#the words fired and let you go were not used

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

People seem to forget that “cult” doesn’t always mean “religious group.���

The word cult, as it is used in modern psychology, refers to the maladaptive behavior patterns within a group of people. Another word for cult is high control group. The terms brainwashing and mind control are often used to describe what happens within cults, but this term is often sensationalized by popular media to the point of having lost its original meaning.

So as to humanize former cultists, let’s look at subscribing to a group in the sense of a romantic partnership.

One person may have an extremely loving partner who respects their boundaries and helps them grow as an individual without imposing many elaborate rules or rituals. If one wants to separate from the other, neither will use force to prevent the other from leaving.

Another partnership may be sub-dom, where one enjoys being controlled by the other in certain ways. Even though the dominant one has control, it only appears in the situations the subordinate one agreed for it to appear in. Both sides agreed to the rules in place and have developed a safe word either one can use without shame or consequence if they ever become uncomfortable. There are also no punishments for the termination of the relationship. Not everyone is into the sub-dom thing so some more sensitive types may think this kind of relationship is abusive when it isn’t.

Then there are relationships where the type of control exerted may (in certain features) resemble or mimic something like a sub-dom relationship, except for the fact that the subordinate person did not consent to be subordinate, or was manipulated into it like a frog in boiling water. This domineering behavior is only enjoyable to the tyrant and bleeds through into all areas of life instead of only being practiced in a controlled setting. There may be no option to exit the relationship, or one which the victim gets shamed into not using, or one which will get them punished if they do use it. This is abusive, but sometimes so sneaky that it may appear normal to the untrained eye.

And then there are the types of relationships which continue to boil the proverbial frog past the point of emotional and mental abuse, escalating to extreme and regular physical violence, sexual violence, torture, or even murder.

As you can see, cultiness is a spectrum. And, as we’ve seen very recently in the exposé on Neil Gaiman, an individual can also take something which was meant to be consensual and feel good, and twist it into something downright evil. So, whether or not a religion or secular group of people is a cult can depend on the individual practicing it. In the lens of Muslims and Christians: some are chill; others are control freaks… it depends on what sect they’re a part of, how lovingly they interpret their holy book, and their motivations for being part of their religion which make it a cult or not.

Even if the religion as a whole only has one sect and is absolutely, positively, undeniably a cult all the way around, no matter what angle you’re looking at it from, the person practicing it may be way more lax with it than they are necessarily allowed to be. Some Jehovah’s Witnesses are allowed to do extracurriculars and go to college and do things on their own with worldly friends; others are exclusively homeschooled, practically never leave the house, get beaten for disobedience, and have trackers installed on every device.

Now, none of this means that people who joined or were raised with a more liberal type of religion can tell ex-members who were raised in a cult environment in under the same beliefs that they didn’t try hard enough. One would not tell someone with trauma triggered by fire to sit by a campfire because it’s “fun.” So don’t tell cult survivors to return to something that reminds them of what hurt them.

I don't know what atheist needs to hear this but when someone tells you they're a cult survivor, telling them that all religions are cults is both untrue and unhelpful 😌💕

[moonstruckme]

you rang for steve requests!!!

you write him so soft and boyish and nice, i've been wanting to request something and i just got an idea!

maybe some hurt comfort about reader coming to the starcourt parking lot to pick up steve (and robin and dustin) as soon as they hear abt the fire? or the emts asking steve who they should call and he just says rs phone number, and then like a "you came" "you called" moment?

I did ring, thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: season 3 canon events, reader is in the dark but won't be for much longer, mentions of physical injury, fire, suspicious governement folks covering shit up as suspicious government folks do

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 868 words

Your throat is impossibly dry the whole drive to the mall. Dry, and tight, like you couldn’t swallow if you tried. The parking lot is filled with everything from firetrucks to military helicopters, which you won’t think to wonder about until later. You’re scanning the smattering of people for Steve before you’re even out of the car. 

You don’t actually remember parking. Or pulling your keys from the ignition, or opening your door. The next thing you know you’re breathing in smoke and bumping shoulders with firefighters, your focus narrowed on the back of an ambulance. 

“Steve?” 

Your voice is hoarse, but he looks up like he can sense you. You see his lips form your name, brow bunching in that cute way of his. You start running. 

“Steve!” 

“Hey, hi.” He stands from the chassis of the ambulance, rocking back a little when he catches you. You hug him fiercely. “What’re you doing here?” 

He smells like smoke and oddly like iron, his skin damp with sweat. You don’t care; you curl your face into his neck. “I saw the fire on the news.”

“So you…drove towards it?” 

“I knew you were here!” You pull away from him, suddenly furious. “Why do you always have to work on your stupid project at night?” Steve’s been up to something lately. He won’t tell you about it, but you know it involves Robin and Dustin and something to do with translation. Steve says it’s not important but he acts like it is, and he’s been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the whole thing. “Where’s Robin? Is she—” 

“She’s fine, she’s over there.” Steve juts his chin to the right. Through the smoke and chaos, you can just make out her familiar silhouette. She’s standing with a couple of kids about Dustin’s age. 

You let out a breath that turns into a shiver, and Steve cups your arms, rubbing up and down almost thoughtlessly. It melts down your anger into something wetter. When you look at him again, your voice is rough. 

“What happened to you?” 

“I’m fine, honey.” 

“Steve, your face.” 

He touches it, as though the tableau of black and purple bruises had slipped his mind. It’s hard to tell if his wince is from pain or remorse. “Right, yeah. Um…” 

“Mr. Harrington.” A voice comes from behind you, brusque and tired-sounding. You press closer to Steve instinctively, protective, but Steve’s face lights with recognition. 

“Oh. Hey, Doc.” 

You turn, too surprised to do much for covering your bemusement. Why would a doctor be wearing military gear like this, and be followed by a soldier carrying a gun? 

“Can we speak to you for a minute?” 

“Sure,” Steve says, but you talk over him. 

“No.” 

The man—Doc, whoever he is—looks at you as though just noticing you’re there. You steel yourself, but his gaze is more kind than hostile. Sympathetic, even. 

Steve squeezes your hip gently. “Y/n—” 

“No.” 

You don’t know what these people want with Steve, but you know you don’t like it. Your instincts are screaming at you not to let him go. To keep him close, preferably forever. 

Steve looks past you. “Can you give us a minute?” 

They go without a fight, seemingly assured in your boyfriend’s ability to placate you. You don’t want to be placated. You feel patronized and pent-up, and you blame that for the stinging tears that invade your vision. You cling to the fabric of Steve’s shirt like a vice. 

“Hey,” he lowers his voice, head dropping to meet your eyes. “It’s fine, they just wanna talk to me.” 

“Why? Can’t it wait? You just got out of a burning building, you—” 

“It won’t take long. They just want me to tell them what happened.” 

“You haven’t even told me what happened.” Your voice tightens and splinters, fist clenching so hard in Steve’s shirt you can feel your own nails through the fabric. Steve grabs your face in a panic. 

“Honey, it’s fine. Okay? It’s fine. I’ll tell you,” he says in a rush, then pauses. Something new comes over his expression, and he drops his forehead to yours. Lets out a breath. “I’ll tell you, I promise. Later, okay? This’ll just take a minute, and then we’ll go back to my place and talk. Alright?” 

You feel silly, sniffling and with tears on your cheeks, but you nod. 

“Okay,” Steve breathes out. His grip on your face gentles, cradling your jaw as he bends to kiss you. 

It’s meant to be a brief, conciliatory kiss, you know, but with all your overwhelm and all Steve has no doubt been through it heats up fast. You’re both gasping when he pulls away, using a thumb to wipe the wetness from your cheeks. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promises you. 

“You better be,” you threaten. You’re really quite serious, but Steve smiles, and naturally the sight of it makes your lips tug too. 

“I will,” he says. “Just, wait here, okay? Right back.” 

You hop up on the ambulance as he goes, making his way through the smoke to where Doc and his armed buddies wait for him by a helicopter. You couldn’t take your eyes off him if you tried.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Epilogue

AN: You can blame Mexico and Onyx Storm for my delay on this one. But for those who are curious, here is our sweet little epilogue for Joel and Freckles. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, shared, and encouraged me while writing this story. I love you, and so does Joel and Freckles. XO

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Five Years Later

“You wanna come,” he practically taunts, “Don’t you, sweet girl?” 

Every muscle in your body is weak, causing the leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross to rub at your wrists and ankles. He’s been teasing you for hours, stopping every time you’re about to shatter. 

This night has been a long while in the making. After five years with your firm you were finally given the lead on a big case; a case that your boss handed to you and said this was your chance to earn your partnership. You spent upwards of eighty to ninety hours a week preparing and Joel could not have been more perfect during that time. He’d often show up with food or coffee for you and your team of junior lawyers, interns, and paralegals. He never complained when you’d bring work home; however, every time you said something negative about yourself, Joel would mark it on the fridge. Over the three and a half weeks of prep work thirty ticks ended up on the small piece of paper that was hung with a Berkeley magnet. You didn’t have time to ask Joel what they meant, and truthfully, you didn’t really care; you trusted that whatever he planned to do with those ticks was for your own good. 

During the trial, another twelve ticks were added. When the verdict was announced and you had won your case, Joel was there in the courtroom, smiling warmly at you when you glanced back at him. When you got home that evening, after a celebratory round or two of cocktails, Joel made you kneel in front of him as he explained that each tick, all forty two of them, symbolized a denied orgasm, a punishment meant to remind you not to talk bad about things that Joel owns. Especially brilliant lawyers who win their first big case and secure themselves as partner.  

As he strapped you to the padded X shaped piece of furniture tonight, he said, ‘if you’re the sweet girl I know you to be, then you won’t whine when I stop. Instead, you’ll say “Thank you, Mister Miller” and I’ll count that as two. Forty two orgasms being denied is not going to be easy, so do yourself a favour and don’t whine; you don’t want to know what happens if you do.’

The only response to his teasing that you can muster now is a whimper and a nod. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Use your words, honey.”

Your voice is almost silent. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He walks behind you, trailing the small vibrator along your skin. “Such a good girl for me tonight. Saying yes to everything. Remind me, how many orgasms have I denied you so far?”

Your pussy throbs with the deep timber of his voice, this is truly torture and your safeword is on the tip of your tongue. “Twenty one,” you mumble.

“Poor, sweet girl,” He says from behind you, leaning in closely to whisper in your ear. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You swallow the dry lump in your throat.

“Should I let you pick how you want to come?”

He completes his circle around you and the crossing, stepping in close to you. He uses the little vibrator to gently tease your nipples. You can barely form a thought and just let a small ‘yes’ mixed with moans leave your lips as your sweat covered back arches off the padded back of the cross. The heat of Joel’s body this close makes you feel like you’re on fire. 

“Want to come on my fingers?” He asks, then easily slips three of them inside of you. Your gaze shoots to his as a strangled cry fills the room. 

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, please.” You feel your pussy tightening around his digits.

“What about my cock? You love being stuffed full of my thick cock while I strum your clit. Don’t you? My perfect little slut.” He teases you further by pumping his fingers forward once, revelling in the feel of you clenching tighter around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues.

“No, I know,” his fingers slip out from your pussy and you gasp, unable to protest in your weakened state. Not that you would protest; you know better than to do that, and he told you not to whine tonight. You are a good girl, you know that what your dom says is best. Plus, you need to come so badly that you think you might actually die if you don’t, and Joel is just sadistic enough to keep you like this for days. 

He gets onto his knees, his warm breath hitting your cunt as he speaks. “What if I put my lips around this swollen little clit? Huh? Suck her into my mouth and drink up every ounce of your cum?”

He uses his thumbs to pull the lips of your pussy further apart. He’s so close that your breath catches in your throat at the promise of relief. He blows cool air along your soaked pussy; you clench your molars together and focus on your breathing. You don’t come until he tells you. 

“Would you like that, my sweet girl?”

The restraints cut at your wrists when you try to push your hips to his mouth. “Yes. Yes. Please, Mister Miller.”

He stands abruptly, hand wrapping around the hair at the nape of your neck before he tugs to bring your gaze up to his. The pull of your hair relaxes the muscles of your neck and upper back and you melt into the padded cross.

His eyes darken as he asks, “You really would say yes to anything, wouldn’t you?” 

“Y-yes. I just need to come. Please.” He releases your hair, stepping back and crossing his arms. The veins on his forearms pop, the sleeves of his rolled black dress shirt tightening under his biceps. Since officially retiring, he’s had a strict exercise regime. He was sexy when you met him almost ten years ago, but like a fine wine, he gets better with each passing year.

The gravel in his voice returns, “But you’d say yes even if I told you we were done for the night and it was time to get dressed. Right?” 

Your eyes clench close, head falling back as the panic of not getting to come tonight races through your mind. You take a calming breath before whispering, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“Eyes on me, sweet girl.” You peel your eyes open and tilt your chin down to look at him. His hands are now buried in his pockets, and there’s a shift in how he’s looking at you, a slight softness to his dark eyes. 

“And what if I asked you to marry me?” His voice is shy and raspy.

He slowly pulls a ring out of his pocket and holds it up for you. A thin, gold band with a single, albeit very large, solitaire diamond on it sends sparkles all around the room. Tears line your lash line, mirroring his. He clears his throat softly.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweet girl. Listen carefully for me,” he pockets the ring and steps closely, wiping the happy tear that rolls down your cheek. The rough whorls on his thumb send goosebumps cascading down your body. “First, I’m going to make you come. Then, I’m going to untie you, get you all cleaned up, and get some sugar into you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch as cups your face. His eyes dart towards the bed as he says, “After that, we are getting to that bed so I can kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”

“And then,” he smiles sweetly, a tear rolling from the corner of his deep brown and honey flecked eye to his greying beard. “And then I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

[averagewriter-inthedark]

SFW Alphabet (A-N) - MCU!Johnny Storm 🔥| Marvel Headcanon

The teaser literally just dropped this morning 💀 but I've loved the FF and JS since 2005, and the FF fandom has been starved. This is for y'all 💌 Happy Fantastic (February) Four Day!!

Marvel Masterlist

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Johnny is very affectionate to the point it is almost suffocating but endearing. He enjoys showing you off and making it known he's in a committed relationship--especially after garnering a reputation that said otherwise. He'll shower you with compliments, wink at you when you enter a room to make you blush. When you have to present something to the Fantastic Four Johnny is openly checking you out unapologetically that'll have you using every muscle to not stumble over your words.

He shows it in actions that make your heart race. Proving that Johnny listens when you tell him something even if it does not seem important at the time. You'll find flowers on your nightstand, but you'll see that your favorite snacks and drinks have been stocked when they run low and you haven't had time to go shopping. If you leave a basket of clean laundry on the bed but then had to run to the lab for an emergency, you'll come back to find it folded and put away in its respected places. Small touches as he passes by you. Either letting his hand drift across your lower back or hooking his pinkie finger with yours.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Johnny is that best friend where people are surprised you are, but it somehow just works. Besides the constant bickering and threatening to throw each other off Baxter Building, you and Johnny know you'd run in the line of bullets for each other. There are jokes between you that the rest of the Four don't understand--which can be annoying when debriefing or in the middle of a presentation. But again, he's your ride or die and you're his.

The friendship would start when you were employed at Baxter Building. You were visibly annoyed during a meeting in which the Four and the department you worked for were present and the head of your department kept undermining the data you gathered that was crucial for a project the teams were working on. Johnny saw this and stood up for you, telling the department head that without the data they'd be at a loss, and he needed to make sure everything was consistent. Afterwards he introduced himself and you two went over the files and before you knew it you were friends with the flying, fire wielding man.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Say the word cuddle and Johnny is throwing you over his shoulder to haul you either to the couch or bed, whichever is closer, and taking you prisoner in his arms. This man loves a good cuddle and thrives on the feeling of your skin against his. Once his body hits the bed/couch and he's comfy do not expect him to leave for hours. And if you need to pee you'll just have to wait or physically pry yourself from him to which you'd receive groans of discontent.

Johnny prefers holding you as the big spoon but dabbles in being the little spoon from time to time. That usually takes place after a long day or a mission gone array where Johnny is still feeling the effects of nearly losing his life or the people he cares about. You'll hold him close; his head pressed against your chest and lull him asleep with the gentle beat of your heart. "I got you, baby, I've got you. You're safe now."

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) 

He definitely sees himself settling down in the near future. Probably when the Fantastic Four have reached a period where they can relax and be able to settle without the fears of it backfiring. but make no mistake, this man sees and needs you in his future. He wants the whole shebang and if that means leaving the Four then he'll do it.

