an odd thing to need to express in the Venice era in particular where he is so very in control anyway. Is his paterfamilias/daddy kink already served just by their 24/7 dynamic and his control of the palazzo, and does he still need to top it off with impact play? There’s so many options here!

Option A is like, he’s basically service domming for Amadeo’s pleasure, and the dom drop is going to come from the idea that he’s so completely self-loathing as a monster!  People give Louis credit for being like the OG Self Loathing Vampire but Marius has him so so beat, imo. God he hates that shit. He has such bad vampire dysphoria constantly, he feels like a monster, he uses his powers sparingly to feel like a person, every time he grows a new strength he’s disgusted by it. He hates the idea of violence and anger!

Option B is that it’s therapeutic for him to exercise these powers with someone who appreciates them? Does it feel nice to indulge in his violent nature for a little while in a space where he knows he’s not hurting anybody for real? And like, for all the ways he has control in Venice – Amadeo will grow up and leave, the boys will leave, Vincenzo will die soon, he cannot keep them, he cannot join society in the way he wants. I think when you break it down, most trauma comes down to “a time I did not have control” and it’s natural for people to want to play with control to unwind, but for Marius in particular, his turning was SO traumatic and fucked up and I think really set the tone for his entire life. Not just being turned against his will but the way it was prolonged, that he did everything he could while he was alive to rebel against Roman society and maintain personal freedom, only to have that taken away for a YEAR! Being held captive is so fucking dehumanizing, and I wonder if he never really got over it.

Option C is that it just genuinely also gets him off and he’s playing with his food because taking little sips from Amadeo for years is giving him insane blue balls lmao

I also would be remiss not to mention my sincerely held belief that Marius is more of a sub on the inside, too, and so roleplaying as a dom or being so stressed that he needs to control SOMETHING is not natural for him. If he rose up to be a dom by necessity here—whether to meet Amadeo’s needs or because he’s become so violent and inhuman and needs to relieve stress—I can definitely see him having dom drop after and struggling to reconcile it when he’s lying awake in his sarcophagus panicking about it.

Everything in Venice is designed to be the exact opposite of his experience in Gaul. He spoils Amadeo with gifts, gives him a beautiful place to live, all the food he wants, wants him to have a worldly education, encourages him to go out and experience the city and meet people and have sex and take advantage of everything the modern world has to offer. And I think he likes that Amadeo sees him as a savior and not a captor. He even knows pretty quickly that he loves Amadeo too much to go through with turning him, anyway, and is willing to let him live.

So it’s interesting to me like, this is actually something I’ve tackled in Sheith fics LOL but like how to overcome trauma in a way that allows you to be violent for fun again, and how to find it cathartic and safe when your instinct is that it isn’t, or when the idea of it feels triggering. We don’t know about Marius having any other relationships like this before Venice, but he’s rejoining society for a while and finding a healthy outlet for his hunger, perhaps.

Especially off the heels of his thing for Bianca and Botticelli, and how he knew he’d kill them if he didn’t distract himself. The entire reason he HAS Amadeo at all is as a plaything and a distraction/rebound, so it’s interesting that controlled violence plays into what they do together, and how Marius loves him.

What’s interesting about it too is that like, again in the sense of it being the actual text—it seems like after both whipping scenes that they both have sort of emotional breakthroughs and can be more honest with each other. We know that Marius is a person who keeps his feelings inside until he explodes, and this is how that looks when he’s with Amadeo. He comes away from it with a sense of catharsis that he needed. No matter how they get here, it does seem like it’s something he needs.

But yeah anyway. This was all over the place LOL but those are some of the angles I consider when I think about this topic. I genuinely can’t imagine a version of Marius where he DOESN’T experience dom drop, honestly, it’s just that I think there’s a very different routes of how we get there. In the end, no matter how intentional the roleplays are, I think he’s going to go isolate himself after and go “what the fuck why did I do that oh my god” and the curse of their interspecies relationship is that he has to leave in the morning and they can’t cuddle their way through it until it feels better.

