#they are so dear to me!! and i never write them!!

[kurokawaia]

ATTITUDE!! 彡 Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi, Hawks

| MDNI - 18+ | WARNINGS :: bakugou x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader, dabi x fem!reader, x fem!reader, shoto x fem!reader, second pov, suggestive content, nsfw themes, implied smut/nsfw, no actual naughty acts, pet names used: babe, baby, sweetheart, dear, my love + more? MINI ONESHOTS. total wc :: 1.5k

⋆·˚ ༘ *REQUEST :: Could you maybe write a headcannon where reader says can you please shut the fuck up to them ? It can be more nsfw suggestive like. Like dabi finds it kinda hot and katsuki is kinda pissed but more in a amusing way. Could you do it pls for hawks,dabi,katsuki and maybe shoto? - @carokitten

DABI

Yeah good luck with you saying that actually making an impact because, surprise surprise, it is not going to work, if anything that just turns him on. "Don’t pretend you don’t like it when I—" You didn't even know what Dabi was rambling about while you were trying to concentrate on your task.

"Can you please shut the fuck up?" you snap, the words just slipped out before you could register even saying them. Immediately after you bit your bottom lip, mentally cursing yourself because you know your mans a freak, it probably gets him going.

Dabi stops abruptly after hearing your outburst and rests his hand on his palm, his elbow balanced on the table right beside you. A smirk rises on his lips as he nudges your shoulder. "Damn, babe. That's kinda hot," he chuckles before slyly slinging his arm around your shoulder, his hand moving your chin towards his face as you were looking away. With a swift movement, you are know dangerously close to his face, only a mere inch away, the pad of his thumb playing with your bottom lip teasingly, watching your face turn red. "Say it again," he teases, moving closer until his lips will graze your own, until your heart is pounding so loud you can't process any thoughts, licking his lips like he’s about to devour you whole.

You roll your eyes. "I swear to god, Dabi—"

He leans over you, almost causing you to fall of the chair, Dabi's lips press against yours and a haste movement of his tongue slipping past before you could even register until he pulls away. Swear all you want, babe, I’ll make you beg me to keep talking, to help you through it..." he murmurs slowly and your cheeks flare up knowing he was referring to something other that yapping your ear of.

HAWKS

Hawks has been teasing you for the past ten minutes, throwing in suggestive comments every chance he gets. He’s clearly enjoying the way your cheeks heat up and the way you stiffen momentarily whoch just made his experience so much better. Flustered, {name}, flustered, {name}, flustered, {name}, is the only thing singing in his head right now. "Y’know," he muses, his chest pressing against your back as you finished wiping the counter, causing you to be flush against him and the cool marble. "I could just keep talking if it means getting a reaction outta you. Kinda fun watchin’ you get all flustered like that—"

"Can you please shut the fuck up?" you cut in as nice as you could. Hawks freezes because he has never aroused such a reaction in you such as that before and it made him let out a laugh from behind you, moving his arms to cage you in, so you won't move. No, no, no, no. You aren't going to let him get to you. "Ohh, feisty," he grins and you let out a shaky breath feeling his lips graze the crook of your neck. He's getting to you. "Didn’t know you had that in you."

"I mean it, Kei'," you mumble, unable to comprehend between the sensations of his touch and how his words made your lower abdomen do flips. "What if I don’t?" he murmurs and you could feel him pressing in closer to you, you aren't going to last if this keeps up, his voice dipping lower. "What if I just keep talking, keep whispering in your ear, keep making you—"

"Kei, stop right now," you say, cutting him off but this only riles him up further, and did you really want him to stop? No. No you did not. One of his arms move so that now, after his hand slowly traces up from your hips to your chin, tilting your head back into his shoulder, having clear access to your neck to place kisses on. "Well, sweetheart, you just made this a whole lot more fun for me." Oh, you just made this a whole lot more fun, sweetheart."

BAKUGOU

Bakugou is ranting about something—probably a fight that happened on patrol, probably how he’s the best—and you’ve been nodding along, but he just. Won’t. Stop. And, Oh my days, it is giving you a headache. "So then that extra tried to land a hit, and I fuckin’ dodged it—like obviously, dumbass should’ve known better—"

"Can you please shut the fuck up?" you sigh, rubbing your temples, shoving your face into the pillow your head was laying on. For a moment, he looks like he’s about to explode—literally. "Ohh, you think you’re real funny, don’t ya?" He smirks and you don't reply, the headache in your temple getting worse.

Suddenly you feel a big, heavy mass fall onto you causing a winded groan to leave your lips, muffled by the pillow on your face. "You don't get to say that to me and just sink into the pillows, baby," he taunts, snatching the pillow off your face, a surprised escaping your mouth. Blush coats your face as he leans his forehead against your own, lips about to press to yours, your breathing stills while your heart begins to poud hard in your chest. "Go on. Say it again. See what happens."

Maybe you should snap back at him more often...

SHOTO

Shoto has been talking in his usual calm, tone, explaining something in excessive detail. At first, you were listening, but now he’s been going on for several minutes, completely unaware that you’ve stopped paying attention. "I read that different types of ice melt at slightly varying speeds depending on density," he continues, watching the ice cubes swirl in his drink, referring to the ice in the cup, comparing it to his quirk. "It’s not significant, but it is interesting to consider in—"

"Can you please shut the fuck up?" you say, your cheeks meeting your palms. Shoto pauses mid-thought, blinking at you. He's buffering, trying to process your words. "…Did you just tell me to shut the fuck up, dear?" You sigh, resting your chin in your palm. "Yes, my love. I did." For a moment, he just stares at you, as if contemplating something. Then, so effortlessly it makes your stomach flip, he leans in slightly, his gaze steady.

"That was rude," he states. You open your mouth to reply, but his fingers brush your wrist absentmindedly, and you suddenly feel very aware of how close he is and lord have mercy, you're about to fold. "You don’t usually talk like that," he continues, "I think I like it."

What?

He was leaning in to place a kiss to your lips, and you were about to fall onto the futon in reciprocation until he pulls away, going back to yapping about his ice water. You groan. "Oh my god, Sho'."

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

honey's a/note:: i do know about dabi's past i just don't want to spoil anyone who isn't up to that bit yet in the manga/show! i got spoiled on for his reveal and i will not be the one to spoil it for anyone else! so i will try my best!