This man can cook and he knows how to clean up after himself. You'll wake up to him making breakfast or coming back from the lab to find the most gourmet looking meal prepared. "What's all this for, hotshot? Don't tell me I forgot an important date?" "There does need to be an occasion for me to cook for my lover. Now bring your sweet ass over here before it gets cold." And you never have to worry about a dirty apartment. Johnny makes sure it is in pristine condition. Of course you do your part and if you happen to have the day off and he's working then you tidy the place. But it's nice to live with someone who values a clean home just as much as you.

E = Ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Johnny breaking up with you would likely because you were in danger. A villain they were dealing with had discovered you, threatened your life, and Johnny could not live with himself if something happened to you. So he did the only thing he could and that was to break both of your hearts by ending things. There'd be tears, yelling, and you'd fight with him on it. Insisting that you'd be better off with him than without."

"I don't understand, Johnny--you said you love me!" "I do love you! So much that I'm doing this so you can live without the fear of being killed because I made enemies with the wrong person." "All this does is make me vulnerable. You want me safe? Then stay by my side because they are just waiting for us to be apart to actually do something."

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He's already got the ring picked out 💀 Expect to be proposed within the first year of dating because Johnny WILL put a ring on it.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Surprisingly Johnny is very gentle with you. His touch is light, his words are soft. He'll sit and listen when you vent to him about work and people in your life who've pissed you off. He'll tend to you on days you're sick and encourage you to do the things you love.

On your bad days, where you feel like the world is out to get you, Johnny will run you a bubble bath and cook your favorite meal. He'll sit on the edge of the tub to wash your hair, hold you while you cry, and dress you before carrying you to the bed for some cuddles until sleep overtakes you. Despite the powers that make him rival the sun, Johnny is a teddy bear who will put you first above all else.

H = Hugs (do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Of course he likes hugs, in fact he craves them. You'll be at your desk working, in the lab, or making food when Johnny will come up behind and wrap his arms around you. Perching his chin on your shoulder while you work simply because he wants to hold you.

I = I love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

Look, this man is a simp and when he's in love he makes it known. So he probably thought it within the first month of dating, but did not say it until you made it to three for fear of saying it too fast and causing everything to crumble. But once you both say it is like a weight lifted off his shoulder and Johnny is shouting it from the terrace of Baxter Building.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He'll never outright admit but he gets jealous. Who could blame him when he has a catch like you and everywhere you go there are people trying to flirt with you and get under his skin. When this happens he'll usually go quiet and glare at the person, but his frustration is never at you. He knows better than that and understands jealousy is something he needs to work on. Honestly it flatters you, and you can't help but tease him, bringing his mouth to yours in a possessive, passionate kiss. "Take that frown off your face, hotshot. You know I only have eyes for guys made of fire.'

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses with Johnny take your breath away. They are soft and tender. Sometimes rough and sloppy when tensions rise and the fire in his veins mixed with the love for you consumes him. He'll pull you close, leaving no room for you to escape, cupping the back of your head while cradling you as he kisses you until you have to break for air.

Johnny's favorite places to kiss you, besides your lips, is your jaw and neck. He'll trail his mouth along every bit of skin it can find and nibble when he's feeling frisky causing you to erupt in a heap of giggles. You on the other hand, bring Johnny to his knees when you kiss his temple. It's so soft, makes him all fuzzy inside where he's practically begging for you to do it again. He doesn't know what it is about the way you do it but your lips to his temple and forehead have him in a chokehold.

L = Little ones (how are they around children?)

Johnny is a pro around children. He adores them and the sight of Johnny in his suit around kids makes your heart flutter. Even if he does not see having his own children in his future, Johnny knows how to deal with kids whenever the moment calls for it.

Plus he's had to risk his life on more than one occasion to save them when an enemy decides to use them as collateral.

M = Morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

Expect to be up bright and early every morning because Johnny has places to be, people to save, and things to do. Whether it is training, missions, or running errands. He is up on his feet the moment the sun touches the sky to drag you out of bed so that he can get it all done in record time and have the rest of the day to sit on his ass and relax.

Now on the rare occasions that he gets a day off or a super villain decides to not cause chaos, Johnny is catching up on all the sleep he can. You'll wake up past noon to him half on top of you, face tucked in the crook of your neck and pretty much in a puddle of sweat thanks to the godly levels of heat radiating off this man. He'll moan and grumble when you decide it's time to be productive--going as far to lay a love tap to his ass and bribe him with coffee and breakfast...or threaten to tattle tell.

"Get your hot ass up before I tell Sue you stole the last Coca-Cola from the fridge." "You wouldn't dare!"

N = Night (how are nights spent with them?)

Let's be real, nights are long and rarely quiet. Johnny is exhausted. Dragging himself to the bathroom to shower off the days work. You'll either join him if he's in the mood or set up the television to watch your favorite film. After he's done you'll cuddle up on the couch before one of you falls asleep first to ultimately drag the other to bed, or you'll both knock out right there since it's too comfortable to move.

Despite his reputation Johnny is a romantic. When there's a night where he can properly take you out on a date he is going all out. Reserving a table at the best restaurant, catching a movie at the theater, whatever it is, expect to have the best night of your life.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Would It Be Weird?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: After a night of drinking, you and your friends stumble across a fire station crawling with firemen. One of them catches your eye, and your friends try their damnest to get you two together. It’s been a long time for you but maybe Dean Winchester will change all of that.

Square Filled: stranger au (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

“Bartender! One more round!” your best friend, Shelly, calls out.

Despite being busy for the night, the bartender refills more shot glasses and hands them over one by one. After the week you just had, you deserve to have a night out for celebrations. Hard work pays off, and your boss promoted you to a manager with a significant pay raise, and Shelly just got engaged. That is enough to call for a celebratory night out with friends.

“So, have you decided on a maid of honor?” you ask Shelly when she returns to the table.

“You, of course. Better do a good job or else I’m asking my sister to do it.”

“Hey, don’t insult me. You know I love planning a good party,” you grin.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married! This is so surreal! Janice, when is Parker going to ask you to marry him? You’ve been together, what, six years?”

“We’re taking it slow. We don’t mind,” she shrugs. “Don’t come at me without coming after Tina. The other day, I caught her and Ben doing it on the kitchen counter.”

“Tina!” you gasp with a smile.

“I can’t help it. We’re in the honeymoon phase.”

“You got married three years ago.”

“No kids make the honeymoon phase last forever,” she laughs.

“So we’re all in relationships except for Y/N,” Shelly smirks. “When are you going to let a man ruffle those perfect feathers?”

“Shelly,” you grit out.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re the only one out of us who isn’t in a relationship. You’ve been single for half a decade now.”

It’s true. The last relationship you were in just didn’t do it for you. You stayed with him for three years because you thought that’s what you were supposed to be doing. He wasn’t anything special. He didn’t make your heart race. He didn't make your skin hot and clammy. He didn’t make you weak in the knees. But being with him was better than being alone.

You know better now. Being single doesn’t necessarily mean you’re alone. You have a wonderful job, loving parents, funny siblings, and wonderful friends. You like being single, but there are times when you wonder if there is more for you out there than meaningless sex and hookups.

“Despite what you might think, I’m happy where I am.”

“Nope, don’t accept it. We’re going to set you up tonight. Girls, do you see potential matches?”

“Come on, don’t do this,” you sigh.

Your friends chatter amongst themselves as they seek out potential matches for you while you sit there like a bum on a log. You can’t be too mad at them. They want to see you happy. Plus, they might actually find your next love. Despite their best efforts, they don’t find anyone worth your time, but you do get free drinks by flirting with men.

By two in the morning, you and your friends stumble out of the bar in laughter. Your home is a few blocks away so you’re okay with walking back to your place even though you drove there.

“We’ll come back for my car tomorrow. Right now, all I want is pizza. I have some in my freezer,” you say.

You’re not so drunk that you can’t walk straight or you’re slurring your words but you are drunk enough not to be able to drive. Your friends, on the other hand, are more far gone than you are. Shelly is a giggle drunk, Tina is a loud drunk, and Janice is a sexual drunk. You’re a mom drunk, always trying to take care of those around you. It’s why you’re less drunk than they are. Someone has to be the responsible one.

“Let’s stop there!” Tina gasps loudly.

She points to a firehouse that has the garage doors open to let in the cool night are. Inside are about half a dozen firemen, all with big muscles and tight clothing. Your friends are already walking over to the station with you trailing behind.

“Hey, ladies. What are you doing out here at two in the morning?” one of the men asks.

“The bar just closed and we’re not done with our party,” Shelly grins. “We go every Friday night.”

“Why aren’t the firefighters in my distract as hot as you guys are?” Janice giggles.

You step into the station and immediately become sober when you lock eyes with forest green eyes. All the air is knocked out of your lungs, your body becomes warm with tingles, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. Shelly notices the look in your eyes and nudges Janice with a smirk.

“I’m Dean,” Green Eyes says.

“Y/N,” you smile back.

“What’s the party for, ladies?”

“I just got engaged,” Shelly grins and shows off her ring to them. “Y/N just got a promotion.”

“What for?” Dean asks.

“To be a manager. It’s more money and I’m in charge of a lot of employees.”

“I hope you’re a good boss.”

“A very good one,” you smile.

“Do you have any alcohol?” Tina asks.

She stumbles forward and knocks into you. You fall forward and end up in Dean’s lap. He’s leaning against one of the trucks, and he easily catches you in his strong arms. There go the butterflies again.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t be. It got you in my arms,” he flirts.

You turn in his arms but he doesn’t let go of you. In fact, he wraps his arm around your chest. Shelly sees the blush on your cheeks and is mentally doing backflips at the thought of you finding your one.

“No, alcohol. Sorry.”

“Y/N, you have some. Let’s go to your place,” Janice says.

“We were heading there when you guys wanted to stop here and talk to the nice men.”

You look past your friends and notice the firefighter pole in the corner, and you gasp happily.

“You have a pole! I’ve always wanted to go down one,” you grin. “Can I?”

“Maybe when you’re not drunk,” Dean chuckles. “How are you guys getting home?”

“Walking. I live a few blocks away. We drove here but my car is going to be parked at the bar all night.”

“Let me drive you girls just make sure you make it home okay.”

“That sounds amazing. We’d love a ride,” Shelly says before you can say anything. “Can we take the firetruck?”

“Do you want to take the firetruck?” Dean asks.

You pull away slightly and look into his eyes. How are they so green? Damn, his parents must have great genes.

“Sure,” you giggle.

“Don’t let the Captain catch you,” one of Dean’s friends smirks.

“Don’t tell him and he won’t know. We’re taking the truck, ladies. Hop in.”

Your friends whoop and cheer as they climb into the truck, and Dean helps you into the front. Instead of driving them all home, he just takes them to your house. It’s a short ride but you feel more sober now than you did when you first arrived at the bar. There's something about Dean that makes you want to remember the night. You want to wake up tomorrow and remember how green his eyes are.

Your friends pile out of the truck and stumble to your front door. You toss Shelly your keys so that they can go inside while you hang back with Dean for a few minutes alone with him.

“Thank you for the ride, Dean.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

You open the door and hop out, but Dean doesn’t drive away like you thought he was going to do. Instead, he rolls down the window so he can get a better view of you walking to your house. A man who waits for you to enter your house? That’s a man you want.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he calls out.

“Bye, Dean.”

Only when he sees you walk inside does he drive off. Dean hasn’t left your mind since that night, even after a week of grueling work in the office. As a new manager, you’re expected to do more work and manage more than half a dozen employees. It’s what you signed up for, but you didn’t realize just how much of your energy it was going to cost you.

By Friday night, you and your friends went to the same club to unwind. This time, you didn't drive to the club because you don’t ever want to leave your car here again. Reports of cars being broken into came from the bar. Luckily, yours was left alone but it was enough to scare you from keeping it here again.

“So, what happened with fireman Dean?” Shelly asks with a grin. “Did you kiss him?”

“Shelly! No,” you laugh. “He just gave us a ride. That’s it. I don’t even have his number.”

“Maybe we should go back and get it for you,” Tina smirks.

“Leave the poor man alone.”

This time, you don’t drink as much as your friends because you’re kind of hoping to run into Dean again. You want to remember every interaction with him as you can, and you figure you can always drink at your house. Time flies when you’re having fun and before you know it, it’s already two in the morning. You and your friends pile out of the bar but pause when you see the shiny red fire truck waiting outside.

“Hey, ladies. Want a ride?” Dean grins.

“Dean, hi,” you smile.

The girls giggle to themselves at the starstruck look in your eyes. Thankfully, they don’t comment on it.

“Thanks for the ride, Dean,” Shelly grins.

The girls take their seats in the back while you’re still standing on the sidewalk. You take two steps toward Dean and end up tripping over your own two feet. Dean is quick with his reflexes and catches you before you faceplant onto the concrete.

“Now, if I wasn’t here, who would have caught you?”

“No one,” you blush.

“Exactly. Now I have to be here every time to catch you.”

Once you’re in the passenger seat, Dean takes off toward Shelly’s house. You give him directions to each of their houses until you’re the only one left.

“Thank you for driving us all home.”

“No problem,” he smiles.

You spot a Sharpie in one of the cup holders so you grab it and grab Dean’s right hand. You write down your number in big numbers so he can’t miss it.

“Call me next time you want to pick me up.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

You lean over and kiss Dean’s cheek before leaving the fire truck. He watches you with a slight smirk, only driving away once he knows you’re safe inside your house. This becomes a routine for you and Dean. He’s always there outside the club with the fire truck, ready to drive you and your friends home. One time, you had an Uber all set up but Dean refused to let you take it. Your friends are having a field day with this. They tease you about your new fireman boyfriend even though you and Dean aren’t dating.

Could you two be? Sure. He hasn’t asked you out nor have you asked him out, and you two have never kissed. You’re flirting, dancing around the edges of what could be. It’s enough for you right now even though it wouldn’t be so terrible to date him. It’s fun to have a sexy stranger waiting for you.

One Friday night, you’re the designated DD since you have to help your brother move tomorrow. Being the only one sober is hilarious knowing how raunchy your friends can get.

“So, when are you going to fuck him?” Shelly asks.

“It’s not like that. He’s just giving us rides.”

“I bet you’d like to ride him,” Janice giggles. Your entire face goes hot, and she laughs at the look on your face. “Look how red she is! You like him!”

“Drink your drink, okay?”

Throughout the night, all you can think about is Dean and how good he’d look on top of you or beneath you. Curse your friends and their no-filter mouths. By the time two rolls around, you’re leaving the club with your friends. Dean is standing outside near his truck like he’s always done the past few months.

“I’m the DD tonight.” You hold up your key. “No drinking for me.”

“When are you going to fuck her?” Tina asks loudly. “Because it’s been a long time for her.”

“Tina!” you hiss and look at Dean. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem,” he smiles, “but I am driving you all home. You can call me tomorrow and I’ll drive you back here.”

“Why would you do that? It seems like a hassle.”

“It’s no problem.”

The girls hop into the back while you take the front, as per usual, and Dean starts the drive to Shelly’s house. While he’s driving, you can’t help but stare at him. He has such a great side profile. His jaw is strong and sharp, and he has a delicious amount of facial hair. Not too long but enough to feel the burn on your skin. Dean side-eyes you and smirks knowing you’re watching him.

“Want to turn the sirens on?”

“Yeah! Turn them on!”

“Can I?” you ask with a grin.

Dean shows you the button to press, and you flip the switch. The sirens go off and the lights flash rapidly, and your friends cheer and shout. Dean turns them off before someone thinks there is a real emergency. Dean stops at your house once all your friends are gone, but you don’t rush to get out.

“Thank you for driving them home. You didn't have to.”

“I wanted to. I like driving you home.”

Now that you’re sober, you can feel the tension between you two. This is going to be something you deal with another time, so you lean over and kiss his cheek like you’ve been doing.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

You get out of the truck and feel his eyes on you the whole time. Instead of going inside, you stop by your front door just staring at it. What the hell are you doing? There is obvious chemistry between you two. Are you really just going to ignore it and wait for someone else to snatch him up?

“Y/N?” Dean calls from the truck. When you don’t turn around, he gets out and lightly jogs over to you. “Hey, you okay?”

“Why did you drive me home?” You turn to face him. “Now I have to go back to the club to get my car.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow and drive you over there. Not in the truck, unfortunately.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“You were drinking tonight.”

“I was the DD. Why did you drive me and all my friends home?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Would it be weird if I told you I look forward to Friday nights knowing I get to see your smile?”