[guzhufuren]

Hey, I've noticed you've been pretty quiet lately and I hope you're doing okay. I know we're not friends or even mutuals so I'm sorry if I'm overstepping by messaging! I hope the world will treat you kindly and that you can find comfort and support if you need it 💕

hi sweetheart wow this is so genuinely nice and kind of you, thank you so much for caring to the point of reaching out

i'm on the way there! i will be okay, hopefully soon. it's not serious, i just had a medium sized break down after receiving a very negative comment on something i made, in mix with a bit of unrelated loneliness and yearning on top of that, plus many many 4am drowsy what-am-i-doing-with-my-life regretful thoughts that i have had in the last months swimming up. like for my unwellness history it's really only about 6 points on the scale where the maximum is 10, so not big. i turned all social apps off but couldn't shake off the distress caused by that one stranger on the internet being unkind to my project, despite knowing they were misunderstanding and were also not in a state to understand at all, so i was kind of confused about what's up with my brain and why it can't move on

and it was a good choice! because after being only with myself without any internet distractions for the first time in years, figured out in just a day that mood swings have been back for a while, over one month at least (so anger issues weren't totally Yunho's fault actually bless him), some other parts of mental health worsened too

got a grip on myself, went to my doctor, got back on meds, now i'm sleepy every minute of waking hours while my body is getting used to them again, but it's gonna be fine. received advice on how to write a mood log, turns out very helpful as additional treatment to keep hypomania and anxiety under control. i even started working out, doing memory exercises and preparing my exam notes tentatively, which is so hard and scary, oh my god, but i must. job search is even scarier but i'm working myself up to finding a good one with little, very very very very tiny steps but they are moving

in the first day of self made quarantine i rewatched the queer korean show Love for Love's Sake that cured me from depression for a while and from any possibility of suicidality for a lifetime last year. it didn't work the trick again, because i'm really not living in the best or even just calm psychological environment to let it do its magical healing thing the way it should, but it did give me new clarity and make me intensely cry some shit out, so that was also very nice

accidentally found the best fic ever and it brought me so much very needed comfort in the past week. it's sweet, funny and stress free. like a warm blanket. or a cup of vanilla cocoa that makes your cold toes tingle in winter. or a hug from the love of your life. first atz and woosan fic to enter my hall of all time longfic favourites. very rare honor but it deserves it completely

also found a bunch of bloggers who post videos of the ocean in Thailand, some even stream the beach 24/7. it's so cool, i watch it in the evenings for short periods of time. helps making it bearable to just survive here a little bit longer until i am able leave

i sort of of really like that when i don't spend 12 hours a day on the phone doing mind-numbing scrolling or posting, there is so much free time to do cool stuff? i have kinda felt like i can be back on here for a couple of days, but i still freak out a bit for two reasons. first, that bad comment is still hanging there and it still makes me too upset to open notifications or my own blog page, which is ridiculous but that's how my dumbass unwell-brain-made feelings are. so i will see how that goes away and i get over it like an adult. second, i'm scared to be sucked back in the addiction to the colourful little hellsite app so i usually end up throwing the phone away in panic after 5 minutes of the app being open. maybe i will work up to it more gradually, don't know, let's see how that goes too

thank you again my little treasure, i will happily take that kindness and comfort you offered here as you are a part of the world. and you can message without worrying anytime, no mutualship or officially labelled friendship necessary. i'm very cool with small amount of interactions, just not big on chatting online one on one for long and don't enjoy it super much. and also with how often i see you around we are considered friends for sure. so thank you again for being so sweet i really am so grateful to you for this, one hundred friend hugs in return

[angofwords]

How many works do you have on AO3? 44 on AO3. I have some older stuff on ff.net and other places, but I've never brought them over.

What's your total AO3 word count? 574,585

Your Top 5 stories by kudos

A Farewell to Arms: Banana Fish - My one and only fix-it fic, where Ash finds a way to cheat death, but nothing goes quite the way he planned. (2,861 kudos)

In the Closet: Banana Fish - A sexy little first-time romp in the darkroom that Eiji set up in the fancy apartment. (1,474 kudos)

Wishful Thinking: Banana Fish - A misunderstanding causes Ash to reveal far too much about what he's willing to give Eiji. (1,010 kudos)

Bound to You: Lord of the Rings - Wherein Legolas and Gimli go from enemies to lovers to soulmates. (930 kudos)

The Landscape Was the Same on Both Sides: Banana Fish - Ash is upset because Eiji seems to be avoiding his touch. Then he finds out why. (876 kudos)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I love comments. I haven't always responded to all of them--there were periods when my kid was little, especially, when my actions didn't meet my intentions, but nowadays I respond to all of them. I consider fanfiction as my way of engaging with the fandom, with the people who love the same stuff I love, so when someone reaches out to me, that's my best opportunity to connect. I've made a lot of friends in the comments of fanfics. <3

Do you write crossovers?