[melanchoire]

ot4 aespa x freeuse reader PLZZZ

so many requests about g!p aespa so HERE WE GO

cw: blowjob, breeding, creampie, degradation, double penetration, handjob, humiliation, mommy kink, riding, sex tape??

being the only member without a dick in a group where all your groupmates have one was a difficult task for you 😣 at first you weren’t aware that they had this... characteristic. but when you found out about it, there was a certain tension whenever you were around them, and you always tried to do everything possible to make sure it wasn’t an awkward moment! buuut there were times when tension and desires won…

unnie karina who always has most of the work; solo activities, special collaborations in music festivals, projects as a model or ambassador. besides being the leader of the group, you already know how that role involves a lot of work and time in the life of an idol and how much maturity and seriousness she has to put in sometimes. she has no time for anything!

so karina returns to the dorms tired after a week full of solo and group activities, flights to other countries and long hours of filming for upcoming campaigns with brands where she is an ambassador or muse. seeing the pout and tired expression on her face as she walks through the door to your room is all you need to know that today you will be the one helping your leader and take care of her as she usually takes care of her members

riding her cock while she can only flatter you and moan beneath you 😵‍💫 karina has no strength today to degrade you or try to dominate you, so she just lies on her back, resting her hands on your hips and enjoying how you’re making her feel good by riding her and helping her take some stress off her exhausted body :( looking up at you with bright puppy eyes, begging “please love. keep going, don’t stop. please.” and you wouldn’t stop even if she begged you! karina always works sooo hard and is usually a punching bag when it comes to criticism, being in the eye of the storm and under the judging gaze of the public 💔 and the best thing you can do is let your dear unnie use your body to forget about the world out there for a bit

ohhh and if you play with her tits while riding her cock 😵‍💫 super whiny and needy when your thumbs rub her nipples, writhing under your body as she thrusts her hips up to bury her cock deeper inside you as if it wasn’t deep enough already!

giselle being the talented writer and producer of songs or mixtapes that were never officially released due to company decisions, but it was no problem at all! she loved working on music as a hobby, enjoying writing songs and making new sounds or trying out other rhythms that caught her attention or were fun. giselle also loved inviting you to her bedroom! recording songs with meaningless but catchy lyrics, playing with voice effects and making instrumentals that were catchy and quite danceable

but giselle sometimes also wants to work on making music seriously, making songs for future projects or opportunities that may arise at some point in the future throughout her career with her group or as a solo artist. but she includes you in her plans too?? she states that she would like the two of you to do a collaboration in case she ever starts a solo career, or in any case, be a sub–unit outside the group or in some song for a group album in the future

she would say, “i would like to try something like ‘call me mommy, mommy.’ or something spicy and naughty like that.” and you would laugh in her face because you thought she was joking! until she arches an eyebrow and you realize that giselle was being completely serious about this…

lying on your stomach on her bed, a pillow under your stomach to lift your hips up so giselle can fuck your pussy from behind while you moan and whine into the microphone connected to her laptop 🥰 of course she could use a sample or be the one to record the moans for this track, but why would she do that when she has a bandmate willing to help her with her musical projects??

whining “mommy” after every time giselle’s voice sings the line “call me mommy, mommy.” and sounding so vulnerable and fragile that giselle begins to question whether she wants to release that song in the future because you sound so beautiful moaning her name that she wants to be the only person who can hear you in that position…

ALSO giselle opening her computer camera and recording or taking photos while she fucks you cruelly from behind 😣 pulling your hair and forcing you to lift your face from the pillows, making you look at your own reflection in the front camera, clicking the mouse and taking a photo at the exact moment her cock kisses your cervix in a thrust that makes you roll your eyes and open your mouth in a silent moan 🫠 but giselle won’t post that photo on her instagram! she would if she could 👀 she prefers to upload it to her private account where she only has the members of the group and her closest friends, showing off to the world the fun she has during the recordings of her songs

winter and ningning, the cute maknaes of the group who are obsessed and perverted when it comes to their beloved unnie 🥺 winter shamelessly staring at your ass while ningning has her gaze fixed on your tits, both exchanging a knowing look and talking mentally to decide if what they have is a good idea or not…

getting on your knees and jerking off both of their cocks at the same time, enjoying how sensitive and loud your sweet members get from having this kind of attention on them 😵‍💫 winter grabbing her cock with one hand, guiding the head against your lips and moaning as you take her entire length into your mouth without even choking or gagging 😳 of course ningning takes advantage of this to guide both of your hands to her cock, giving you a needy look and begging you to give her the same treatment you’re giving winter :( and of course you do! sucking winter’s cock at the same time as your hands go up and down as you jerk off ningning, both of them moving their hips towards you in search of more

and they’re so messy when cumming 😣 winter pulling out of your mouth, jerking off her cock in her fist at the same speed you were doing with ningning’s cock, trying to match your movements but whining and crying because it was a very fast speed and she was so overstimulated and sensitive that she could barely take it without giving in right there :( but winter is grateful when she feels your hand wrap around her cock and replace her own, now jerking off both girls at the same time and encouraging them to cum on your face, and they do! their cocks twitching in your hands, shooting heavy loads of cum straight into your mouth, looking at you in amazement when you swallow everything because those two always make a mess and cum in torrents!

being penetrated with both at the same time, riding ningning’s cock while winter is kneeling behind you and fucking your ass, enjoying the way your ass bounces every time her hips hits against it 🥴 hissing as she places her hands on your hips and fucks her cock into your ass at an even faster speed making you drip even more on ningning’s cock, earning a moan from her and making ningning finally start moving her hips up to fuck you from below

and both are two subs so whiny and needy 🥺 whimpering and babbling pleas or incoherent things, moaning “unnie” in every sentence that came out of their lips, and you loved that! always having a thing for the way they said “unnie”, maybe it was because of how soft and sweet their voices were and how that word sounded so adorable coming from them

both cumming inside you, desperate to fill you with their seed 😣 they would make you open your own cheeks for them, enjoying how the cum of both drips from your holes and runs down your thighs slowly, feeling their cocks start to harden again…

[odileeclipse]

I'm gonna freaking eat your works.....

(this is mildly wordy It's like 2am and I have a lot to say)

I'm a big big BIGGGGG sucker for a good Shmilk or Pure ganilla fic....and wow you delivered.....🤤🤤

Big thank you for keeping me entertained for a good hour, that's a struggle for me LMAO I loved your writing, and the way you wuold describe his voice being all wispy and spooky; really added to the overall vibe of the fic and I really did like it :3

If you don't mindsies, I'd love to request something from you as well (o゜▽゜)o☆ As previously stated in a comment somewhere, angst makes me SO happy to write/read....the in-depth details people can do with emotions makes me so HEAHEHHAEHAEHEHAHEAHEH in a /pos way....