“No,” you mumble with a blush. “Would it be weird if I told you I only go to the club on Friday nights knowing you’re out there waiting for me?”

Dean steps closer to you with a smile. “No. Would it be weird if I wanted to kiss you?”

“It’d be weird if you didn’t.”

Dean pulls you into him and kisses you. It’s like how every romance author describes a first kiss. Sparks fly, euphoria flows through the veins, and you can’t ever see yourself kissing anyone else.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[pennyold]

behavior | j.m

Summary: a small correction from your best friend's father will help you avoid being a badly behaved girl.

Warnings: plot then filthy shi, public exhibition, flirting, arguing, suggestive language, car sexism, fingering, oral (male receiving), choking, swearing, size kink, and orgasm denial.

w.c: 1,623

a/n: what yall think about this one? I fucking loved it, enjoy it !!

main masterlist ↲

peace and love, penny ★

Tess's phone started ringing in my hands, she was unconscious in front of me; I sat her in a chair, looked at her phone, and the name "dad" glowed on the screen, it stopped ringing and I felt relieved, I wouldn't know what to say about this. He called again, and I started thinking about what to invent in a message, I couldn't let him hear my voice.

"Hi, Dad," minutes later he replied, "Why don't you answer the calls, Tess? Are you still with your friend? Are you okay?" I answered each of his questions, and he responded calmly, his next message left me stunned, "I'll arrive in ten minutes, I can take my friend home. I don't like that place, and especially because you are being alone without someone to accompany you." I bit my lip thinking of a response, I answered and blocked the phone, putting it in my pocket.

Ten minutes later, I was outside the establishment with Tess in my arms. In the distance, I saw her dad's pickup truck, and my heart was pounding; I was very nervous. When he parked in front of us, he got out of the car, almost breathing fire as he walked towards me and Tess. "What the hell were you thinking?" He looked at me, and I just stared at the ground, feeling embarrassed. "Tess drank too much and has thrown up twice," I said. He shook his head and picked up Tess, carrying her to the back seat. "Get in the car. I'll take you home.”

Without saying a word, I got into the truck, buckled my seatbelt, and stayed silent until Joel got into the driver's seat, my skin prickled at the sight of his serious face; he was angry. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye during the ride, visualizing the scenery through the window when I saw the street of my house. I was about to speak, but I noticed how Joel tightened the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. I was screwed. 

Finally, I spotted a familiar street; we were near his house. He parked outside the house and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Wait here," he said. I grabbed the edges of my skirt and said, "Okay." He took Tess from the back seat and brought her into the house; it took him a few minutes to return, I watched as he took firm strides, got into the truck, and looked at me, "Are your parents home?" I nodded, "Do your parents know I'm taking you home?" "Yes," he nodded. "Perfect." He started the truck.

During the ride, I noticed that he was dissatisfied and I wanted to apologize; I never meant to bring problems to either Tess or him. "Joel" without looking at me spoke "Yes?" I looked at my skirt, still held in my hands. "Sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to lie to you and cause problems for Tess," he laughed. "I don't have problems with Tess, I do with you." Shit...

I looked out the window before speaking; I was cooked, if I said something wrong, it would be my end. I saw that I was not even remotely close to my home, it looked like a construction site about to be finished. I noticed how he moved the gear shift, and the truck stopped. "Joel..." he looked at me without any expression "You know what it means, darling.” I swallowed hard and quietly opened the door, but I couldn't leave because Joel grabbed it and slammed it shut. "Are you trying to escape from your punishment?" I shook my head in denial and shrank into the tiny space between the door and Joel's body. "So? Where would you go? Here, no one will listen to you, nor will they find you," I looked at him, pleading for mercy. "Don't look at me like that, you brought this on yourself," and he was right, I had done it, and I knew what the consequences would be.

Joel and I had agreed to please each other whenever the opportunity arose, as long as Tess and my parents didn't find out. One day, like today, I went out with Tess and lost her because I was with a guy. Joel showed up and asked me about her, and I didn't know where she was. He got angry just like today, and I got a punishment, painful, but I was very turned on.

I straightened up in my place and accepted my fate, I was being a brat by not accepting the punishment I deserved. "Good girl, always pleasing me," he looked me from head to thighs, as far as he could see. "What panties are you wearing?" "White lingerie," he smiled at me and sat up in his seat. "Take them off." I obeyed and took them off, allowing him a glimpse of my wet pussy. I slid the lingerie down my heels and handed them to him. He took them and tucked them into his pants pocket.

He patted his crotch; he wanted me to sit there, so I did. I felt my pussy brush against his bulge while adjusting myself, and Joel opened my legs, parting the folds of my core. I moaned and rested my head on his shoulder. "Joel," his breath grazed my neck, and I shivered when he brought his mouth close to my ear. "I didn't bring you here to please you, darling, relax." I bit my lip and nodded.

He rubbed my clit, and my legs trembled due to the sensation of his large fingers on my folds. I bit my lip again to avoid letting out a moan, and I felt his middle finger travel to my entrance, stimulating it. I couldn't resist and moaned, writhing in Joel's lap. "Stop moving," he said. I obeyed, and due to the effort, my legs were trembling; I couldn't resist it.

He inserted his finger and pumped my entrance, making me writhe more and my legs contract due to my effort not to move. He pumped his finger quickly, and I felt I was close to cumming, and so was Joel; so he stopped, and I could feel my pussy contract due to the lack of attention, I whimpered. "Joel,” he pulled my hair, making my neck twist back "Please, let me cum” he shook his head, tightening his grip on my hair "Bad girls like you don't deserve to cum" he threw me into the passenger seat and started unbuttoning his pants, I watched each action in detail, waiting for his orders.

He asked me to come closer with his hand, and I did. I leaned towards his pants and saw how he pulled the glans out of his underwear. Joel's cock is huge and thick, with prominent veins and the tip dripping pre-cum. I adjusted myself and Joel grabbed my hair again, guiding my mouth to the tip of his glans. I leaned in and slowly sucked the tip, then pushed it deeper until I couldn't fit it anymore.

"Suck it all,” I tried, but I choked, so I only sucked it as far as I could, Joel, unsatisfied, made me take his entire glans into my mouth, I choked again, and saliva dripped from my mouth, now he was controlling my actions. The tip of his cock hit my throat, and I couldn't take it anymore, a tear fell from my eye, causing me to swallow it with his dick.

I felt his cock start to twitch inside my mouth; he was about to cum, so I sucked it as hard as I could. While he grabbed my hair, making quick movements, he groaned as he felt his arousal approaching. "I'm gonna cum in that pretty mouth, darling, and you're going to swallow it, right?” I moaned, feeling myself choke more and more, feeling his cum spurt down my throat. Joel made me swallow it, keeping his cock in my throat. "Shit, did you swallow it, darling?" I nodded. "Everything?" I nodded again and showed him my tongue. "Good girl," I watched as he adjusted his pants and put on his belt. "Now, I want you to touch yourself until you cum, while I take you home. Could you do that for me?” I nodded and slightly opened my legs, placing my hand on my pussy, and massaging it to stimulating it a bit. "Yes, that's right, don't stop doing it until you cum, baby.”

I rubbed my clit with my arousal, I bit my lip holding a moan; I wasn't satisfied, I wanted Joel's fingers fucking my pussy. "Mmh, I want your fingers, Joel." He shook his head and said, "You don't deserve it. Get yourself off, and I'll see if I can please you next time." I whimpered and proceeded to insert a finger, but it wasn't what I wanted, so I went back to rubbing my clit, trying to reach my climax. "Shit, shit, Joel, I'm gonna cum.” He glanced at me with a smile, "Cum, princess, I want to see that pretty pussy dripping your juices." I opened my mouth, letting out the breath I didn't know I was holding "Oh my... shit!" my pussy started to contract and pulse as I rubbed it gently "That's it, so obedient" I looked ahead and noticed the traffic light was red, I took him by the face and kissed him desperately.

"Still needy? Huh?" I nodded, "Tough luck, princess, now you’ll have to wait. I hope you understood your lesson, I don’t want to be rude, but I won’t respond if you don't behave next time." I grimaced, and apart from him, he was very mean and cruel sometimes.

divider: @/enchanthings-a

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

mc just falling asleep on ominis's lap and he's like i can't move like ever now. sebastian please get me a book

Trust and Torment | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

ANON! Thank you sm for your ask, this was so cute ;.; gave me a few new HCs for Ominis as well that I included heheh :')

I got an ask not long ago ab how I go about writing and stuff, so with this one, I visualized my general thought process is for when I start (excuse my chicken scratch writing). Not sure how helpful it'll be but I thought why not! <3

Words: ~3,200

Tags: Mentions of Smut, Pining, Romance, Fluff, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

The faint crackle of the torches filled the quiet space, their warmth radiating in uneven waves that brushed against the cool stone walls of the Undercroft. The scent of parchment mingled with ink and the smoky aftermath of spell-fire. Ominis sat on the couch next to you, relaxing into the softened edges of the cushions—a familiar, worn comfort shaped by years of use.

Your shoulder brushed against his, a fleeting touch, but it sent a ripple of warmth through the air between you, one that lingered beneath his skin long after the contact had passed. The faint sound of your fingers turning the pages of your book mingled with Sebastian's muttering and sighing from where he sat across the room, scratching at his Arithmancy homework.

Study sessions like this had become the norm for the three of you in seventh year. What used to be lively gatherings filled with procrastination and teasing in years past had quieted into focused companionship, the looming specter of N.E.W.T.s demanding most of your attention. Tonight was no different.

Ominis seemed, as always, the picture of calm. His steady fingers brushed the braille of his book, the other hand resting neatly in his lap. But beneath his composed exterior, his thoughts were fraying. Sitting this close to you, with the faint scent of your shampoo wrapping around him, your shoulder occasionally brushing his own, he was hopelessly distracted.

It was maddening, really, how easily you unraveled him—how the simple press of your body against his own could splinter his focus into something delicate and dangerous. Because the truth was, Ominis rarely wanted to touch anyone at all.

Touch was not something he easily welcomed. His family had made sure of that—cold, distant, cruel as they were, touch had only ever been associated with pain or control. Even with his friends, Ominis had never been particularly tactile. The exceptions had been Sebastian and Anne, the only ones who had ever felt safe enough to let close. And then, of course, there was you.

You, who had never asked permission outright, but whose touch had never been unwelcome. You, who reached for him in passing—soft brushes of your fingers against his sleeve when you wanted his attention, the warm press of your palm to his arm when laughter had made you lean into him, the absentminded way you tucked his hair behind his ear when he was too deep in thought to notice it falling forward. He had never stopped you.

He never wanted to.

Because the truth he could never voice—perhaps even to himself—was that he was painfully, desperately touch-starved. And when it came to you, your touch was the most desirable of all.

It was getting harder to pretend it didn’t affect him. Harder to keep himself from leaning into it, from seeking it out. Harder to ignore the way his heart beat faster whenever you shifted closer, the way his fingers itched to reach for you in return.

This was just studying. Just work. He told himself that over and over again.

But the longer you read, the slower your movements became, and Ominis didn’t miss the way your shoulder leaned just a little more heavily into his. At first, it was subtle—your head dipping slightly, then snapping back up. A small shift, barely noticeable. But then it happened again. And again.

Ominis barely had time to register what was happening before you gave in entirely, your head resting against his shoulder with a sigh so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

His entire body locked up.

Oh. Oh.

He didn’t dare move. He didn’t even breathe. His brain, usually sharp and composed, blanked completely, drowned out by the deafening drum of his heartbeat in his ears. Your weight was warm and solid against him, pressing into his side in a way that sent his thoughts spiraling.

Surely this was a mistake. You were tired. You hadn’t meant to—

Then you shifted again, tilting, your warmth slipping lower.

And before he could even begin to process what was happening, your head slipped from his shoulder entirely, settling against his lap.

Ominis nearly had a heart attack.

The book in his hands slipped from his fingers, landing on the couch beside him with a dull thud. His breath caught so sharply in his throat that he thought he might choke on it. Every muscle in his body tensed so violently that he might as well have been Petrified.

Your head. Was in. His lap.

His brain was screaming. His body was screaming. His entire existence was screaming.

The soft press of your cheek against his thigh burned hotter than fiendfyre, and he was terrified to move even a fraction of an inch, as if any shift might wake you—or worse, alert you to what you’d done.

A chair scraped against the stone floor, the sharp sound slicing through his unraveling thoughts. Ominis didn’t need to see Sebastian to know that he had just turned, and, judging by the way the air shifted, was now staring.

“Well, well,” Sebastian mused, and Ominis could hear the smirk in his voice. “Look at that.”

“Don’t,” Ominis hissed, his voice sharp but barely above a whisper. His entire being was already on the verge of short-circuiting, and Sebastian Sallow’s commentary was the last thing he needed.

Sebastian made a thoughtful sound, far too amused for Ominis’ liking. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so… flustered,” he drawled, clearly relishing every second of this. “It’s adorable, really.”

Ominis’ hands hovered uselessly in his lap, his fingers twitching, aching to move, but paralyzed by the sheer catastrophe of the situation.

“Sebastian,” Ominis bit out a warning, his voice low and laced with something dangerously close to desperation.

Sebastian, of course, did not care.

The scrape of his chair echoed again as he stood, his footsteps far too leisurely as he strolled across the room.

“So,” Sebastian continued, his voice all casual-like as he stood over where Ominis sat on the couch. “Have you told her yet?”

Ominis’s stomach plummeted. His head whipped toward Sebastian, his pale eyes narrowing in immediate alarm. “Told her what, exactly?”

“Oh, you know,” Sebastian said breezily, tone far too innocent to be anything but dangerous. “How you feel. How you’ve been pining for her for years, how the mere sound of her laugh sends you spiraling, how you—”

“Sebastian,” Ominis hissed, his entire body going rigid as heat flared up his neck, spreading fast. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if gripping onto whatever composure he had left. “Will you shut up?!” His voice dropped to a hushed, frantic whisper, sheer panic creeping in. “What if she hears you?!”

Sebastian snorted. “Trust me, she’s not hearing anything right now. She’s completely out.” A pause. Then, far too smugly, “Although, if she was awake, this would make for a fascinating conversation.”

Ominis groaned softly, dragging a trembling hand down his face. He couldn’t do this right now—he couldn’t. His mind was already in tatters, barely keeping him together beneath the searing weight of you pressed against him. His heart was hammering so hard he was convinced it was audible, each heavy beat a taunting reminder of just how doomed he was.

“Look—”

“I am looking,” Sebastian interrupted, entirely unrepentant. “And she looks very comfortable. Entirely content, all cozied up in your lap like that.” His voice dipped into mock sympathy. “Honestly, I think she’s found her new favorite spot. Looks like you’re stuck here, mate.”

Ominis’ lips parted, but nothing came out. His thoughts were too much—too loud, too scattered, an impossible mess of holy hell what do I do and I can’t move I can’t move I can’t move.

Sebastian, because he was insufferable, only continued.

“And look at you,” he mused, his tone brimming with pure mischief. “All flustered and red in the face—Merlin’s beard, Ominis, her face is practically on your di—”

“Enough!” Ominis snapped, his voice a desperate whisper, his entire body burning. His hands hovered uselessly above his lap, fingers twitching, aching to do something—anything—but he didn’t dare move. He turned his head away sharply, as if that might somehow shield him from Sebastian’s relentless torment.

Sebastian laughed, warm and unbothered. “Relax, Ominis. I’m only joking.” A beat. “Mostly.”

Ominis wanted to die.

Sebastian sighed, entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, I suppose I could be a decent friend and leave you to your little—” he waved a hand vaguely, “—situation.”

Ominis felt the shift in the air as Sebastian moved, as Ominis heard the the lazy, purposeful way he strolled toward the exit. Finally.

But then—panic struck. He had no idea how long he'd be down here, now idea how long he'd be unable to move.

“Wait,” Ominis blurted, his voice sharper than he intended, but still quiet, tinged with something between resignation and pleading.

Sebastian paused. “Hmm?”

Ominis hesitated. He hated the way his fingers twitched at his sides, how stupidly vulnerable he felt, trapped in this moment, utterly helpless beneath the weight of something he wanted—ached for—but could not handle.

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain even. “Could you… bring me something from dinner?”

Sebastian was silent.

For a moment, Ominis thought his friend was about to pounce on his uncharacteristic uncertainty, dig into it, use it to fluster him even more.

But then Sebastian chuckled, softer this time. Genuine.