Not really. I don't read them, either.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, but not often. I love a good romance and even a bit of a build up of tension and kissing and touching, but more often than not, I leave the real smut to the imagination. A notable exception is:

I Get By (With a Little Help From My Friends): Lord of the Rings - Legolas and Gimli seduce Aragorn as a way to distract him from his troubles. (This is the fic I hope my LOTR-loving mom NEVER finds!)

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of? I'd like to think that someone would let me know if that happened.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I've had a lot of people ask/offer to translate them, but a handful have really been done. I'm super grateful that these lovely people did the work:

Прощай, оружие: a Russian translation (by Fuyu_no_Mafuyu) of A Farewell to Arms

Stars: a Russian translation (by rootofallevil) of Stars

In the Closet: a Mandarin translation (by Voltsliart) of In the Closet

Последняя ошибка: A Russian translation (by Fuyu_no_Mayfuyu) of His Last Mistake

Комета Эша: A Russian translation (by Fuyu_no_Mayfuyu) of Ash's Comet

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I started out in fanfiction by collaborating with my sister on Little Women fanfics that never saw the light of day, and yes, we've also collaborated on a few other stories, too. Namely, a series of Legolas/Gimli fics that are all in the same universe:

The Second Breakfast Club: Lord of the Rings - A high school AU where the fellowship come together in a series of Saturday detention sessions. Co-written by lisafer

Closer: Lord of the Rings - Legolas and Gimli explore their brand new relationship in a way fairly typical of teenagers. Co-written by lisafer

St. Aule's Fire: Lord of the Rings - When Legolas and Gimli move in together, they quickly realize that love isn't enough to keep a relationship strong. Co-written by lisafer

What's your all time favorite ship?

My husband jokes that AshEiji is the primary relationship in my life. I've shipped those two for over 20 years and I don't see any other ship coming anywhere close, honestly.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but probably never will?

I started a novel about Eowyn from Lord of the Rings. I really want to finish it, but I need to learn how to write in a way that works. Right now it's okay, but I need it to sing. The first few chapters are on AO3:

Untouched: Lord of the Rings - the events of the War of the Ring from the point of view of Eowyn of Rohan.

What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I'm good at characterization, dialogue, and conveying emotions. I think I'm good with word choice and adding rhythm to my prose.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm slow. Part of it is that I'm meticulous--I've never learned to draft, so I can't move on from a sentence or a scene until it feels exactly the way I want it to. That has derailed many, many fics over the years. Also, I'm not great with strong endings. I'm working to improve that.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet, but want to?

I have SuperBat in my head and heart, but I'm far too scared to write it. I don't know if I can do that ship justice.

What's your favorite fic that you've written?

This is a difficult question, because I tend to love the stuff I've written most recently. But I really like these:

Just Say Yes: Banana Fish - This is an extreme canon-divergence, where Eiji doesn't get to New York until five years after the events of Banana Fish. He's an Olympic medalist in a bit of an identity crisis and ends up in fake marriage to Ash Lynx to get a green card.

Dear Boss (A Confession): Banana Fish - Ash gets a letter from Alex, his second in command, who feels obligated to confess a secret that might get him killed.

The Undying: Lord of the Rings - Gimli helps Legolas finally build the boat that takes him far from Middle Earth.

Triptych: Banana Fish - My one and only exploration of Shorter/Ash/Eiji

Shades of Light: Gundam Wing - Quatre and Heero deal with their shared grief after Trowa is killed on a mission. (This is VERY old and I've outgrown the writing style, but I still love it!)

I tag @localvampirebitch @gioia-writes-and-others @lisafer @roselightfairy