So! I would like to hhhhhhumbly request some good old fashioned Shmilky angst! Or, if you'd prefer to write Pure vanilla that's cool tooo!!!! I don't really mind what *type* of angst, just angst 🤤 I try to give writers creative freedom, but I'd adore some loss/unable to cope with loss of a loved one.....whatever works ;b ANYWAYS! LOVE YOUR WORK AND YOU'RE VERY COOL!!!!! 💥💥💥💥

The Puppet and the Fool

A tragedy in One Last Breath

A/N You're right there's been too much happiness on this blog time to fix that.

You were never supposed to last. From the moment you met Shadow Milk Cookie, you had been a mere curiosity, a spectator drawn into his ever-moving spire, his ever-deceiving carnival of illusions. And yet, somehow, you had done the impossible you had slipped between the cracks of his carefully constructed reality, nestled yourself in the spaces he hadn’t meant for anyone to occupy. It had started as a game, like all things with him did. "Oh? What’s this? A little spectator who doesn’t flee at the first trick? How rare!" His voice had slithered around you, a serpent’s coil laced with amusement and something sharper, something dangerous. Others feared him, reviled him, whispered of his cruelty in hushed tones. But you, oh, you were foolish. Foolish enough to laugh, to poke at his ego, to challenge him in ways no one else dared.

He had never asked you to stay. Never invited you into his world of trickery and taunts. And yet, there you were, day after day, watching his performances with something that was not admiration, not fear just an amused understanding. "And what, pray tell, keeps you lurking about, dear audience?" he would purr, flourishing his staff. "Surely, you have places far safer than my den of illusions." You had only shrugged, smiling faintly. "Your shows are entertaining." "A high compliment, indeed!" He placed a hand over his chest in mock gratitude. "But beware! The greatest trick of all is never knowing whether you’ve already become part of the act!" "I think I��ll take my chances." Foolish. But he liked that about you. And so, your presence became a fixture, something woven into the very script of his performances. He would create grand illusions, dazzling lights and twisting realities, and you would be there, arms crossed, shaking your head with a knowing smile. "Too much?" he would ask, grinning. "You always overdo it," you would reply. It became a game one he never admitted he enjoyed far too much. And, without realizing it, he began making his performances for you.

"I see through your tricks, Shadow Milk. You’re not as unpredictable as you think." That had caught his attention. You played along, indulged his theatrics, yet somehow remained separate from them. You saw through him in ways that unnerved him, as if you knew where the real strings were pulled. But instead of cutting them, you simply held them, quietly watching as he tangled himself in his own illusions. You became a regular in his performances, not as an unwilling participant, not as a victim, but as something else entirely. A quiet presence beside him, a soft counter to his grandiosity. A knowing smile when his lies got too elaborate, a gentle nudge when his mind grew too tangled in its own web. And somehow, he let you stay. Because for all his lies, you never demanded the truth from him. And for all his illusions, you never asked him to be anything but himself. Looking back, the signs had been small, quiet things, easy to dismiss, easier to ignore. The way your hand would tremble when reaching for his. The way your breath sometimes came too short, too shallow, even when you stood still. The way your laughter, once bright and full, became something softer, something restrained. "Tired already, my dear? We’ve barely begun the show!" he would tease, twirling his staff, watching as you paused to catch your breath. And you, ever the fool, would grin and wave him off. "Maybe you should carry me, then." "Oh-ho! A tempting proposition! But I’d hate to spoil you."

He had never thought much of it. Cookies grew weary. They faltered. It was natural. It wasn’t until he noticed the way you hid it the way you swallowed the winces, the way you steadied yourself against walls when you thought he wasn’t looking that something cold and unfamiliar began to fester in the back of his mind. Doubt. A word he despised when it came to you. But it remained. And yet, he never asked. Because asking would mean acknowledging. And acknowledging would mean accepting. So he let the show go on, even as the cracks in the stage deepened beneath your feet. Now, as you lay in his arms, the truth he had refused to see wrapped around him like chains, dragging him into a reality he would not accept. You had always been dying. And he had never noticed. Or rather he had never allowed himself to notice. "You lied to me," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. You managed the smallest of smiles, though it barely reached your eyes. "I didn't lie." "But you didn't tell me." His grip tightened, his mismatched eyes wild, frantic, unblinking. "You let me play my part, let me prance about like a fool while you-" He choked on his words. "Why?"

You exhaled, slow, tired. "Because I knew you’d react like this." The laugh that tore from his throat was anything but amusement. "You-!" His voice cracked, and he had to swallow down the wreckage threatening to spill. "You knew and you still…" His breath shuddered. "Why didn’t you tell me?!" You hesitated. Not because you didn’t have an answer, but because you did. And he wasn’t ready for it. "Because I didn’t want my last moments to be a performance," you murmured. Your fingers brushed against his cheek, weak, barely there. "I wanted to just… be with you." Something shattered inside him.

All those stolen moments, every laugh, every conversation, every quiet night beneath an illusory sky of his own making they had been real. You had given him something real. And now you were taking it away. His breath came quick, shallow. His grip on you was desperate, as if holding you tighter could keep you anchored to him, to this world. "No, no, no, I won’t let you—" "Shadow Milk." His name had never sounded so soft. So final. You smiled. "I love you." And then, stillness. The silence was deafening. Shadow Milk Cookie did not move. Did not breathe. Did not accept. His jester’s hat had long since fallen, forgotten on the cold ground. The ghostly eyes in his hair flickered wildly, their gazes darting in all directions, uncertain, uncomprehending. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t real. The story wasn’t supposed to end this way. He clutched your body tighter, rocking slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re still here." A statement. A fact. A truth. Or perhaps, the most desperate lie he had ever told. "You’re just waiting for your cue. That’s all this is." His tone was light, theatrical, forced. "A clever little act oh, how you’ve fooled me this time, my dear!" His mismatched eyes gleamed, too wide, too bright. "But the show must go on." There was no response. Yet he continued, undeterred. "I’ll give the next line, then! What a generous performer I am!" A sharp, broken laugh left him. "You’ll wake up soon. You always do." The world did not answer. But he did not listen. Because Shadow Milk Cookie was a liar, a master of illusion, a weaver of truths and falsehoods alike. And so he told himself the greatest lie of all. That you were still there. That you had never left. That the final act had not yet begun. And as the silence stretched on, swallowing the stage whole, he did what he had always done. He played his part. And waited for you to play yours.