“Of course,” he said, still teasing but gentler now. “Anything for the lap-bound prince.”

Ominis clenched his jaw. “I hate you.”

Sebastian only hummed, entirely unfazed. “I’ll make sure it’s something easy to eat,” he added, far too cheerfully. “Wouldn’t want you disturbing her.”

Ominis groaned, his face burning all over again. “Just go.”

With one last low chuckle, Sebastian finally turned and stepped out, the door creaking closed behind him.

Silence fell over the Undercroft once more.

Ominis exhaled a breath, but it did little to steady him. His thoughts were racing, still frayed beyond reason.

And you—blissfully unaware, still peacefully asleep in his lap—remained the greatest, most tormenting comfort of all.

Every part of him was acutely aware of you. It was overwhelming, like he’d been plunged into a dream he desperately didn’t want to wake from.

His fingers twitched at his side, his hand hovering uselessly in the air before retreating back to the couch, clenching into the fabric as if to anchor himself. He wanted—Merlin, he wanted so badly to touch you, just a simple brush of his fingers over your hair, something small, something to savor. But the thought sent a wave of panic crashing through him.

What if it woke you? What if it startled you? What if you looked up at him, bleary-eyed and confused, and he had to explain why his hands were trembling, why his breath was uneven, why he couldn’t stop thinking about you?

The mere idea of it made his stomach twist violently.

Yet his mind wouldn’t settle, wouldn’t let him rest. His thoughts churned, slipping into dangerous territory before he could stop them. Was this moment as perfect to you as it was to him?

No, of course not.

You were asleep, utterly unaware of the emotional devastation you had just unleashed upon him.

But still…

Sebastian, as infuriating as he was, was right. Your face was dangerously close to Ominis's pelvis, to the very peak of his torment.

Of course he had imagined you down there before. A million times. Your face, your mouth—Merlin, your mouth—and all the wicked ways he had dreamed of feeling it, of having it wrapped around him. It was a dangerous, recurring indulgence, one he had forced himself to bury, to ignore, to pretend didn’t exist.

But this wasn't that, he reminded himself sharply.

You weren’t here to torture him, to tease or tempt, to unravel him piece by trembling piece. You weren’t even aware of what you were doing to him—of how you had always done this to him, effortlessly, unknowingly. You were just… sleeping. Soft and trusting, warm and utterly oblivious, curled into him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if you belonged there.

So even as his body betrayed him, as heat coiled low in his stomach and his blood turned traitorous, as the cruelest corners of his mind whispered every half-buried thought, every shameful fantasy he'd ever had of you—he could not let his mind wander further.

Ominis forced himself to exhale slowly, counting each breath in a desperate attempt to steady the erratic rhythm of his heart. In and out. In and out. But it wasn’t helping—nothing was. His body was taut with restraint, his nerves raw beneath the unbearable weight of you.

And then, another thought crept in, unbidden.

Was his lap even comfortable enough for you?

It was ridiculous, laughable even, that of all the things he should be worried about right now—his lack of control, the way his thoughts teetered on the edge of something dangerous, the sheer agony of wanting something he could never have—this was what took root in his mind.

But it did.

Because you were still there, still sleeping, still soft and warm and so impossibly close. And Ominis had never been… particularly built. He was lean, all sharp angles and bony joints, nothing like Sebastian, for example, who was solid in a way that made people feel secure when they leaned against him. Ominis, though?

Was he enough? Was he warm enough? Soft enough?

Did you even feel comfortable? Or were you simply too exhausted to move?

Ominis’ throat tightened. His jaw clenched.

Stop it.

He shook his head sharply, forcing the thought away before it could spiral further. It was ridiculous.

He let out a low, shaky sigh, tilting his head back against the worn fabric of the couch. His eyes fluttered closed, as if shutting them might help him breathe, might help him find some semblance of control.

Minutes passed—or maybe it was hours, he wasn’t sure—before his restraint began to crumble.

His fingers twitched at his side, brushing against the edge of his robe, as though testing his resolve. He swallowed hard, heart pounding in his chest.

Don’t do it. Don’t move. Just sit here. Be thankful she’s even this close.

But his hand betrayed him.

Slowly—hesitantly—he let his fingers lift from the couch, hovering for an agonizing moment before finally—finally—settling gently on your shoulder.

He froze. Held his breath. Waited.

You didn’t stir.

Encouraged by your lack of reaction, he let his hand shift, his fingertips ghosting over the curve of your shoulder, barely daring to make contact. He moved so carefully, as if even the air around you might betray him.

And then—

His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your cheek.

Ominis stopped breathing.

Oh, this was—this was worse. This was so much worse.

You were so warm. So soft.

It was unbearable. It was blissful.

It was a catastrophe.

His fingers lingered, just for a moment, before moving again, his touch impossibly light as he carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His throat felt tight, his pulse hammering so hard he thought it might shatter him from the inside out.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that. He shouldn’t be indulging in something so selfish, so fleeting. And yet he couldn’t stop.

Being blind, Ominis had grown up with people making assumptions about him—about what he wanted, what he needed. One of the most common, most infuriating notions was that he must long to touch their faces, to “see” them with his hands. Strangers would offer their cheeks, their chins, without hesitation, as if they were gifting him something precious. He hated it.

To him, it had always felt invasive. Hollow. An empty gesture that lacked the intimacy people so foolishly believed it conveyed.

But you?

You had never offered. Never asked him to touch your face. Ominis wondered if it was out of politeness, or if you simply didn’t want him to. Maybe you thought he’d recoil at the idea.

And yet—selfishly, shamefully—Ominis had wished more times than he could count that you would bring it up. That you would offer, not out of pity, not because you felt you should, but because you trusted him enough to let him. To let him know you.

But you never had.

And now—

Now, he had his chance.

His fingers mapped the soft curve of your cheek, brushed against your jawline, and trailed down the delicate bridge of your nose. Every touch was feather-light, as if he was terrified he might shatter you, might shatter himself.

His fingertips ghosted over the curve of your chin, tracing the soft slope with a gentleness he hadn’t known he possessed. Every tiny detail of you was being burned into his mind now: the smoothness of your skin, the faint warmth radiating from you, the way your breathing remained steady, peaceful, as though his touch didn’t disturb you in the slightest.

It was intoxicating. It was terrifying.

It was everything.

His thumb brushed against the edge of your jaw, and his chest ached with the weight of everything he'd never said, everything he secretly felt. A quiet storm of longing and guilt swirled inside him, tightening in his throat, stealing the breath from his lungs.

What would you think if you knew? Would you pull away? Would you be offended by his presumption? Or would you—

He refused to finish the thought.

Ominis let out a slow, trembling breath, his thumb tracing one last, fleeting touch before he forced himself to pull away. His hand drifted back to your shoulder, retreating to safer ground, while the other, still trembling faintly, lifted to cradle the back of your head.

And then you shifted slightly in your sleep.

A soft, barely-there sigh escaped your lips as you curled just the slightest bit closer to him, seeking out his warmth as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ominis's breath hitched. The tension bled from his frame, melting into something warmer, something deeper—something that made his heart ache in a completely different way.

Because you were here. With him. Safe and peaceful, trusting him enough to let your guard down in a way that left him utterly, completely speechless.

And finally—mercifully—the storm in his mind began to quiet.

Ominis let his head tip back against the couch again, his fingers brushing absently against your shoulder as his eyes slipped closed.

He didn’t realize when his breaths grew deeper, slower, or when the exhaustion that had been tugging at the edges of his mind finally overtook him.

All he knew was that you were there.

Safe. Close.

By the time Sebastian returned, juggling plates of dinner, Ominis was fast asleep—his head resting against the couch, one hand still gently cradling the back of yours.

[moonlightkitties]

What's Left of Us - Joel Miller x Fem! Reader.

Summary:

Sarah’s death shattered you. Shattered Joel. Shattered everything you built together.

Once, you were inseparable—partners in love, in life, in raising your daughter. Now, you barely speak.

For years, you survive. Nothing more.

But when you and Joel are tasked with smuggling a girl across the country—a girl who’s reckless, stubborn, and far too much like Sarah—the distance between you begins to crack. The fire in Joel’s eyes that once burned for you starts to flicker back to life. And for the first time in a long time, you wonder if there's still something left to save.

Word Count: 4k+

A/N: This chapter is not proof read and has light smut.

CW: NICU mentioned/child death/angst/anxiety/panic/broken bone/gun wound/guns/violence.

Chapter One - A Life Once Ours.

"I'm going to be out late," you tell Joel, who's dozing in your shared bed a few feet away from the dresser where you were trying to find some clean pair of scrubs. You sigh and throw a pillow at his face, making him gasp and shoot up off the bed.

"What was that for?" he grumbled, rubbing his eyes from the five hours of sleep he'd gotten.

"I said I'm going to be out late," you repeated, your voice showing a hint of annoyance.

"So?" he asked, his voice exhausted.

"So," you sigh, "you're gonna have to figure out dinner. My parents sent you a gift card to that place you like. Maybe you and Sarah can go?"

Joel exhales, running a hand through his hair. "I kinda wanna spend my birthday with you too, y'know?"

You sighed, feeling incredibly guilty, "I know, but we're understaffed again, and I can't lose this job."

You walked over to your bedside table, opened the drawer and tossed a box on the bed. "What's this?" Joel asked, picking it up. It was wrapped in light blue paper, a bow resting on the top.

You blushed a little bit as he opened it, "Well... since you never got yourself a ring, I figured I'd get you one."

He unwraps it carefully, his tired eyes widening as he lifts the lid. Inside sits a simple silver wedding band. The two of you got married young, right after finding out you were pregnant with Sarah. Money had been tight—tight enough that he couldn’t afford one for himself.

Joel stares at the ring for a long moment before looking up at you. His expression softens, the exhaustion in his face replaced with something warmer, something unspoken.

"Darlin'..." Joel began, looking up at you.

"Do you...do you like it?" you ask, suddenly feeling nervous.

"No...I-I love it," he said, a smile resting on his face.

You sighed in relief and felt him grab your hand and suddenly you were pulled onto the bed, you let out a gasp of surprise and giggled as he nuzzled his head into your neck. You pulled away from him after a few moments and kissed him before getting off the bed, "I'm gonna say bye to Sarah and head out, don't forget to pack her lunch." Joel nodded and got up out of the bed as you went across the hallway into Sarah's bedroom.

You push the door open gently and step inside. Sarah is fast asleep, her small frame curled beneath the duvet, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Smiling softly, you kneel beside her and shake her awake. She groans, blinking sleepily up at you.

"What is it?" she mumbles.

"Jus' wanted to tell you I was heading to work," you whisper, pulling her into a hug.

She sighs sleepily, wrapping her arms around you, and for a long moment, neither of you move.

Finally, she pulls away, rubbing her eyes.

"Love you, bug," you murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Sarah hums in response, already drifting back to sleep as you tuck the blanket around her.

You smile softly and head out, closing her door on the way. Joel was already up getting coffee when you went to get your keys, you kissed him one last time before heading into your car and driving towards the city.

------

The drive to the city consisted of you listening to Sarah's Dawn of the Wolf soundtrack she forgot to take out and humming to the scene where the main character stays in her room for months on end after her vampire boyfriend left.

You smile thinking when you and Sarah dragged Joel out to see it, he didn't want to of course but he loved his girls so he didn't have a choice.

Pulling into the employee only parking space, you realized how crowdy and busy it looked, far busier than usual.

With a reluctant sigh, you pushed open the door and headed inside, weaving through the chaos toward the NICU. It was where you spent most of your time, caring for fragile newborns and their anxious parents.

Some days, the sight of those tiny, struggling babies brought back the memories—the fear, the helplessness of watching Sarah fight for her life in this very place.

Other days, you felt grateful. Grateful that she made it. Grateful that now, you got to help mothers who were living through the same nightmare you once did.

Your shift went by as normal, talking to your co-workers, giving babies their medication and feeding them, rocking the restless ones to sleep so their mothers could get their much needed rest. The only thing that seemed strange was that the ER and ICU were on lockdown and that your higherups looked really worried, so worried they made you leave early and locked the maternity ward down.

"Hey, Mrs. Miller!"

You turn around to see one of the interns, Stacey, rushing towards you as you stood near the exit.

"Yeah?"

"Did you hear about that patient that attacked one of the nurses in the ER?"

"No, why?" you ask.

She shrugged, "we don't know, they’re not giving us any new information, but it seemed pretty bad. Anyways, I gotta go, see ya tomorrow!" As Stacey left, you shivered a bit but shrugged it off, the ER gets psychological patients all the time.

As you stepped outside, the air felt different—thicker, colder. The usual hum of the city had shifted, replaced by a more frantic energy. You could hear the distant wail of sirens, the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off buildings as ambulances and police cars lined the streets.

It was clear: something was wrong.

You tried to ignore the knot forming in your stomach, telling yourself it was probably just some isolated incident. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Your car felt like the safest place in the world as you slid into the driver’s seat, but even then, you couldn’t help but glance around, half-expecting someone to rush past or knock on your window.

The roads were quieter now, but you could still feel the pulse of anxiety in the air. Whatever was happening, it was spreading.

It was around three in the afternoon as you pulled into the driveway, Joel still wasn't home and Sarah should have been home from school by now.

You walked into the house, your worry drifting away when you walked into the kitchen and spotted Sarah doing her homework at the table.

"Hey, baby," you said, kissing her head. She looked up at you in surprise "Daddy said you were working late," she said, glancing at the clock. You shrugged, "Yeah, but they were being nice and let me get off early," you told her, trying to make it seem like you weren't worried about something.

"You need help?" you ask, sitting beside her. She shakes her head, "Nah, I got it," she said. You chuckled and got up, "well, if you do, I'll be upstairs."

You made your way up the stairs, and into your bedroom to change out of your scrubs and into something more comfortable. You settled into your bed and pulled out your phone to check if Joel had messaged you.

0 New Messages.

You put your phone on your bedside table, he would text or call if he needed you. Pulling the covers over your exhausted and sore body, you let sleep take you.

"Mom?" you heard a voice, and opened your eyes as you felt someone shaking you. You grumbled and smacked their hand away. "Mommy!" Sarah exclaimed, you gasped and opened your eyes, looking around frantically, "what?" you asked, grasping your chest as you realized it was only her.

"I'm hungry.." she mumbled.

You sighed and got up, grabbed your phone and looked at the time. It was five in the afternoon and you've been asleep for two hours. You stretched and got up, "when your daddy comes home will get something from that place he likes, okay?" you say, patting her on the head. She grumbled, "He told me he's not gonna be home until later tonight." You furrowed your eyebrows, "Really? He didn't tell me that." Sarah shrugged, not really seeming to care whether he told you or not.

"I guess we can order pizza and save the gift card for this week," you said, going downstairs to look through the menus that Joel has kept throughout the years. "What do you want?" you ask, showing her the menus, she looked through them until she handed you the one she wanted. You dialed the number and told them what you and Sarah wanted, you would save the food you didn't eat for Joel when he came home.

"I have a cake mix in the pantry we can make before your daddy comes home," you tell her, flopping down on the couch and turning the T.V. on. You and Sarah settled on watching Dawn of the Wolf until the pizza came. You both ate until your stomachs hurt and by seven-thirty, Sarah was sleeping. You smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears and got up to make that cake, she would want to help but you knew she needed to sleep.

After you mixed all the ingredients together, you popped the cake into the oven for twenty-five minutes and went upstairs to check your phone.

You had a new text from Joel which read "Going to be out late, forgot to tell you this morning, left Sarah a note to order food, love you." You smiled and texted him back, "I got out early and we already ate, ordered pizza, making you a cake that we can eat when you get back, love you too 🥰🥰."

You also had a next text from one of your closest co-workers ten minutes ago.

"Watch the news, something weird is going on."

You turned your phone off and turned the T.V. that was in your and Joel's room, like a few hours ago, police and ambulances were everywhere. It worried you, something awful was happening. You turned off the T.V. and instead grabbed a book you were meaning to read. A few pages in, the oven sounded, indicating the cake was done so you went downstairs to take it out and leave it on the table so you could ice it when it was cooled down.

Sarah walked in a few minutes later and frowned "I wanted to help make it," she said, sitting at the table.

"I know, but you needed sleep, you can ice and decorate it though," you suggested. Sarah nodded and you brough down the pink icing you didn't get to use for Sarah's birthday and a few candles. As the cake cooled down and Sarah iced it, you took your portable camera out and snapped a few pictures. "Moooom," Sarah groaned, trying to hide.

"Aw, come on, please?" you ask, "Just a few?"