[daryltwdixon]

would love a fluffy au of the reader helping sarah or elle with their first period since joel called and didn’t know what to do☺️

Joel Miller x Reader drabble

Fluffy domestic Jackson!Joel, established relationship but early on, living separately, maybe a little silly okay but how cute would it be if there were walkies between houses in Jackson? obvi no cell phones or landlines sooo. yeah. I saw this come in and immediately thought of this so I stayed up late to write it for you !! hope you enjoy I had the best time writing it

"Uh, b-baby? You there?”

The crackly voice startles you. The walkie-talkie sits on the windowsill above the sink, right next to the pile of grimy dishes you’ve been scrubbing after days of letting them pile up. You fumble for it, wiping your wet hand on your jeans before pressing the button.

"Yeah? What is it?" you ask, one hand holding it up to your ear while the other continues scrubbing half heartedly.

The walkie goes static for a second before he finally says, "We have kinda a, uh... an emergency. How fast can you get here?"

An emergency?

Your heart kicks up, stomach flipping as you immediately set the dish down, water sloshing over the edge of the sink.

Joel never calls things an "emergency."

"I'm on my way!" you say immediately pushing the walkie back on the counter, barely remembering to grab your keys as you bolt for the door. The hinges groan as you shove it open, the wooden porch creaking beneath your hurried steps.

Joel's front door comes into view, and you don’t even slow down before pushing inside.

“What? What is it? Are you okay?” you pant, grabbing Joel’s face with both hands. He’s standing against the kitchen counter, brows drawn together and lips pressed into a hard line. His skin is clammy, his usually steady eyes darting around like he’s seen some real shit.

“Yeah, I—I’m fine. It ain't me,” he stammers, blinking at you like he's just survived a war zone.

Your stomach tightens. “Ellie?”

"She's upstairs," he nods toward the hallway, big brown eyes pleading with you to fix whatever horror he's just endured.

What the hell was going on? And why was he acting like he’d seen a goddamn ghost?

You drop your hands, press a quick, reassuring kiss to the tip of his nose (which earns you the tiniest exhale of relief from him), and sprint up the stairs two at a time.

The bathroom light spills from under the door at the end of the hall.

"El?" you call softly, knocking lightly.

The door flies open so fast you nearly stumble inside.

“Oh, thank god,” Ellie sighs dramatically, yanking you in like you’re her lifeline.

When the door closes behind you, you scan her up and down—no blood, no injuries, no immediate threats. She’s fine.

Your pulse is still hammering. “What’s going on?!” you hiss, glancing around like you’re expecting a Clicker to drop from the ceiling.

Ellie groans, dragging her hands down her face. “What did Joel say? Did he freak you out? You look terrible!”

“He said it was an emergency!”

"An emergen—oh dear god, that poor old man."

"Ellie! Just tell me what's going on!"

She lifts her hands and declares with all the seriousness of someone admitting to a crime, “I think I got my period. It's the first...first time."

For a moment, you just stare at her.

Then, the tension in your chest unspools all at once, and a breathless, incredulous laugh tumbles out of you before you can stop it.

“Oh, thank god.”

Your knees nearly give out as you clutch the edge of the sink, the sheer relief of it washing over you.

Ellie narrows her eyes. “That’s a...weird reaction.”

“I thought you were, I don’t know, dying? Missing a limb? Held hostage?” You shake your head, still giggling as you rub your face.

Ellie waves a hand. “I am bleeding out.”

"Ellie."

She smirks. "But, like, in a totally normal way."

Another wave of laughter hits you, and suddenly, you can’t stop. "Jesus. Christ." you say through giggles, "I thought something had attacked you. Joel sounded like he was reporting a goddamn homicide!"

Ellie grins. “Yeah, he freaked the hell out.”

"What did he do?"

“Well,” Ellie says, holding up one finger, “first I stood up off the couch, and he saw the blood on my pants--stared at it like it was brain matter. Then he gulped—you know that thing he does? When his whole Adam’s apple bobs?”

You bite back more giggles, nodding. "Oh yeah, I know the look."

“Then he left the room, paced the hall for five minutes, came back, opened his mouth, closed it, and then offered me... a sock.”

You lose it.

Your laugh is immediate and uncontrollable, your head falling back as you clutch your stomach. "Oh my god."

Ellie grins. “I told him I wasn’t stuffing a dirty sock in my pants, and he just kinda stared at me! Then said, she drops her voice real low, mimicking his Texan drawl, “‘...I’ll call her.’”

That sets you off again, laughing so hard you double over.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze. “I have never loved that man more.”

Ellie, still unamused, huffs. “Are you done?”

You wipe at your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon, let’s raid my stash.”

Ellie smirks. “What do we do about the old man downstairs?”

You groan. "I'll sort him out later. First, let’s let him know you’re perfectly alive and well. Then I’ll sit him down and tell him aaalllllll about women’s hygiene. Should be a blast."

Ellie groans. “Ugh, gross.”

You grin, pulling her into a reassuring side hug, warmth settling deep in your chest despite the ridiculousness of it all.

Joel Miller: Texas tough, apocalypse survivor, undone by a little bit of blood from a teenage girl.

[bradleysass]

Admit - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 456 - Starchaser

Regulus has always hated the word admit. It suggests guilt, as if stating something true is a confession rather than a fact. And he has nothing to confess.

So when James leans against the counter, grinning like he’s already won, and says, "Just admit it, love. You liked him once."—Regulus glares.

James is insufferable when he knows he’s right. And worse when he’s teasing.

“I never liked Barty,” Regulus says, sipping his coffee.

James raises an eyebrow. “You dated him.”

“Briefly.”

James hums, moving closer, standing behind Regulus and wrapping his arms around his waist. He smells like fresh air and whatever cologne he stole from Sirius. Regulus lets him rest his chin on his shoulder, even as he rolls his eyes.

"See," James murmurs, lips brushing his skin, "I’d believe you, but I found your old letters."

Regulus stills. "You went through my things?"

James kisses the shell of his ear. "Sirius found them and handed them to me, if you want to be mad at someone."

Regulus exhales slowly. "And?"

"And you wrote Dear Barty in flowery, dramatic cursive, which means you definitely had feelings."

Regulus closes his eyes. He should’ve burned those.

"Admit it," James says again, voice infuriatingly smug.

Regulus sets his coffee down and turns in James’ arms, staring at him, unimpressed. "I’ll admit I once mistook recklessness for charm. But I never loved him."

James watches him for a moment, then nods. "Alright."

Regulus frowns. "That’s it?"

James grins. "I just wanted to hear you say it." Then, because he is insufferable, he adds, "I’m still keeping the letters. They’re hilarious."