Sarah sighed and let you take a few more and after a few minutes, the cake was done and decorated. Sarah used a bit of the gel we got at the store a few days earlier and wrote, "Happy Birthday Daddy," on the front.

The cake was in a container on the counter and all you had to do know was wait for Joel to come home so you could enjoy it with him.

And enjoy a few other things too...

It was about ten o'clock when you awoke to the sound of a door openeing, Joel was back home. You sat up, it was dark outside and you were exhausted. Rolling over to Joels side of the bed, you grabbed his pillow and inhaled his scent. Earthy, coffee, and leather, that's what you smelled, his scent was engraved in your mind. The door opened and Joel smiled, "hey, darlin'," he said, sitting down beside you as you scooted and sat up.

"Hey," you said, scooting closer to him, grabbing his hand and holding it.

"You're wearing it," you pointed out the ring you gave him this morning and he shrugged "had no where else for it," he joked. You rolled your eyes and shoved him playfully, "Is Sarah awake?" you asked, looking at the clock. Joel shook his head, "No, I took her to bed," he sighed, laying down. You laid down beside him and started kissing up his neck, going towards his jawline.

"What are you doin'?" he asked, a smirk laced in his voice.

"What? Can I not take care of the birthday boy?" you ask, straddling his waist and kissing him deeper.

He groaned into you and grasped your thighs rolling his crotch into yours. You noticed something on his right arm and looked closely at it "Where'd you get this?" you asked, the watch on his wrist secure.

"Sarah gave it to me," he said, kissing your neck.

"We have a cake downstairs that we made," you told him. He nodded, not really interested, "That's nice, now can you get back to kissing me?" he said, raising your shirt over your head, and audibly gasping at the sight of your bare chest. You giggled and before you could unzip his pants, his phone rang. You both groaned but he answered it.

"Hello?" He asked, irritated.

You could hear a frantic, female, voice on the phone. It was most likely Mrs. Cooper, one of your closets neighbors.

"O-Okay, Mrs. Cooper, I'll be there shortly," he hung up and threw his t-shirt that you discarded on the floor back over his body.

"What's wrong?" you asked, putting your own shirt on.

"Nothing," he sighed, "She said Jimmy don't look right and she needs my help getting him to the hospital."

"Um, okay," you said, following him out of your room.

"I'll be back, okay?" he said, giving you a kiss before heading out of the door.

You sighed and flopped on the couch, so much for spoiling him tonight.

Hours passed and still Joel hasn't come back, it was two in the morning and he hasn't answered any of your calls or texted you back. You thought about contacting your brother-in-law, Tommy, but thought against it. He would be fast asleep. To pass the time, you turned the news on, and gasped. Fires were blazing through out the city, people screaming and police, including the military, everywhere.

Your chest tightened, that was close by, Joel could be hurt.

You rushed up the stairs, grabbed your phone and dialed Joel's number, it went to voicemail, you tried again, voicemail, again, voicemail. You were audibly gasping for air, panicking.

"Mom?"

You whipped around and let out a sigh as Sarah walked in, rubbing her eyes.

"Hey, baby," you said, "do you know where your daddy is?"

She shook her head, "No, b-but I'm worried, I heard a-"

You shook your head and pulled her into a hug "I will not let anything hurt you, okay? You have nothing to be worried about."

"Promise?" Sarah asked, her voice breaking.

"Promise," you said, kissing her forehead. "

You both walked into Joel's office, and still, he was no where to be found. You were about to speak until the sliding door slammed opened and Joel ran inside, covered in blood.

"Joel!" you exclaimed, rushing towards him.

"Stay back!" he exclaimed, "Are you both okay? You hurt?"

You shook your head, "no, were okay," you said, making Sarah stand back as Joel grabbed his pistol and loading it with bullets.

"What's goin' on?" Sarah asked, fear in her voice.

"It's the Coopers, somethin' ain't right with em, I think...I think their sick."

"What kinda sick?" Sarah asked.

You and Sarah gasped as a figure banged into the sliding glass door, you pulled Sarah back behind you as Jimmy, or what was left of Jimmy, threw his body into the door.

"Dad?" Sarah asked, terrified.

"Honey, c'mere, c'mere," he demanded, shoving both and you Sarah behind him, one arm shielding you, one on the gun. The door shattered, and Jimmy was growling, and flailing his arm around, Joel walked towards the doors of his office, still shielding you and Sarah. "Jimmy, I am warning you!"

Jimmy threw himself at Joel and you held onto Sarah, as Joel shot him.

Sarah was hyperventilating and all you could do was hold her.

"Go, go!" Joel yelled, rushing the two of you out of the office. "You...you shot him," Sarah said, her voice quiet and shaky. Joel put his hands on her shoulder, "Listen to me, there is something bad going on, we have got to get outta here. Do you understand me?" Sarah nodded "Yeah."

Car lights illuminated the room and Joel grabbed Sarah's hand, leading her, with you following, out of the house. You kept following him but you wished he would stop so you could grab some stuff, like Sarah's baby album or your wedding pictures. You settled on grabbing a picture frame, Joel and baby Sarah the day she graduated from the NICU. You rushed out of the house and went into the back seat.

"Where were you?" Joel asked, from the front seat.

You pulled out the picture from and he sighed and shook his head.

You took the picture out of the frame, folded it, and put it in your pant pocket.

"Can we hear what's on the radio?" Sarah asked as Tommy drove out of the driveway. Tommy agreed but when he tried to turn it on, it was only static. "No phone, no radio, yeah, were doing great," he muttered.

Sarah settled in beside you and you held onto her.

"They say where to go?" Joel asked.

"They said uh..Army's puttin' up road blocks on the highway. Not gettin' into Travis County."

"Then we need to get out of here. Take 71."

Police cars, sirens and lights on, sped down the road when Tommy turned right.

"Did they say how many were dead?" Sarah asked, looking out of the window.

"Probably a lot. I saw this one family mangled up inside their home."

"Tommy," you snapped, glaring at him from the back seat.

"Right," Tommy muttered, "Sorry."

"How did this happen?" Joel asked, a car was slammed into a pole, "they got no idea," Tommy replied, "at first they were saying it was just the South. Now they're goin' about the East Coast, West Coast." Tommy passed a burning barn, you looked away, you couldn't bare thinking about whoever was in it. "Are we sick?" Sarah asked after a few moments. Joel turned around in his seat and glanced at you, "No, of course not." Sarah leaned into you, "How do you know?" she asked. "They uh.." Tommy began, "they said it was only people in the city, we're good."

"But...momma works in the city," she said, looking at you in fear.

"I'm okay," you reassured her, "I promise you I'm not sick."

She nodded and leaned back, seeming reassured.

A family was on the side of the road, a small child standing beside them, Tommy slowed down but Joel made him go on, not wanting to chance it. "Joel, they have a kid," you said, a little surprise that he would refuse to help them. "So do we," he snapped, "I ain't risking it." You passed the hospital you worked at and the highway was filled to the brim with other cars. A man got out of his car to yell at someone and one of those things came out of the woods and attacked him, another one climbing into his car to attack the people in it.

Strings of swears left both Tommy and Joel as Tommy pulled back and sped down the road and into the city where people were frantically trying to escape. Tommy slowed down as to not hit people while Joel was telling him to speed up. When he did get through, he drove down the city. Headlights were coming towards the truck and the next thing you knew, the car was flipped over on its side and a shard of glass was stuck in your thigh. You groaned, your head dizzy and frantically looked around for Sarah.

"Sarah?" you asked, your voice loud and frantic.

"Here!" she said.

You could see Joel getting out and one of those things attacking him. You gasped when your palms hit glass and your heart pounded as the thing got closer to his face. A bang was heard and the creature fell to the ground. Sarah got out first, she whimpered when her leg hit the ground and Joel helped you out, giving you a hug and noticing your thigh.

"It's nothing, I can still walk, you're gonna have to carry Sarah." Joel nodded and handed his pistol to Tommy, who took the rear as the four of you walked down the frantic city streets. People were screaming, buildings were on fire and your leg burned with every push.

"Daddy, I'm scared," you heard Sarah say. Your heart ached, you never wanted her to experience something like this.

A car exploded into a gas station and as you turned into another street, people and buildings were on fire. You could hear Sarah and Joel speaking but couldn't make out way their were saying. You all turned into an alleyway, but still the creatures were following you. You and the others made your way into a building and Tommy was holding the door closed, arms trying to get through.

"Get to the highway!" Tommy yelled.

"What?" Joel asked, determined not to leave his younger brother behind.

"Go! You got the girls!" Tommy demanded, not taking no for an answer.

"I will meet your there," Joel said, indicating for you to follow him and when you did, you could still see the infected following, you pushed up, making sure to run faster but still stay behind Joel, you couldn't let them get to her. As the three of you headed up the hill, gunshots sounded, the infected falling to the ground. A light blinded you, Joel and Sarah as you stopped beside him.

"It's okay, baby, we're safe," Joel told Sarah, "you okay?" he asked, you nodded "fine," you replied, your voice shaking, you were nauseous, and wanted to throw up but couldn't bring yourself to.

"Hey! We need help!" Joel begged, getting up and walking towards the solider.

"Stop!" the man ordered, pulling his weapon up.

"Okay...we're not sick," Joel began, taking a step back to seem less intimidating.

"Got a couple of civilians in the outer perimeter," the soldier said into his walkie-talkie, "please advise."

"Daddy what about Uncle Tommy?" Sarah asked.

"We're gonna get you and your momma to safety and go back for him, okay?" Tommy said.

"Sir, there's a little girl," you heard the solider say. You took a step back, not trusting his tone.

"But...yes, sir."

The soldier pulled his gun up and the light again blinded the three of you. Joel gasped and you got in front of them, the soldier blasted his weapon and the three of you fell down the hill, a bullet grazed your arm and you frantically searched for Sarah as the man walked over to you and Joel.

Before the soldier could shoot Joel, another gun flared and he fell to the ground. Tommy was standing, Joel's pistol raised.

"Oh, no..."

You turned to where he was looking and rushed, not caring about your thigh or arm and collapsing next to your daughter. Sarah's shirt was pooled with blood, she clutched your arm and Joel's as he came next to her open side.

Tears blurred your vision as you wiped Sarah’s tear-streaked face, her cries stabbing through your heart. You rocked her in your arms, whispering nonsense, anything to comfort her. Anything to take the pain away.

Joel tried to pull you away from Sarah, but you couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him. Your hands gripped her tighter, her soft sobs breaking you further.

Then her chest stopped raising, you looked, her eyes were open but they were hollow.

"Don't do this to us, baby," Joel begged.

You wailed as you realized what had happened, Joel held you close, his chest falling in soft sobs.

Your baby, your baby girl who you saw fight in the hospital, was gone just like that.

[lilarylrosie]

Just a Slice [Fanfic] Chapter 2 A/N: Nothing can ever stop making me love this man. /j

Incisions and stitches burned along your delicate soft skin, it hurt so much from a dull ache to spiking pain — throbbing. It hurt so much. Blood and dry blood practically caked your skin, and the table you laid on. You could barely keep yourself awake, death felt like the easiest option out.

Under that wicked cold eye of The Doctor, no wonder Doughy called him ‘mean’. This wasn’t ‘mean’ this is cruelty! Certainly wasn’t the right wording to this.

“Why the long look. You should be honored that I chose you my dear.”

The smooth even voice flowed all around you in a mocking way, you turned your head to spot The Doctor sporting a metal cylinder syringe in his metal hand as if it was examining it with interest, making sure to be precise.

Widening at the sight, your breath caught in your throat, and whimpered out a noise to the needle coming over to you.

“It’s just simple pain killer.”

Swallowing and wincing to the needle being inserted, you inhaled a large breath to the pain fading, and that metal hand coming down and taking a hold of your hair to jerk in his direction. Pain blared through your skull and you released a little pained noise.

“Look at me pathetic germ. You think you are above the consequences? You’ve made a lot of messes being here.. you were an employee weren’t you? You never answered my questions from before,” mused Sawyer, the pulling of your hair caused painful tears to well up.

“I-It’s none of your business.” You spat out, and The Doctor let go of your hair rather intrigued by your response.

“Ah feisty ARE we? Keep on going and you’ll find yourself in a place where we don’t want to be.”

Another sharp object from your blindside went into your neck and you heaved out. Inserting the concoction into your veins, you squirmed and felt as if your body was on fire.

“I want to see how the human body fights against foreign pain, for now your usefulness will be used elsewhere before we come back here to see how the process proceeds.” The Doctor noted, and moved to release the binds that held you down.

Shuddering out, and squeezing your eyes shut, your brain was magnifying the pain and you didn’t like that, keeping it together. You shakily moved up and winced to the stitches that were placed there by Sawyer and stood up feeling nauseous and exposed. Your legs practically shook under your malnourished weight.

The cold metal hand came down on your shoulder, and The Doctor started to guide you with a forceful tug.

You felt dead.. yet not. -XoX-

It didn’t take long to arrive to a padded child-like cell, your lips instinctively curled at the dirt and dry blood being scattered around the floor. It was a mess. Everywhere in this damned factory is mess, the prison has got the be the worst, not that you'll say it out loud. At this time you didn't feel like necessarily invoking this thing's anger upon you for your potential remarks.

“My. Let’s see how the serum I injected in you will work. I will be observing.” His even smooth voice panned out, you turned to find the door shut and Sawyer gone.

Releasing a little bit of a breath you didn't know you had been holding your stomach then curled and you raised your arms to hug yourself with a shiver, your emotions felt like they were everywhere and you felt so hungry … when was the last time you ate?

What did that bastard inject in you? It felt like the pain had been increasing steadily overtime.

-XoX-

Standing outside with his metal hands clasped behind his back, The Doctor did not move when he had shut the door but was in deep thought with himself.

The subject was definitely something unique. How could they be an employee of this place? The question that lingered on his mind was why did they come back to this place.

Immediately brushing away the thoughts, he had tasks to attend to.

It wont be very long now until the subject starts feeling the effects of the serum he injected into their bloodstream.

-XoX-

Holding your head, you weakly sobbed out and heaved. It felt like everywhere was on fire — your stomach gnawed and whined at you for food, your fingers instinctively started to scratch at the incisions — tearing a few open allowing the blood to flow again.

Ignoring the pain, you scuffled to the window to bang on, looking for anything or anyone to help you; but you knew deep down nobody was coming.

Eventually falling unconscious, unknownest to you, an eye had been watching the whole time in cruel silence.

-XoX-

Regaining consciousness, you found yourself back on the table once more with your wounds freshly restitched and wrapped. Releasing a shuddering breath, a few stray tears fell down your cheeks. Grateful that the pain was gone.

However, you noticed you weren’t strapped down and turned your head to flinch at Sawyer merely observing you with a clipboard in his hold.

“I see you survived the test for an upcoming project of mine.”

Opening your mouth, you couldn’t help but rasp out: “Y-You can’t keep me here forever, Poppy—The Others they’ll-”

“They’ll what? Rescue you?” The Doctor’s even voice laughed in a mocking way.

“You do realize they sacrificed you to me.” The eye narrowed into an eye-smile. “You should really thank Poppy for throwing away one of her best chest pieces to me, because my dear friend, this is simply the beginning." -------------------------------------------- Next Chapter <- Soon Previous Chapter

[little-diable]

Lust - Finan + Reader + Sihtric (smut)

Requested by @darkandjollyfolly for my birthday bash celebration. The lyrics are from Hozier's song "Arsonist's Lullabye". Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Pwp, Finan and Sihtric show the reader that their shared longings aren't sinful

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), talks of sinning

Pairing: Finan x fem!reader x Sihtric (900 words)

“Look at me,” Finan’s raspy voice forced her eyes open. She was trembling, kneeling on the cold ground with her hands interlaced. He towered over her with Sihtric standing close, like a shadow following Finan wherever he went. For a second, (y/n) allowed her eyes to flicker between the two men who had touched her just days ago - memories that made her tremble with shame. “What is it with you? You’ve kept your distance.” 

“I,” (y/n) choked on her breath, eyes fluttering close to sort through her thoughts. “What we did was wrong. I keep on asking for forgiveness, but I fear God won’t grant me any more of it. I have sinned, we have sinned.” 

“All you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach. You may fear the punishment, but we shared love, that is no sin, dove. The passion burning inside of you is nothing you need to hide. Don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash.” Sihtric kneeled before her, hands cupping her warm cheeks. (Y/n) heavily swallowed as she allowed the words to spread through her mind while she slowly gave in to Sihtric’s touch. 