Regulus groans.

"You were so dramatic back then," James continues, dodging Regulus' half-hearted attempt to swat at him. "So much yearning. It’s almost cute."

Regulus glares. "I’ll kill Sirius."

"You won’t," James says easily. "And you know, it’s funny, because you never wrote Dear James in cursive like that."

Regulus scoffs. "Because I never needed to write letters to you, idiot. You were always there."

James blinks.

And just like that, the teasing energy between them shifts into something quieter, something softer.

James’ hands tighten slightly where they rest on Regulus’ waist, and Regulus watches as he processes that—how James, for all his big, loud presence, still sometimes forgets how wanted he is.

Regulus reaches up, pressing his fingers against James’ jaw, tilting his face toward him. "I love you," he says, because it’s easy. Because it’s true.

James beams, and Regulus feels it against his lips when James kisses him.

"Admit it," James says when they part, voice warm, fond. "You like me more than you ever liked Barty."

Regulus rolls his eyes but kisses him again anyway.

He supposes there are some things worth admitting.

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter XII

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.179 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧��: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I will never be able to top that Cain and Abel paragraph. Please mourn for my writing career. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You can feel the vice grip of JJ’s hand pressing against your veins, your pulse thundering against him, growing faster with every failed attempt to wring yourself away.

– JJ, – You gasp, trying to twist yourself out of his hold, pulling, wringing, fruitlessly. He yanks you forward before you can finish, dragging you toward the bike.

Your breath catches.

– JJ, let go of me, you’re hurting me—

– Get on the bike. – He doesn’t yell it. His voice is tight, barely restrained, the kind of anger that isn’t meant to be loud—it’s meant to be a warning.

You shake your head, twisting against his hold. – You can’t drive like— You can’t— I can’t just leave—

– Yes, you can. – His grip tightens. – You will.

He’s pulling, and you’re fighting it—your heels digging into the pavement, the weight of your body thrown back, hand grasping at the grass like it can hold you back. You try to wrench your wrist free, but he’s so much stronger than you like this, fueled by something dark, barely controlled.

– Stop it! Please, just fucking stop it, JJ! What are you doing?! – Your voice cracks, desperate. – You’re acting crazy, just—let me go!

He doesn’t. Not for a second. His hand tightens, impossibly, against your arm and he tugs you forward with all his force until you crash against him, barely on your feet, your knees shaking.

– JJ—

– I swear to fucking God, – He growls, his voice a rumble something familiar, painfully so, something that makes your stomach turn. – if I have to tell you again—

You shake your head, thoughtlessly, maniacally. You can’t control the movement.

You don’t know what he’ll do if you refuse.

And that’s the problem.

Because neither does he.

JJ isn’t thinking. He isn’t here.

He’s someone else entirely. His mind is a blur. Whoever this person is, standing before you, wants nothing but to hurt you.

Your heart hammers as the reality sets in.

You could fight. But he'd beat you. You could hope for help. But there’s no one around to stop him. You could scream, but what good would it do if no one’s there to hear you?

And if you don’t do what he says?

He won’t leave.

Not until you get on that bike.

Barry’s bike.

Barry. 

Your heart stops.

Where is Barry? What did JJ do to him? Why didn’t he answer your calls? Did he take something else? Did he leave him, alone, somewhere, with nowhere else to go?

And if he doesn’t leave, if he keeps shouting like this, keeps grabbing you, demanding you go with him—

It’ll be worse.

So much worse.

Your job. Your safety. This sliver of security you're already clinging to by the skin fingernails.

You just barely escaped being fired. JJ isn’t above making a scene to teach you a lesson. He doesn’t care how much he hurts you when he’s like this.

The words get caught in your throat. You force yourself to swallow them down, along with everything else you want to say.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the seat.

JJ exhales like he’s been holding his breath. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t talk to you, doesn’t let go of his anger. Just swings his leg over the bike and nods toward the seat behind him. – Get on.

You hesitate, taking a step back without even thinking, like your body won't let you do this, and he snaps—one hand darting out, grabbing your wrist again, tugging you forward so violently you stumble.

Your stomach lurches.

You don’t want to do this.

But what choice do you have?

You climb onto the bike, your legs barely steady, your arms wrapped around him because you have nothing else to hold on to.

JJ barely gives you time to breathe before he guns it. The engine revs, roaring like a vicious animal. The bike lurches forward before you’re even ready. Your grip slips. Your balance wavers. For a split second, you’re weightless.

You slam against JJ’s back, your arms snapping around his waist on instinct, clinging tight as the bike rockets forward, faster than it should, faster than it ever should.

– JJ—!

The wind rips the word from your mouth.

Streetlights flash by in violent streaks of gold and red. The world blurs at the edges, sharp and endless and cruel, like you’ve been thrown into a nightmare that won’t stop shifting.

JJ doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t breathe. His body is tense, coiled too tight, a wire pulled so thin it can feel the incoming snap. His grip on the handlebars is white-knuckled, his back rigid beneath your grip.

The bike swerves.

Your stomach drops.

The road bends, but JJ doesn’t. He takes the turn too sharp, too recklessly, the tires skidding for half a second. Your whole body tilts, your knee nearly scraping asphalt.

You whimper, pressing yourself closer, fingers desperate as they grasp his clothes, knuckles aching from how hard you’re holding on.

– JJ—slow down!

He doesn’t.

The engine growls louder, vibrating beneath you, rattling in your bones, shaking in your chest like a second heartbeat.

He flies past a red light, too fast, too close, too dangerous.

A car blares its horn—loud, long, furious.

You choke on a scream, your whole body bracing for impact, for the crash, for the pain—

But nothing comes. Only the phantom of an accident growing within you, coiling inside your chest, tightening, painfully, building up a fear that already has you frozen, praying, waiting for death.

Terror crawls up your throat, sharp and cold.

– JJ, please, –  You gasp, voice cracking. – Please—just stop.

For a moment, you think he won’t.

For a moment, you think he’ll ride forever, until the world ends, until you both crash and burn.

Then, finally—finally—he eases off the throttle.

Not much.

Just enough to breathe again.

Just enough to make you realize you were barely breathing at all.

Your pulse roars in your ears.

The wind still slashes at your skin, the tires still groan against the pavement, but the speed—the nightmare speed—has lessened.

Your fingers ache from gripping too tight. Your lungs burn from holding back screams.

And just then, just when you feel the burn in your throat, your lungs, your eyes, retreat, when your arms loosen the slightest bit, when you nearly relax, he sinks his foot on the gas, and suddenly you’re going faster than you ever were.