“Do you think that is true, Finan?” She looked at the man who had always intrigued her, pulling her further in while she fought against the lust she couldn’t let go of. Finan was just as guided by his faith as (y/n) was, allowing her to put her trust in the strong warrior. 

“I do. What we have can’t be sinful, not when it's guided by longings and love.” He reached a hand out for her to take, pulling her away from Sihtric and into his chest. Finan let his eyes dance over her features for a second before he pressed a searing kiss to her lips. Seconds later, Sihtric pressed himself against her back, keeping her caged between her lovers as Finan kissed her breathless and Sihtric began to leave marks on her neck. 

“Prove it to me, show me this love you speak of.” The warriors didn’t need to be told twice, pulling away from her to guide her back to the hut they were staying in for the time being. No further words were spoken between them, not while they shuffled her out of her dress, exposing her naked body to hungry eyes. 

The sounds of both men pulling out of their clothes filled the hut, making (y/n)’s eyes flicker between Sihtric and Finan, taking in their muscular frames. Both her hands reached for the men, guiding them towards her before sinking down on the bed. While Finan’s beard scratched the skin of her throat, kissing his way down to her chest, Sihtric left kisses on her inner thighs, marking his way up to her dripping heat.

Too many sensations flushed through her, like a battle she was stuck in but couldn’t escape from. But unlike the battles she had fought in before, (y/n) didn’t feel any need to escape now, happily letting both men touch her as if she had always been theirs to share. 

Her moans clawed out of her, urging the two men to touch her where she needed them the most. Sihtric’s mouth felt warm against her core, tongue circling her pulsing bundle while pushing two fingers into her tightness. Finan looked up at her with a wicked smirk, watching the pleasure widen on her features. (Y/n)’s trembling fingers tugged on Finan’s dark roots, tightening her grasp the second he sucked on her hardening nipples.

“Heaven, this feels so good.” Both men were set on her pleasure, wanting to watch her fall apart before they’d both fuck her to get their fill. She trembled beneath them, head thrown back, hands tugging on whatever she could reach. 

Sihtric picked up the speed of his fingers, fucking her with them while he sucked on her clit, all while Finan kept switching between her breasts. She could die a happy death at that very moment, letting go of one last breath while pleasure thumped through her veins like poison. But these two gave her too much to look forward to, not daring to let go just yet while anticipation kept guiding her. 

Her walls began to flutter around Sihtric’s calloused fingers, glassy eyes taking in both men. The smirks they wore on their lips made them look all too similar, even though both were different as can be. (Y/n)’s heart skipped a few beats while taking in the clear lust both men were guided by, leaving her to wonder what they’d do to her in the upcoming hours. 

But all thoughts were stolen right from her as her orgasm clashed through her. She let go of moans while their names rolled off her tongue. Sihtric kept lapping at her folds, set on dragging out this moment while Finan moved up her body to kiss her. Their tongues fought for victory while the strong sensation kept having its grasp on her. 

“You were right,” she choked out. “This can’t be sinful, not when it feels this right.”

[mingi-s-dimples]

No Safe Haven - Jongho

“You're mine. Utterly, completely, mine.”

pairing: military general!jongho x captured fem!spy

genre: army/military au, 18+, filth, enemies to lovers

summary: you never thought infiltrating in his base would get you utterly destroyed and ruined in his office.. but he made sure to make you scream his name.

wc: 5.4k

warnings: military au, enemies to lovers, mean dom!jongho, bratty!reader, lots of cursing, lots of marking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, wrist restraint, lots of talking back tehehe, fingering with a glove, fingering in general, three rounds in total, desk sex, lip biting, biting, possessiveness, unprotected sex (boo use protection irl) completely consensual, for sure forgot something &&& will edit later.

Author's Note: HELLOOOO GUYSSS it's been a while since I've posted a fic of my own, of my own idea 🫣. I've been super into military attire and stuff these days because for uni I'm going to choose the military general medicine part not the citizen one 🤞 and I got pleeentyyyy of ideas to write just about thinking of the uniforms - ups (I'm a whore for this man I'm so sorry-). Anyways it's pure filth- enjoyy 😋🎀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The battlefield had been bloody, ruthless. You had done everything you could to keep your cover intact, but in the end,

Jongho had caught you.

You had been sent to infiltrate his ranks, gather intel, and sabotage his forces from within. But the war general, known for his unshakable control and brutal tactics, saw through your deception from the very start. Now, you were his prisoner.

The heavy scent of leather, steel, and smoke filled the war tent where you knelt on the cold stone floor, arms bound behind your back. Your head remained high despite the tight ropes digging into your wrists, despite the oppressive weight of the man standing above you. Jongho hadn’t said a word yet, but his presence was enough to suffocate you.

Boots scraped against the floor as he circled you, slow and methodical, like a lion taking its time with a wounded prey. “I should have you executed,” he mused, voice deep, rich, unwavering. “That is the price of betrayal, after all.”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Then do it.”

His lips curled at your defiance, a smirk that was both amused and completely in control. "No," he murmured, crouching to your level. "Death is a mercy you don’t deserve."

Your breath hitched as he reached out, gloved fingers tracing the side of your face in a touch that was far too gentle, too intimate for an enemy.

“You infiltrated my army,” Jongho continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Lied to me. Manipulated my men. And yet… look at you. Still trying to act strong.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to break under his gaze. But then, his grip shifted—fingers tightening around your chin, forcing your head back until your neck was bared to him. His next words sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let’s see how long that fire lasts, little spy. Because make no mistake…" His lips brushed dangerously close to your ear. "I will enjoy watching you burn."

Your pulse was hammering, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Not when he looked at you like he already owned you.

He was too close—too much, too commanding, too intense. His breath fanned over your lips, his fingers still resting just under your chin, as if he were deciding whether to stroke or break.

You hated how easily he made you react. How his voice settled into your bones, how the weight of his gaze made your stomach tighten. So you did the only thing that made sense.

You spat in his face.

The moment the spit landed, a slow, dangerous silence settled between you.

Jongho didn’t move. Didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t react at all for a long, agonizing moment.

His head tilted as he slowly dragged his tongue across his teeth. His fingers flexed at his sides before he reached up and wiped the spit off his cheek with the back of his glove, watching you like a predator who had just decided to play with its food.

"You're fucking bold, aren't you?"

You barely had time to breathe before his hand shot out and wrapped around your throat.

Not crushing. Not yet. But firm, a warning.

His hand tightened around your throat, firm enough to keep you still, to remind you that he was the one in control here.

You should have been terrified. Any sane person would be. But you weren’t.

Not when his pupils were blown wide, Not when his breath came out ragged and heavy like he was barely holding himself back.

"You just don’t fucking know when to stop, do you?" his hand hovered in the air almost like he'd hit you, but he didn't. He backed off in a second.

Despite the way his dominance wrapped around you like a vice, despite the way his grip sent a heat spiraling through your core, you still smirked.

"You wanted to slap me," you murmured, your voice smooth, taunting. "But you didn’t."

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something darker in his eyes. Something almost feral.

"You really don’t know who the fuck you’re talking to.”

And then—his grip flexed, not enough to choke, but enough to steal your breath for half a second.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice dropping to something dark and commanding.

"I should throw you to my men," he murmured, his breath scorching against your skin. "Let them deal with you, break you the way traitors deserve."

A shiver rocketed down your spine.

"But you won’t," you breathed. "Because I belong to you, don’t I?"

The words tasted dangerous, but they weren’t a surrender. They were a challenge.

Jongho stilled and chuckled.

"See, that’s the thing," he muttered. His grip on your throat loosened just enough for his thumb to press against your bottom lip. "You talk like you have a choice."

His thumb dragged down, pulling your lip slightly—teasing, testing, owning.

"You think you can keep fighting me?" he scoffed. "That you can keep pretending you’re not fucking shaking for me?"

Your lips parted to spit something back, but you never got the chance.

Because he kissed you. And fuck, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a war, a claim, a punishment.

His lips crashed onto yours, hot and demanding, swallowing your gasp as his fingers tangled in your hair. Then—he yanked your head back.

A sharp pull, just enough to make you arch into him, just enough to make you fucking feel it.

The kiss was messy, deep, raw. His tongue brushed against yours, then forced its way in, taking, stealing, consuming.

You hated how easily he made you respond. How your body melted into him despite the fire in your veins.

His teeth sank into your lower lip, sharp, punishing, enough to draw a gasp from deep in your throat.

Jongho groaned, deep and wrecked, his dominance dripping from every touch, every movement.

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, his breath ragged. His fingers tightened in your hair, keeping you close, keeping you right where he wanted you. Then, just as suddenly, he ripped himself away.

Your chest heaved, your lips tingling, swollen, fucking ruined. His forehead pressed to yours, his breathing uneven, heavy.

"I’ve wanted to fucking ruin you since the moment I found out you infiltrated my base."

Your stomach flipped violently. Jongho’s voice was rough, pure gravel, pure torment.

"I should have had you killed." His lips brushed against your jaw, your cheek, your ear. His grip on your hip tightened, pulling you flush against him. "But I didn't."

Your breath came in short, quick bursts.

"Why?" you whispered, and you hated how breathless you sounded.

His smirk was pure sin. "Because I wanted to be the one to break you," he murmured. "Wanted to see you fall apart under me, wanted to hear you fucking beg."

Your nails dug into your palms, the last remnants of your resistance hanging by a thread.

He tilted his head, his nose barely brushing yours. "I hate how much I want you," he murmured. “And I fucking love it at the same time."

The air between you was scorching, suffocating, dangerous.

"Tell me, little spy," he murmured. His lips ghosted over yours, his words dripping in dominance.

"Are you still going to pretend you don’t want this?"

And for the first time… You didn’t have an answer.

The silence between you was thick, suffocating, stretched to its very limit.

Jongho was still so fucking close, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide, his entire body coiled like a predator ready to strike. Then—he snapped.

With a low, wrecked curse, he yanked you forward, his grip like iron around your wrist. Before you could react, he lifted you up effortlessly, manhandling you like you were nothing, your back colliding with the small desk in the room.

His body followed—towering, overwhelming, consuming. And then, he shoved you back.

One palm wrapped around your throat, the other sliding up your waist, fingers digging in, staking his claim as your spine hit the cold wall behind you.

Jongho’s breathing was wrecked, his expression nothing short of feral.

"You really fucking love pushing me, don’t you?" he muttered, his lips crashing onto yours before you had the chance to respond.

This kiss was pure fucking destruction.

Hot. Messy. Feral.

He wasn’t kissing you—he was taking you.

His tongue pushed in, deep and demanding, licking into your mouth like he had something to prove. Like he wanted to ruin the way you tasted.

He swallowed the gasp you let out when his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin.

"Fuck," he groaned against your lips, his hips pressing flush against yours, his grip tightening on your waist.

His thumb brushed up, pressing against your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

And god—his eyes.

Dark. Wild. Possessive.

"I swear to fucking god," he muttered, his voice low, dripping in dominance, "if you don’t tell me you want this, I’ll stop right now."

You licked your lips, still dazed, still burning from the way he kissed you.

He waited. Just a breath. Just a second. Then—you smirked.

"Stop?" you echoed, your voice syrupy sweet, teasing, testing. “You won’t."

Jongho’s jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard his teeth grind.

His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your flesh, grounding himself.

"You really wanna play this damn game, don’t you?" he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath scorching hot.

You tilted your head, batting your lashes. "I don’t know what you mean, General," you taunted. "I thought you were going to stop."

Something in him snapped at your words. "Fuck," he cursed, low and sharp and fucking wrecked.

Then, he kissed you again—harder, deeper, with even less patience.

His hand slid down from your throat, down your chest, gripping your waist, your thigh, spreading you open for him.

"Tell me you want this," he muttered, his lips dragging down your jaw, your throat, biting, sucking, leaving his mark.

His teeth scraped against your skin, his breath scorching hot against the bruises he left behind.

You inhaled sharply, every inch of you burning, every nerve alight with him.

Then, just to test him one last time, you murmured—so fucking soft, so fucking bratty—

"Make me."

Jongho groaned, deep and wrecked, his hand tightening on your waist like he was seconds away from breaking you completely.

"Oh, you have no fucking idea what you just asked for.”

His lips were relentless. They left no space untouched, trailing down from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your throat—biting, sucking, marking. He wasn’t just kissing you. He was ruining you.

The first sharp bite to your neck ripped a whine from your lips, your head tilting back as pleasure and pain mingled in a dizzying haze.

And just as you sucked in another breath— His hand wrapped around your throat. Not tight. Not yet. Just enough to remind you who the fuck was in control.

"Shut up," he muttered, his grip flexing, silencing the sound still stuck in your throat.

Your nails dug into the edge of the desk, knuckles white, body burning.

His other hand—hot, rough, possessive—slid up your waist, finding the torn fabric of your blouse.

Jongho exhaled sharply at the sight of your black lace bra, his breath coming out heavier, rougher, his restraint hanging by a fucking thread.

"God damn.." he muttered under his breath, his hands splaying over your ribs, thumbs brushing just under your breasts.

Then—his mouth was on you again.

His lips latched onto the swell of your chest, kissing, licking, then—Biting.

The first mark sent a jolt straight between your legs, a soft whimper slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Jongho groaned against your skin, his hands gripping your waist harder, his desperation slipping through the cracks.

His hat—that goddamn general’s cap he always wore like a crown—finally tumbled off, landing somewhere on the floor.

And god, that sight alone—his dark, tousled hair finally exposed, his head buried against your chest, his body pushing you further into the desk—It was almost too much.

And yet—you couldn’t resist pushing him further. You chuckled, low, teasing, amused by his sheer fucking desperation.

"You’re pathetic," you murmured, your voice dripping in mockery.

Jongho stilled and laughed.

Then, with zero warning, he sank his teeth into the curve of your breast. Not gentle. Not sweet. A punishment.

A small cry tore from your throat, but his hand tightened on your neck, keeping it trapped, keeping it his.

"You think this is funny, huh?" he muttered, his breath scorching against the bruises he left.

You grinned, breathless, wrecked, but still teasing.

"Yeah," you whispered, your lashes fluttering as you met his gaze.

Jongho exhaled sharply, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen, damp with you.

"God, you just don’t fucking stop," he muttered, his hands tightening on your waist, holding you in place.

"Then maybe," he continued, his lips trailing up your chest, your throat, back to your mouth,

“I should shut you up myself."

You licked your lips, still tasting him, still feeling the way his hands had claimed every inch of you.

And yet—he still hadn’t ruined you. Not completely. So you did what you did best. You pushed him further.

"You keep talking about ruining me," you murmured, tilting your head, voice syrupy sweet, taunting.

Jongho’s fingers twitched on your waist, his jaw clenching.

You smirked. "When are you actually gonna do it?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience snapping like a thin thread. Then—his hand was on your throat again. Tighter. Unyielding. His grip forced your head back against the wall, your body completely at his mercy.

"You wanna be ruined, huh?" he muttered, his voice low, dripping in danger.

You barely had time to breathe before he pushed forward, pressing his lips to your ear.

"You wanna be destroyed, hm?" he whispered, his voice a promise.

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you before your mind could catch up.

Jongho felt it. He fucking felt it.

"Let's see.. I wanna make you beg," he muttered, his hand sliding lower, his grip on your throat loosening just enough to let you breathe.

His lips dragged down your jaw, back to your throat, biting, licking, marking you deeper.

"I wanna hear you scream my name," he continued, his words scorching hot against your skin.

You sucked in a breath, your nails digging into the edge of the desk as his hands traveled lower, claiming, consuming.

"I wanna make you cry, cry for my mercy" he whispered, his teeth grazing your pulse. “But you won't get any.”

A small sound—something between a moan and a gasp—slipped past your lips.

He groaned, wrecked at the sound of you.

Jongho’s grip on your waist tightened, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"You really have no idea what you’ve done," he murmured, his gaze burning into yours.

"You really don’t fucking know how long I’ve waited for this."

His fingers dragged along your thigh, teasing, tormenting, pushing you closer to the edge without even touching you properly.

"You don’t get it, do you?" he whispered.

"You’re mine now."

His grip tightened on your jaw, his mouth hovering just above yours.

"And I’m gonna fucking destroy your pretty little pussy.”

He was looong gone.

The moment he yanked off his thick army jacket, revealing the sheer strength beneath—the broad chest, the cut muscles, the battle-worn scars beneath his black shirt—your breath caught in your throat.

And when he reached for your blouse, tearing it away to finally reveal the toned body that came with being a spy, his eyes darkened.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his gaze drinking you in, raw and hungry.