You can’t contain the scream this time— It surges through you like a bullet, and it ends halfway through, your voice dying in your chest, having used up the little breath you had— you’re choking again. You can’t think.

Your mind rushes, your hands cling, tears falling from you before you can even register them.

But JJ doesn’t slow down.

Even as the streets turn to dirt. Even as the road twists into something precarious, dangerous, unforgiving.

The pavement is cracked, riddled with potholes, with gaping wounds in the asphalt that could send you both flying if he miscalculates even once.

But he doesn’t care.

He flies down the path like he’s untouchable, like the Cut itself will bend to his will, like there’s no chance he could crash.

But you could.

You watch the ground loom ever closer with every turn he makes, asphalt slashing against the metal of the bike like a blade.

Your bones rattle with every jolt, your stomach lurches as the tires stumble over loose gravel, and you can barely think past the fear.

The bike jerks to a halt before your house so suddenly that you don’t even realize it stopped at first.

And you’re falling.

You don’t know whether you jumped or were thrown off.

Your feet hit the ground, but your legs don’t hold.

Your knees collapse into the dirt.

Your hands reach out, clutching the earth beneath you like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

You gasp, dragging air into your lungs like you’ve been drowning for miles.

The ground is solid. Rough. Real.

But it slips through your fingers, and you can’t hold yourself steady.

You try to focus on the feeling of grit beneath your nails, the sting of pebbles digging into your skin.

Anything to remind yourself that you’re not moving anymore.

But you still feel it.

The phantom pull of the road. The momentum still dragging at your bones. The way your body still thinks you’re going too fast, too fast, too fast—

Somewhere in the haze, you hear voices.

Barry. John. Shouting. Arguing.

You squeeze your eyes shut, press your fingers harder into the dirt, try to remind yourself that you’re here. That you’re on the ground.

That you’re not crashing.

But God, it still feels like you are —Your hands shake so badly you can barely hold the dirt within your fingers. You breathe, gasping, trying to get air, but it’s stuck against your hiccups, against the sobs you don’t even have the strength to choke down— You’re crying. The air is still whizzing past you, sharp, so sharp you can feel it dragging you back, the ground looming closer, your bones nothing but glass.

– There you fucking are. Was it fun? You had your little fucking joyride?! – The voice echoes out from beyond, like you’re stuck, sinking into the air, towards the pavement, and they’re watching you from above.

It's Barry, you realize.

His voice cuts through the haze, loud and livid, sharp enough to hurt. And something inside you thrums. That stupid part of yourself, the part that always hopes someone will help you.

You want to run to him. You want him to see you, to hold you —solid, real, safe— you want something against you, something that isn’t this void that clings to you, this feeling that you’re a moment away from the worst pain you’ll ever feel.

But you can’t stand.

You can’t look at him.

You can’t do anything.

Your hands are still pressed into the dirt, your chest heaving, your body still bracing for impact that never came.

Because it still feels like you’re falling.

And you are.

You’re on the ground, but you’re not. You can’t stand. You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

Something is gonna crash against you. Something sharp. Something that’ll hurt you.

You’ve been beaten enough times to know this feeling, the gasping, aching anticipation of the whip coming down, that split second before someone hits you, before the ground jolts you, before something in you breaks.

Your whole body shakes—not just from fear, not just from the cold, from the void, but from the ache of knowing something worse is coming. You know it's coming. And you know you won’t come out of this unscathed.

Barry stops.

Mid-step, mid-swing, mid-word—he stops.

Because he sees you.

He sees you on the ground.

He sees you pale, trembling, sobbing.

And just like that, his anger vanishes.

He says something, his breath caught in his throat as his steps quicken, as he rushes towards you, having completely forgotten the rest.

His boots crunch against the gravel, loud and reckless and looming. You can’t even help but flinch. Your body jolts backwards, away from him, and you’re crawling again, recoiling until he’s dropping to his knees beside you, reaching out but not touching.

Like he’s done so many times.

And you’re there, this broken stray, cowering in the corner, shaking, shaking so bad you can’t even reach for him like you want.

– Sweetheart, – He murmurs, low, gentle in a way that makes you feel all the more pathetic. – Look at me.

You can’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head, curling tighter into yourself, fingers digging into the dirt as if you could disappear into it.

Barry swears under his breath. His hand resting so softly against your shoulder that he too is almost startled by how you flinch.

He stills.

His hand is barely touching you, barely even there, and yet your whole body flinches—hard, like he struck you instead— like a dog, waiting for a boot in the ribs. 

His breath hitches.

– Shit, – He exhales, barely a whisper. Slowly, carefully, he puts his hand on yout back. You don’t move.

You stay there, curled tight, fingers buried in the dirt, shaking, shaking, shaking.

He steadies the rest of his hand against your skin. And you don’t move. Because this is familiar. He’s done this before.

This isn’t new.

Barry swears again, softer this time, and then —very slowly— he moves again. His knees drag through the dirt, his other hand rests on your side.

Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just... offering.

A slow, steady pressure against your back. A grounding weight. A reminder.

You shudder.

Your body is still caught in the past, still bracing for a hit that isn’t coming, still waiting for the moment of impact.

But it doesn’t come.

Just warmth.

Just Barry.

Again.

Nothing’s coming. You have to tell yourself. It’s over. You're okay.

But you don’t believe it. Not fully.

– Sweetheart, – He tries again, voice lower now, still gentle but almost frustrated. Your heart catches. And you feel that guilt blooming in you again. Because he’s had to do this before. Because he’s had to pick up the pieces of you from the ground plenty of times before. You want to kick yourself. You don’t deserve this. You almost flinch away. But his hold tightens, the slightest bit. Grounding. Like he’s afraid to scare you away. –  You’re okay. You’re okay. Just relax. You're okay.

You’re okay.

You don’t move.

Not until he presses a little firmer. Not until his fingers brush your ribs, not holding, not forcing, just... there. Until he pulls at you, softly, not like JJ did. 

Barry doesn’t hesitate.

His arms wrap around you, firm and solid, pulling you in, gathering you up, shielding you from the air itself. The second you feel his grip tighten, you break. A sob wracks through you, sharp and choked, as your hands claw at his shirt, gripping, gripping, gripping.

You cling like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

Like you’re still moving too fast, and he’s just barely keeping you grounded.

Barry holds you tighter. – You’re okay. – He repeats.

Something's coming. Steps behind him. You see the outline of someone, legs walking towards the two of you, but when you move, he holds you tighter. Arms bracing your back like a straightjacket, keeping you from yourself. Keeping you sane.

– You’re okay. – Is the only thing he says. And he keeps saying it, again and again, until the words echo in your mind, bouncing against the walls of your skull, less and less frantic until you can say it. 

You believe him.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to stop falling.

But your name resounds again from behind you. Once, a second time, then you feel that same hand that grabbed you sink into your arm again, trying to pull you back. – Get up! – JJ shouts, nails sinking into your shoulders as he grabs you.

Barry pushes him away.

Shoves him.

You hear the stutter in JJ’s steps as he stumbles back, sinking further into his arms like a child. – What the fuck did you do, huh? What the fuck did you do to her, JJ?!

– Get up and fucking look at me. – He keeps pulling at you, calling your name, his hand burrowing into your flesh. You want to stand, you want to push him away, but you cower. And Barry does it for you.

He shoves JJ again, hard enough that you feel the struggle between them. – She ain’t gotta listen to a word you say, psycho! What the fuck is your problem?!

JJ laughs—sharp, bitter, like it’s the funniest fucking thing in the world.

– Course you’d hide behind him, – He spits, his voice mocking, cruel. – That’s all you ever fucking do. Hide.

Barry tenses.

You feel it.

The way his muscles coil, the way his grip shifts, ready to push back, to swing, to end this.

But JJ doesn’t care.

He doesn’t even look at Barry.

He’s still looking at you.

You can feel his eyes burning holes into your back as you pull back from Barry. You can feel the rage emanating off of him.

– You got nothing to say now? – JJ presses, stepping closer. – Nothing at all? You usually talk such big game, baby. Now you can't even look me in the eye?!

Barry moves first.

– Back the fuck up.

It’s not a warning.

It’s a command.

– Why? Are you worried she’s too close to stab me in the back again? The way I see it, she’s in the perfect position to do that to you, man!

You pull back from Barry, hands still clinging to his shirt as you turn to look at JJ, but Barry doesn’t let go, not as JJ’s gaze finally flicks to him, smirking, scoffing. Not as he pulls you to your feet again, tearing you away from your friend like you're nothing but a thing he can take.

– You feel good? – JJ’s voice is low, furious, barely held together, as his hands sink into you. – Feel real fucking good going behind everyone’s back? Working for Rafe? That do it for you? 

Your chest tightens.

– Stop it—

– You got your little job, right? – JJ barrels over your words, stepping closer, looming, his breath hot, sharp, filled with venom. – That what you’re calling it now? Fucking us all over for a paycheck? Maybe that isn’t it though, maybe you’re the one who’s getting fucked, huh?

John bristles from the porch, his voice low, tense. – JJ.

– Nah. She knows what she’s doing, right? Did you tell your brother how Rafe was all over you in that parking lot, calling you baby and shit?! That dignified, hard-working girl act you put up really paid off huh? You really had us all fooled! – John doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t call JJ out, he just stands there. – Feel fulfilled now? Now that you managed to tick off every fucking form of betrayal in the book? Because you got me fucked up!

Barry’s done.

– She ain’t got you fucked up, man. That’s exactly what you are. Are you serious right now? – Barry snaps, voice rough with disbelief. – You wanna talk about her fucking up? You—you who does nothing but fuck up?!

– Nobody is fucking talking to you, bro.

– Ain’t nobody around here your “bro”, JJ. Thank God, too. Weren’t your parents siblings or whatever? That’d explain why you only got half a fucking brain.

– Shut the fuck u—

– Oh, Alabama over here’s mad! – Barry scoffs, a quick, sharp sound drained of anything even close to humor. – That’s actually hilarious. That some bum like you would feel like you have the right to call anyone out on what they do or don’t do for work. You sit here, lounging for free in this house she pays for, doing jack shit with your fucking life like the trailer trash your ass is—but she’s the bad guy for working? Is that how long it’s been since you had a job, JJ? That you can’t fathom the possibility of someone making money without selling themselves?

JJ laughs.

Not real. Not amused.

Just dangerous.

Like he’s already decided how this ends.

– That’s cute, – He murmurs, nodding slowly, like it’s all some joke he’s humoring. – That’s real fucking cute. You’re gonna add anything to this conversation, or is your dog doing all the talking for you today?

Barry chuckles. Dry and low, so low you can barely hear it. – Dog? You run around sniffing John B’s ass all day and night like you’re in heat or something, but I’m the one who’s a dog? Shit, I ain’t see a bitch around here but you, JJ.

JJ lunges. His fist swings through the air, quick and violent, but before he can even touch Barry, he uppercuts him in the stomach.

JJ tumbles back, his hands still on you, tearing at you, grabbing, ripping, pulling— but his grip doesn’t stand the pain Barry caused him, and he falters.

Barry reacts instantly.

He grabs his arm, shoves him off of you, pivots —his knuckles slam into JJ’s temple.

The sound is sickening: A dull, thudding crack of bone on bone. JJ’s head snaps sideways. His body stumbles, tilting, collapsing.

But Barry doesn’t stop.

He’s on him before he hits the ground, tackling him hard, sending them both crashing into the dirt.

JJ barely has time to react before Barry’s fist connects again.

And again.

And again.

A hit to the jaw—JJ spits blood.

A hit to the cheekbone—his head slams back against the ground.

Barry is relentless.

You call his name, your heart racing, the blood searing your vision like a burning bush, but he doesn’t listen.

His teeth are bared, his muscles coiled and shaking, his body moving on pure fury, on the weight of everything JJ has said, everything he’s done. The years he’s spent hating him for you, the months he’s been hating JJ for the stupid shit he pulled and the problem’s he’s caused him.

He’s beating him to a fucking pulp.

JJ groans. A sharp, wet, broken sound, choked by the blood in his mouth.

His fist swings again—

And that’s when you move.

You throw yourself forward, grabbing Barry’s arm, yanking, clawing, trying to drag him off—

– Stop it! You’re gonna kill him! Stop it! – Your voice cracks, weak, your attempts useless even as your brother joins you, trying to pull them apart, but Barry keeps swinging.

His breathing hard, shaking, still staring down at JJ, moving despite your grip and John’s, like he wants to break something permanent. Like just bruising him isn’t enough.

Like he’s one more hit away from doing it.

You pull harder, hands gripping his clothes, his arm, anything you can reach.

Barry jerks against your hold, laughing, spitting at JJ—then finally, he lets you drag him back.

His breathing is ragged, wild, unhinged.

JJ groans, coughing. His face is already swelling, blood smeared across his cheek.