You should have been embarrassed. Should have felt exposed.

But instead? You liked it.

You liked the way his eyes devoured you whole. Liked the way his breath hitched as he took in every inch of you.

And god, his personality? That commanding, ruthless dominance?

It was everything you wanted. Everything you needed.

Maybe it was because of your career, the way you were trained to fight, to defy, to challenge the most dangerous of men.

Or maybe—you just liked men who knew how to fucking take.

Jongho’s fingers moved to your pants, unfastening them with zero hesitation. With one sharp tug, they were gone, pooling at your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

And that’s when he saw them.

The scars.

Faint. Barely there. Memories of fights, of battles you survived.

Jongho stilled. Not in hesitation. Not in pity. In pure, raw admiration. Then—he lowered himself. Dropped to his knees. And he pressed his lips to the first scar. Then another. And another. Each one kissed, licked, marked.

Your breath shuddered, your head tilting back against the wall, your thighs trembling beneath his hands.

You wanted to touch him.

Wanted to tangle your fingers in his thick, black hair, yank him closer, make him stay there forever. But you couldn’t. Your hands were still tied.

Jongho exhaled sharply against your skin, his hands tightening on your thighs.

"You’re fucking perfect," he muttered, his lips brushing over the inside of your leg, his voice deep, reverent, utterly wrecked.

Then—he lifted his head. And that look?

That ravenous, all-consuming, predatory stare?

It sent a violent shudder through your entire body.

Jongho didn't even bother taking off his gloves.

His breath was ragged, heavy, dripping in hunger as he pushed himself back up, towering over you again.

His gloved fingers—rough, calloused, strong—trailed from your breasts, grazing over your tight, sensitive skin, dragging lower, lower—

Until he reached the soaked fabric of your panties, barely covering what was his.

He exhaled sharply, his hot breath hitting your face as his lips brushed over yours, teasing, taunting.

"You’re dripping," he murmured, his voice a low, filthy rasp.

His fingers pressed against you, teasing the soaked material, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made your thighs tremble.

You whined, hips twitching.

"Mhm, you want it," he muttered, his tone dark, knowing, dripping in dominance.

He didn’t ask. He knew.

You glared at him, refusing to answer, refusing to give him what he wanted. So, he took it.

With one sharp, impatient tug, your panties were gone—ripped off like they were nothing.

And then—his fingers were on you. Bare, exposed, nowhere to hide.

A choked moan escaped your lips the second his fingers slid through your slick folds, gathering everything you were giving him.

Jongho let out a low, pleased sound, his jaw tightening.

"You’re fucking soaked," he muttered, almost to himself, almost like he was losing control just from feeling how wrecked you already were.

And then—he pushed in.

One finger, thick, gloved, sliding into your cunt with ease, filling you up in ways that made your breath hitch.

You clenched around him instinctively, a sharp moan escaping before you could stop it.

Jongho cursed under his breath.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours as he shoved in another finger, stretching you open, preparing you.

He didn’t ease you in. Didn’t tease. Didn’t wait. He destroyed. His fingers pounded into you, rough, deep, deliberate. Thrusting. Stretching. Curling just right.

Every drag, every push, every pump had your legs trembling, your breath hitching, your body shaking.

You moaned again, louder, a desperate sound that only spurred him on.

"That’s it," he muttered, his lips grazing your ear, his fingers moving faster, deeper.

"Let me hear you."

His free hand gripped your waist, holding you still as you writhed under his touch, helpless, wrecked, desperate for more.

He thrust his fingers harder, deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over and over until—

A strangled moan tore from your throat, your body clenching, tightening, shattering.

Jongho groaned, watching as you came undone around his fingers.

"Good fucking girl," he murmured, his lips trailing down your jaw, over your pulse, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.

And then—he yanked his fingers out, his gloved hand covered in your slick.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he brought them to your lips.

"Open."

Your breath hitched. But you did.

And the second your tongue met the taste of yourself on his fingers, Jongho groaned—deep, guttural, wrecked.

"Fuck," he muttered, his jaw clenching.

Then—his hands were on his belt. Unbuckling. Unzipping. Freeing himself.

"You took my fingers so fucking well," he murmured, his voice a promise, dark and deadly and drenched in filth.

"Now—"

He grabbed your hips, dragging you to the very edge of the desk, lining himself up against your still-twitching entrance.

"Let’s see how well you take my cock."

Jongho didn't waste a second. His hands went to his belt—quick, precise, impatient.

The metal clinked as he unfastened it, and then—his pants dropped, pooling at his ankles, leaving him in nothing but his tight black briefs.

Your breath hitched.You could already see it.

The outline. The size. The sheer thickness. And then—his briefs went next. Fuck. He was big. Thick, long, heavy, the tip leaking with proof of just how much he fucking wanted you. And the look on his face? Ravenous. Starved. Like he was going to eat you alive.

Then—his teeth clenched around his gloves.

One by one, he yanked them off with nothing but his fucking mouth, his sharp canines digging into the fabric, his jaw tightening.

The sight? Sinful. Dangerous. Absolutely lethal. And the second they were off—he grabbed you. Spread your thighs wide open, lined himself up, and—

Slid right the fuck in.

One, brutal, devastating thrust. Every inch. Every single inch, buried deep inside you.

Your back arched off the desk, a broken moan ripping from your lips as he filled you completely, stretching you wide, making you take him.

A deep, low, animalistic sound escaped his chest, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it was borderline bruising.

"Tight as fuck," he hissed, his jaw clenching as he bottomed out, the head of his cock pressing against the very deepest part of you.

You clenched around him—hard. Jongho cursed under his breath. And then, when his gaze flickered to your face—

When he saw the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips trembled, the way your eyes glazed over with unshed tears from the sheer stretch of him—

His expression darkened. And his cock fucking twitched inside you.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice husky, sinful, absolutely wrecked.

"You gonna cry for me, sweetheart?"

His thumb wiped away a stray tear that slipped down your cheek.

"Yeah," he murmured, his lips grazing yours, his fingers gripping your thighs.

"You will."

Then—he moved. And ruined you. Hard. Deep. Merciless. His thrusts were brutal. Animalistic. Completely unhinged.

Your body fucking bounced with every snap of his hips, every shove, every relentless drive of his cock inside you.

"Taking it so fucking well," he muttered, his jaw clenched, his nails digging into your skin.

Deep. So deep. So goddamn good.

Your moans turned to whimpers, your whimpers turned to broken cries.

His fingers tightened on your waist, his thrusts turning sharp, rough, pure devastation.

"That’s it," he muttered, his voice a low, dark rasp.

"Fucking take it."

And you did. Every inch. Every thrust. Every ounce of filthy, reckless, dominating pleasure he gave you. You loved it. Fucking loved it.

And Jongho?

He was going to make sure you never forgot it.

Jongho’s grip on your waist tightened—bruising, possessive, unrelenting.

His pace grew harder. Deeper. More powerful.

Each thrust sent you reeling, your body rocking with the sheer force of him, the desk beneath you creaking under the weight of it all.

Then—his hand slid to your back. A sharp tug. A forceful pull. He dragged you closer, forcing you to take him even deeper. A wrecked cry left your lips. You cursed. You whined. You moaned.

Low, deep, almost feral—his voice drenched in raw satisfaction.

"You feel that?" he rasped, his fingers digging into your skin, his breath warm against your ear.

"Every inch of me inside you, just how I’ve fucking wanted—"

His head fell forward, a growl vibrating in his chest. He was close.

And then—his next words sent a full-body shudder down your spine.

"Gonna fill you up, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice hoarse, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, desperate.

"Gonna fuckin’ ruin you."

And then—he did.

He buried himself deep, filling you up, holding you there, making you take everything he gave you.

You gasped, your body clenching around him, your mind spinning, your breath hitched—

But Jongho wasn’t done. Not even close.

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. His fingers brushed up your spine—slow, teasing, dangerous.

Then, in one swift, powerful motion—he flipped you over.

You barely had time to gasp before he dragged you to the edge of the desk, forcing your chest against the cold wood.

And then—his hand wrapped around your face. A firm push.

Your cheek met the surface, your breath hitching as he leaned over you, his weight pressing into your back, keeping you exactly where he wanted.

"Not done with you," he murmured, his tone dangerously low.

"Not even fucking close."

Then— a yank.

His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to make your eyes meet his. And his gaze? Dark. Feral. Completely wrecked.

"Look at me," he muttered, his grip tightening, his breath ragged.

"Watch me while I fucking destroy you."

And then—he did exactly that.

Jongho’s grip on your hair tightened, forcing your gaze onto his. His hips snapped forward—ruthless, punishing, relentless. Harder. Deeper. Unyielding.

Every thrust was a claim, a vow, a promise to ruin you beyond repair.

The desk beneath you creaked, your body jolting with every devastating movement.

"You feel that?" he rasped, his voice dripping with dominance, his tone laced with pure, unfiltered possession.

"Feel how deep I am? How I’m making you take it?"

Your breath hitched, your body tightening, the coil in your stomach winding dangerously close to snapping.

Jongho noticed. Of course he did. He smirked—dark, knowing. And then—he stopped. Pulled out.

Your body screamed in protest, the pleasure that had built up to a near-breaking point now cruelly ripped away.

A strangled noise left your lips. "You—"

"You think you get to come?" Jongho cut you off, his hand gripping your hip, forcing you still beneath him.

"You think I’ll let you have it that easily?"

Then—he was inside you again. Filling you up in a single, brutal thrust, dragging you back to the edge— And stopping. Again.

"Fuck—" you gasped, your hands clenching into fists behind your back, your legs trembling.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Not until I hear you," he murmured, his grip tightening, his voice deep, wicked.

"You want to come, sweetheart?" His breath ghosted over your ear, his hips rolling into you with slow, deliberate torture.

"Then say my fucking name."

You swallowed hard, your pride fighting against the sheer desperation flooding your body.

You were so close, so ruined, so wrecked—

But you refused to give in. So he did it again. And again. Brought you to the peak—then ripped it away. Over. And over. And over. Until—

"Jongho!"

It tore from your throat, raw and desperate, a curse, a plea, a surrender all in one.

Only then did he give it to you.

Only then did he let you fall.

And when you did?

You shattered.

The pleasure crashed over you in violent waves, your body tightening, clenching, convulsing around him as he groaned through clenched teeth.

"That’s it," he murmured, his pace turning wild, ruthless.

"Take it. Fucking take it.”

And then—he followed.

Burying himself deep one more time, his grip bruising, his body wrecked as he spilled inside you—

Filling you. Claiming you. Destroying you.

And when the tremors faded, when your breath finally returned, when your body lay limp against the desk, utterly spent—

Jongho? He wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

His fingers slid to your chin, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze.

And his next words? A promise.

"You think I’m done with ruining you?"

His lips brushed yours, his voice dark, wrecked, hungry.

"You don’t even know the half of it.”

Jongho didn’t stop.

Didn’t let you breathe. Didn’t let you think.

Your body was still trembling, still wrecked from the last orgasm, but he wasn’t done with you.

His fingers pushed deep—so deep you nearly screamed.

"You feel that?" His voice was dark, rough, dripping with possession.

"You’re taking everything I give you, and I haven’t even ruined you completely yet."

His other hand grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to see the hunger in his gaze.

Then—he shoved his fingers between your lips.

"Suck."

It wasn’t a request.

Your tongue flicked over them, hot, wet, sinful— and Jongho groaned, low and wrecked.

"That’s a good girl," he muttered, his fingers dragging over your tongue before pulling free with a wet pop.

"Now, let’s see how loud I can make you scream."

And then—he was inside you again. Hard. Deep. Devastating.

Your back arched, a moan breaking from your lips, but Jongho wasn’t satisfied with that. His fingers found your clit, pressing, rubbing, teasing— You jolted. Cursed.

"Too much?" he mocked, his pace turning brutal, his grip on your waist tightening.

"Too bad."

His thrusts were merciless, unrelenting, driving you higher, harder— Until the pleasure became unbearable.

Your body convulsed, tightening, clenching, shaking— And Jongho felt it.

"Give it to me," he ordered, his voice pure command, pure dominance, pure destruction. You finally shattered.

Your scream broke through the room, your body wrecked, trembling, convulsing around him—Jongho groaned, his own restraint snapping, his grip on you bruising, unyielding—

And then he followed.

Filling you to the brim this time, all over again, cum dripping from your cunt on the desk.

And when it was over—when you were nothing but a trembling mess beneath him—

Jongho leaned down, his breath hot against your ear.

Jongho didn’t move for a long moment, his breath still ragged, his body still pressed against yours, the heat between you still unbearable.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear, his voice low, wrecked, commanding.

"I’ll untie you," he murmured, fingers dragging down your spine, teasing, taunting, possessive.

"But only if you swear yourself to me. To my side."

You inhaled sharply. You knew what he meant. He wasn’t just asking for loyalty—he was demanding it.

"Join me," he continued, his fingers tightening around your wrists, his touch still firm, still controlling. "Or I keep you here. Forever.”

The threat—or promise—sent a dangerous thrill down your spine. A smirk tugged at your lips despite the exhaustion in your limbs, the soreness in your body, the undeniable fact that he had completely, utterly wrecked you.

You tilted your head slightly, voice teasing, sultry, defiant.

"You know," you mused, deliberately slow, deliberately provoking,

"I was gonna retire from being a spy for them anyway."

Jongho stilled.

You grinned, eyes flashing as you added, "Guess you're stuck with me, General.”

Jongho still had that dark, commanding presence as he loomed over you, his grip firm, his body still radiating heat and power. His fingers traced over the marks he’d left on your skin, a silent reminder of what he’d just done to you.

But you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

Even wrecked, trembling, and utterly ruined, you still had your pride.

You smirked, tilting your head up slightly, feigning innocence.

"Didn’t you get enough of me, darling?" you teased, your voice dripping with mock sweetness, your eyes flashing with mischief despite the raw pleasure still lingering in your body.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, his voice a sinful whisper.

"Didn’t I ruin your pussy enough?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw, his tone dark and taunting.

"You’re teasing me because you want more, aren’t you?"

His fingers trailed down your spine, sending a shiver through your exhausted body, his presence still overwhelming, still utterly in control.

Your smirk didn’t waver. His didn’t either.

“You're mine. Utterly, completely, mine.”

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[lulublack90]

Prompt 3 - Risk

@jegulus-microfic February 3, Word count 765

Previous part First part

James instinctively moved Regulus behind him. 

“It is too late, Mr Potter, I have already seen Mr Black. The younger Mr Black, Sirius,” McGonagall said in exasperation. “I take it the Mr Blacks were duelling? Her Scottish accent thickened as she began to reprimand them. James looked between the two brothers. He knew they’d end up in detention for at least a month, and McGonagall would write to their parents. Regulus would be in danger if Walburga ever found out that not only had Regulus been fraternising with Sirius and Sirius’s friends, and he was also in Gryffindor Tower. James squeezed Regulus’s arm as he worried about what would happen. Regulus zapped him with a stinging hex. He yelped but let go of Regulus’s arm. He needed to stop McGonagall. He took a risk and cleared his throat. 

“We were dancing,” She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he swore he saw the corner of her mouth twitch as though she was trying to repress a smile. “Sirius got a new record, and we got a bit too into it. Show her Sirius,” James urged him. Sirius’s eyes darted to Regulus and James pleaded with him internally to just go with it. 

“Yeah, Professor, Andromeda got it for me,” He picked up a record sleeve for the record on the record player. James just managed to make out the title on the front. It was David Bowie’s Hunky Dory. He blew out a breath that one had changes on, and he and Sirius had already had Mary burst through the door, firing hexes at them with just them dancing around wildly to it. “We were listening to Changes, and well, we were really feeling it. We won’t do it again, promise,” She narrowed her eyes at him. She’d always had a soft spot for Sirius. James hoped Sirius could charm her this time as well. 

“And would anybody care to explain why Mr Black is not in his own dorm?” That one stumped them. 

“Inter-house cooperation,” Peter piped up. 

“Excuse me?” Professor McGonagall asked, just as shocked as the rest of them. 

“Well, we noticed that the divide between the Slytherins and the rest of the school was increasing because of the war, and we thought it would be a good thing to try and fix that by fixing the relationship between Sirius and Regulus. Regulus is up here because of the retaliation he may receive from not only his parents and other relations, but also some members of Slytherin may not take kindly to Regulus bringing the four of us into their common room after all the pranks we have pulled on them in the past,” Everyone blinked slowly at Peter as they absorbed his well-thought-out words. 

“Very well,” McGonagall nodded tersely. “Mr Black, I shall escort you back to the Dungeons. As for you three, I suggest you spend the remainder of the evening in less disruptive activities. Mr Black, I shall wait for you outside the portrait. Do not make me have to come back up here,” She gave them one of her ‘do not test me looks' and swept from the room. 

“Thank you,” He said to Sirius. Sirius gave him a crooked smile and a cheeky wink before ushering Remus into the bathroom. The shower turned on and then a void of silence blocked out whatever it was they were doing in there. 

“Thank you,” Regulus said, recapturing his attention. Regulus grabbed his chin and pulled him down for a kiss. “Can I have the cloak, so I can sneak back up?” He asked and James scrambled to find it, hoping McGonagall would wait just a minute longer. 

“Bye, love,” James called after him as Regulus raced down the spiral staircase, the front of his robes protruding slightly from where he’d stuffed the cloak. “Well that could have been worse,” James said, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Speak for yourself,” Peter squeaked as he yanked his bed curtains over to show James the smouldering hole in the red material. 

“Sorry, Pete, I’ll fix them for you,” James moved to stand beside Peters's bed and tried to remember what spell his mum used to mend fabric. He waved his wand, and the curtains vanished. “Er, maybe you can use Sirius’s as he won’t be needing them. Peter made a long, suffering sigh and went to get the curtains from around Sirius’s abandoned bed himself. Not trusting James not to vanish another set. James went to wait on his bed, wondering how long it would take Regulus to get back up there. 

Next part

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Soo i was just thinking, maybe more zombie apocalypse Ani? It's just been on my mind lately

Doesn't have to be smut if you don't want, i know i'll like anything you'll write <3

-🦢

The fire crackled softly in the background, casting shadows across the crumbling walls of the abandoned cabin you’d found earlier in the day. You sat on the floor, knees hugged to your chest, eyes darting to the boarded-up, covered in moss windows every now and then. Still you could hear the distant groans and shuffles outside that slowly had eased-- although temporarily-- before they were back in, some louder, some quieter. Yet still, nonetheless, it never truly felt safe. Not out here. Not anywhere.

ANAKIN SKYWALKER crouched a few feet away, sharpening a hunting knife with slow strokes. Jaw was clenched, hand steady despite how it trembled earlier from adrenaline. The fire's light caught the hard lines of his face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes and the streaks of dried blood on his temple he had forgotten to wipe off. He looked every bit like the battle-worn survivor.

“You should eat,” he said quietly, not looking up from his blade.

“I’m not hungry,” your voice equally low. The truth was, you were too tense to think about food, to think about anything that would force you to use any bit of your little strength. Even talking felt like an exhausting, hard action. Your heart also hadn’t stopped racing since the last run-in with a horde. The image of those rotting hands clawing through the broken car window still haunted you like the worst nightmare.

Anakin’s gaze finally lifted “You need to keep your strength up,” he insisted, tone leaving no room for much further argument. He reached into his pack, pulling out a can of soup and tossing it toward you. “Eat.”

With clumsiness, you had caught it, the can slipping a little in your shaky palms. “I said I’m not hungry,” you muttered, carefully setting it down beside you.

To that, he rose to his full height, taking steps towards you. When he crouched down in front of you, he felt overwhelming, those stormy, ocean-grey eyes locking onto yours. “And I said eat,” he repeated, voice softer now, but no less firm. “I’m not losing you over something as stupid as skipping a meal.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was--close enough that you could see the subtle tremor in his hand as he set the knife aside. Close enough for you to notice the weariness on his face. How tired he was, too. How it was all eating him alive. He was just as exhausted, just as scared, but he always managed to mask it, for your sake.

“Anakin…” you started, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

“You think I don’t notice?” he murmured, his gaze flickering to your trembling fingers. “How you flinch every time you hear something outside? How you barely sleep because you’re too busy making sure I’m still breathing?” His hand reached out, touch surprisingly gentle as he brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “You’re clearly carrying too much, and you’re going to break if you don’t let me help.”

“I’m not… I’m just trying to keep us alive.”

“So am I,” voice dropping to a whisper. “But I can’t do that if you won’t take care of yourself.”

His fingers lingered against your cheek for a moment before he pulled back, reaching back for the can of soup. Without another word, he opened it and handed it to you with an expecting gaze

“Please,” he said, the word barely audible, but you didn't miss the vulnerability in it “For me.”

For a moment longer, you hesitated, before finally taking the can, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered, too familiar tension in your chest easing just a little as you raised the can to your lips.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop

[reomikagekin]

Hello! I saw requests were open and was wondering if you could write some fluff for Ace and a fem!reader where they’ve been on a cold winter island all day so when they get back to the ship some toasty cuddles ensue thanks to everyone’s favorite walking space heater bf❤️

Of course!! Hehe here you go

The sun had set hours ago, leaving the cold of the winter island biting into your skin as you trudged through the snow beside Ace.

The journey back to the ship had been long and arduous, and by the time you finally saw the familiar sight of the Moby Dick in the distance, you were frozen to the bone. Ace, ever the mischievous yet protective one, glanced over at you with a grin.

"You okay there, sweetheart?" he asked, voice teasing, though you could hear the concern underneath. You gave a small nod, teeth chattering as you pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders. "I’ll be fine. Just need to get warm," you replied, trying to sound stronger than you felt.

Ace chuckled, his warm breath puffing into the air, and without another word, he swept you into his arms. The sudden warmth of his body was a sharp contrast to the cold around you, and you let out a surprised gasp. "You’re my walking space heater, Ace," you said with a grin, nuzzling your cheek into the crook of his neck as he carried you towards the ship. "I try my best," Ace replied with a wink, his arm tightening around you. "But you know, I’m always happy to keep you warm."

By the time you reached the ship, the cold was but a distant memory, replaced by the comforting heat of Ace’s embrace. He quickly led you inside, where the warm glow of the ship's hearth greeted you."You’re safe now," Ace whispered softly, helping you out of your outer layers, his hands gentle despite his usual fiery nature. "Let’s get you settled."

You sank into the soft cushions by the fire, and Ace soon joined you, pulling you close into his chest. His body heat surrounded you like a warm cocoon, and you melted into him, your hands curling around the fabric of his shirt. "I could get used to this," you murmured, your eyelids heavy as you basked in the warmth, content with the feeling of Ace's arms around you.

"Good. Because I plan to keep you warm for as long as you’ll let me," Ace replied, his voice a low, comforting rumble in your ear. With that, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and the two of you settled into the quiet, peaceful warmth of each other’s company, letting the world outside fade away.

[k1ttycrush]

Purple

Not writing wolfstar for once! Who cheered

Jegulus oneshot

Teeny warning, things get a little steamy (wink)

Enjoy!

“I get the yellow ones!” Sirius exclaimed as he reached over to snatch the bag full of yellow sweets from his boyfriend’s hand. Remus leaned away, holding the bag far above his head and out of his reach.

“I called dibs on the yellow ones Padfoot.” He replied irritably. James had gotten red, Regulus, blue, Sirius was left with green. He hated that color; it made his skin crawl.

But Sirius just grinned playfully, taking Remus’ reluctance as a challenge rather than a rejection.

“Oh but you love me, don’t you?” He asked sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

Remus sputtered, a red tint to his cheeks. “I- what-“

“See, someone who loved me truly would give me any candy I want. Isn’t that right Prongs?” He asked, looking back to James.

James snuck a small glance at Regulus at his side when Sirius said the word “loved.” His eyes quickly snapped back to Sirius,’ his best friend cocking his eyebrow suspiciously. James’ licked his lips, stretching them into a playful grin.

“Why of course Padfoot.” He said with mock-sincerity . He looked to Remus, who looked nervous and confused. “Moony, you wouldn’t want Sirius to feel unloved would you?!”

Remus let out a little growl. “Oh fine!” He tossed the bag of yellow sweets to Sirius, who laughed and pecked his boyfriend on the cheek in appreciation.

“Going soft are we, Moony?” James teased, casually popping a red candy into his mouth.

Remus merely glared back at both James and Regulus. He smirked knowingly. “I don’t want to hear about ‘going soft’ from you of all people, Prongs.”

James soon began to choke on the candy, hacking and coughing. Regulus briefly brushed a comforting hand against his back as he doubled over, before finally spitting the candy out onto the path they were walking from Honeydukes.

Sirius made a show of gagging, before Remus quickly batted him over the head.

As James came back up, Regulus suddenly spoke up. “Merlin!” He said in that soft, voice of his. “I forgot I needed more quills, you don’t mind if James comes with me to get some, do you? I remember him saying something about new quills too.”

James looked at him in confusion. “Quills? Wha-“ Regulus jabbed him in the ribs. “Ow! Oh. Ohhh.” He cleared his throat, pasting an awkward smile on his face. “Ah, yes. Yes I needed some more quills. Very important.”

Remus and Sirius looked at eachother, before looking back at them.

“Uh yeah, sure?” Sirius replied, unsure.

Remus smirked. “Have fun, quill shopping!”

And the two of them walked away together, Sirius laughing at something he said. Remus smiled at him softly.

Regulus immediately grabbed James by the hand, leading him away with urgency. James just followed him with a goofy smile on his face.

They walked until they found a suitable alleyway to hide away in. Regulus looked around cautiously, before dragging James into the alleyway by the hand.

James clumsily pushed him to the wall, using his large, muscled, arms to lean up flush against him.

Regulus looked at him through his lashes, face carefully neutral. His hands wandered across James’ chest. “You. Are a bad liar.”

James just grinned before Regulus yanked him down by the tie, forcing his lips to crash against his.

He pushed him against the wall harder, deepening this kiss and also provoking a small grunt from Regulus. James’ skin buzzed pleasantly, as if he had took few shots of fire whisky. Except this wasn’t firewhiskey, this was so much better.

They quickly pulled away from eachother, gasping for breath. James leaned for to kiss him on the corner of his mouth, trailing down his pale skin.

“Remus knows.” He murmured in between each kiss.

“…Maybe.” Regulus replied, amused. He took in a sharp gasp when James got to a particularly sensitive spot under his ear.

“I wonder how.”

“Hmmm…” Regulus hummed. He lazily brushed a hand underneath his shirt. All toned, tanned, smooth skin. He had always loved James’ skin; it was always so nice to feel and look at. James let out a little shudder.

“Your hands are cold, love.” James said under his breath. He grabbed the slender hand trailing along his stomach, bringing it to his mouth and kissing each and every knuckle. He made sure to look Regulus in the eyes as he did. Regulus smiled softly, shyly. He looked away.

“Could you forgive me for telling him?” Regulus asked, biting his lip.

James grinned. “Oh, I suppose. It’ll cost you, though.”

Regulus didn’t get to reply before James’ lips was on his again.

#

“How long does it take to buy quills?” Remus asked irritably. He kicked a stone in frustration.

Sirius snorted. “Knowing Prongs, he’s probably got distracted by quidditch supplies on the way home.”

“You know Regulus would never allow that.”

Sirius hummed thoughtfully. “They could’ve stopped by Zonko’s?“

Remus just shrugged.

Regulus and James walked up to them, their hands lacking the supposed “quills” they so urgently needed to buy.

Sirius’ eyes narrowed as they approached. Their clothes were ruffled, their lips puffy and red.

But what really made him suspicious was the slight purple tint to their lips.

Sirius suddenly stormed up to James, yanking him by the collar.

“Hey! Wha-“

“Open your mouth.”

“What?!”

“James.” Sirius snapped threateningly. “Open. Your. Mouth.”

James looked to Regulus and Remus nervously. Regulus had that careful neutral on his face, but Remus was smiling.

James looked back to Sirius. He swallowed before opening his mouth hesitantly.

Sirius studied the inside. His teeth, his gums, his bright purple tongue. They never bought purple candies, only green, blue, red, and yellow ones.

Sirius gasped in realization. “JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER! ARE YOU SNOGGING MY LITTLE BROTHER?”

James just smiled nervously, praying to whatever god there was that he doesn’t get his ass beat. Remus bursted into laughter.

“To be fair, I kissed him back.” Regulus spoke up.

James grinned at him. “After you dragged me into an alleyw-“

“STOP!” Sirius shouted, roughly releasing James’ collar to cover his ears. “I don’t want to hear about my little brother’s love life!”

The two culprits looked at eachother smugly.

“I’m in LOVE-LOVE with James Fleamont Potter.” Regulus gushed dramatically.

“Isn’t REGULUS BLACK just so lovely?”

“STOP!” Sirius shrieked as he began to walk away, but they only followed him.

“I think James is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

“Aww, I love you so much Reggie-bear!”

“NO!!”

And Sirius bolted off as they dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Hi ik regulus would probably NEVER participate in the last part but it was too funny NOT to include and this is my silly fic so shhh

Black brothers actually tolerate eachother in this omigosh

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Trump has become an American Chairman Mao and this is his Cultural Revolution. This time it's not a little red book they're following, it's the big book that was prepared by the Heritage Foundation for exactly the purpose of what's happening right now all over Washington DC.

It was said that Chairman Mao launched his Cultural Revolution to purge his government of people who clung to traditional Chinese ways and practices that smacked of so-called capitalist elements. Every dictator who sees himself as a supreme being entitled to absolute power has his own reasons for what he does. Mao was obsessed with creeping capitalism that he thought infected Chinese society. With Trump -- and you hear it every day coming out of his mouth and the mouths of Co-Chairman Musk and the rest of Trump's MAGA lackeys -- the obsession is liberalism, which they cover with the rubric of DEI and something they call but never quite define: wokeism. They don't have to define it. They've got their MAGA base and the Republicans in Congress trained at this point to react exactly the way they want them to react when they hear the word woke or wokeism or DEI or Marxist any of the other catch phrases they've warped for their own purposes.

Chairman Mao used cadres of Red Guards to carry out his revolution. I remember reading stories back in the late 60s, after the Cultural Revolution had taken hold, of young members of the Red Guards going to their own homes in places like Beijing and Shanghai and arresting their own parents, whose crimes were being university professors senior researchers in government health agencies and the like. Does that sound familiar? I haven't seen anything yet about purges at the NIH but just wait until RFK Jr. moves into his office at the NIH campus in Bethesda, Maryland. Reporters may have to use numbers with quadruple digits to write the stories about the firings that'll take place there.

Trump isn't following the Mao playbook of using young people and college students to do his dirty work. No, he's got Elon Musk and his battering ram of functionaries --who are unelected and do not hold government jobs -- to tear through the government for him.

But Trump is not without his own Red Guards. He just let their leaders out of prison with pardons and commutations. Enrique Tarrio is a free man now, ready to retake his position running the Proud Boys. So is Stewart Rhodes, free as a bird, back at the helm of the Oath Keepers. Stunningly, MSNBC aired a documentary tonight, February 2nd, with the glorifying title “King of the Apocalypse” about Rhodes. I didn't watch it and probably you didn't either, but you didn't have to if you tuned into MSNBC this week where they ran trailers around the clock advertising their documentary with a shot of Rhodes wearing camouflage, picturing him as a kind of twisted Patton.

Be ashamed of yourself, MSNBC. You're playing right into these fuckers’ hands.

It's scary to contemplate, but there is probably a whole panoply of right-wing militias that are in one stage or another of forming as we speak. Trump told his violent extremists to “stand back and stand by” during the 2020 election campaign. Little did we know that they were just waiting for his orders on January 6. I think it's safe to say that we're not going to hear those words from Trump this time around, because Trump appears to have learned a lesson on January 6: Don't wait until the last minute. This time, Trump is moving with lightning speed. His stormtroopers have their headquarters in the White House Executive Office Building. Their leader, the odious Musk, has been welcomed into The West Wing where he has an office upstairs from the Oval Office.

Dear readers, this is a nightmare I don't think we're going to wake up from anytime soon. The Founders of our country described the democratic system they sought to form as a “government of laws, not of men.” With Donald Trump's January 6 pardons and commutations, with his appointment of the likes of Kash Patel to run the FBI, with Hegseth ready to put the military in the street anytime Trump orders him, we have lost that noble dream of our Founding Fathers. One day in the not too distant future, unless some lawsuits are filed by brave civil servants and groups like the ACLU and the Democratic Party gets its act together, we won't have the federal government anymore. We won't have school lunch programs and Head Start and research for new cures for cancer and development of plans to be ready for the next pandemic. I could go on with what will be missing from our government and our lives, but you get the picture.

I don't know what our country will become, but it won't be recognizable as the United States of America we have loved for 240 years.