Your stomach twists.

You reach for him before you can think, hands hovering over his face, over the bruises already forming.

– JJ, – You breathe, shaking. – Jesus fucking Christ.

He's a mess. Blood, flesh, face. You can barely make one thing out from the other. Barely see the damage.

Your hands brush the bloodied hair out of his face, an instinctive motion, just so you can see where the cuts ends and the swelling begins. And for a moment, he almost seems like he’ll let you.

JJ's eyes part, moving though your face as you look at him, and he breathes in deep. He sighs. 

A familiar sound. 

Relief. 

Relief that it's over.

You reach again, just barely ghosting your hands over his temple, where Barry hit him first. But his eyes widen, something in them shifting, cold, cruel. 

And he shoves you away.

Hard. 

Hard enough that you stumble back as well.

Hard enough that Barry notices.

You hear him tear himself away from John's grip, rushing past you, but you grab him just in time. – Please, please Barry. Stop it. Just stop it. Don't do this right now.

Barry is still trembling, breath wild, erratic, hands twitching like he’s one second away from lunging all over again.

You feel it, the anger rolling off him in waves, the way his body keeps trying to pull forward, like something feral inside him hasn’t had enough.

You grip his wrist tighter. – Please, – You whisper. – Please, Barry. Just stop it. Don’t do this right now.

Barry’s teeth grind together. His breath is sharp, ragged, dangerous.

But he listens.

JJ doesn’t.

John helps him sit up, a steadying hand on his back, but the second JJ is upright, breathing, aware again—he’s talking. Talking, insulting, tearing into you like it’s the only thing keeping him conscious.

– You’re gonna let him? – His voice is hoarse, broken, but still filled with venom. – This piece of shit does nothing but get you in trouble but— He spits blood onto the dirt, wipes his mouth, shaking his head. – You’re just gonna let him do whatever he wants?

Your stomach twists.

– JJ—

– I shouldn’t be surprised. – His head snaps up. Eyes blazing, furious, wild. – You let it happen, – He snarls. – You always let it happen, You don’t give a fuck about us. Don’t fucking act like you do. You stood there and fucking— He gestures to himself, to the mess Barry made of him, to his swollen face, to the blood dripping onto his collar. – And you fucking let him do it.

– What the fuck are you gonna do about it, then, tough guy? – Barry laughs, his hands trembling. 

JJ’s muscles snap tight.

You push Barry back again, more frantic now, shaking, pleading, but he doesn’t listen. 

Your hands tremble.

JJ pushes himself up fully now, John’s grip still firm on his shoulder, holding him steady. But it doesn’t matter. 

Because JJ is not steady.

Not at all.

– You ain’t gonna say anything, huh? – He breathes, voice cold, sharp, shaking. – You play the tough girl act very well for someone who’s such a bitch.

Barry tenses again. His laugh is the crack of a whip as he pushes past you, you have to shove at him just so he won’t rush in and punch him again. 

John’s holding JJ back, his face wrecked with something almost sad. Almost worried. – Let go of me. – Barry groans, the impatience growing in his voice. – Let go of me sweetheart, this motherfucker needs to be put in his place.

– Let it go, Bee.

– Let it go?! – He does a double take, looking at you as if you’d grown a second head. – Let it go? He just called you a—

– I heard it. Please, this is enough. You nearly killed him. You won. – You grip his arm tighter. His breath comes out heavy, perplexed. – Just let it go, please.

John’s voice is a murmur behind you, whatever it is that he says to his friend doesn’t reach you, but you know it isn’t working, because the outrage on JJ’s face doesn’t budge. – JJ—

– You’re a fucking traitor. – He spits your name out along with the blood, your brother still trying to pull him back with all he’s got. – You are. You’re a traitor and a whore!

It punches through you.

JJ stumbles forward, closer, swaying but still standing.

– You don’t belong here, – He seethes. – Get the fuck out.

Your heart stops.

You blink at him, your breath snagging in your throat.

This is your house. Your home. He can’t—he can’t just tell you to—

– Get out. – It’s louder this time, meaner, angrier, like it’s his right to say it, like he actually has the power to take something else from you. – Since you’re so happy to be Rafe’s free use slut, go ahead and do it on your own! We don’t fucking need you!

Your lips part. – This is my house, – But your voice is a sliver of what it once was. You’re not looking at JJ. You barely hear his words, but your brother is standing there, completely still. His arms suddenly lax around the other boy. – This is my house! – Louder, firmer, but just as useless.

– I don’t think it is. – JJ laughs. He’s looking back at your brother now, too. Because he knows John isn’t gonna say anything. He knows it just as well as you do. – Your name isn’t John Routledge. That’s the name on the deed, isn’t it? And it’s not yours.

– John. – You’re pleading again. The gray-green of your brother’s eyes gaping at you emptily, thoughtlessly, as if he’s gone into shock. – Say something, John. This is my house too!

He doesn’t say anything.

Just stares.

– Say something!

You don’t know how many times you’ve done this.

How many times you’ve stood there, practically on your knees, begging him to act like a brother. To act like he cares about you. To act as if he’d loved you for a single moment of his life.

You don’t know how many times you’ve gotten this exact response.

The blank stare.

The guilty face.

That look in his eye that tells you just how much he doesn’t have it in him to pretend, even for a moment, that you’re less than the stupid girl who, for whatever reason, has done everything in your power to keep him afloat.

– John. – His name comes out hoarse, quiet. A whisper. A prayer. A plea.

His eyes never waver from yours, he keeps looking, keeps standing there, and though his face is cracked with guilt, there is no shame. Nothing that would make him act on it.

Maybe there’s just nothing there.

No fire. No anger. No defense. No loyalty.

Just the look you’ve seen a thousand fucking times before.

You don’t know why you still beg. You don’t know why you still believe. 

You are pleading with a ghost.

John doesn’t move. He just looks at you. Like he’s already decided. Like this is already done.

And it is. 

But it wasn’t done with the fight, or the cursing, or the blood, not even the way JJ turns, tossing the keys to the bike onto the ground, storming off like he’s the one who was wronged. Not when you see the way John hesitates for half a second, looking at you like he wants to say something, like he wants to take it back, like he wants to undo what’s already done—

Not even when he follows him, turning his back on you like it’s so simple, so natural, like it was always meant to be.

It ended years ago.

Maybe it never even began.

Maybe you're the only fool alive who ever believed you were his sister.

The night cracks open.

The silence presses in.

You're stuck inside your body, inside your head, inside all the memories that claw their way back into you like rusted nails.

You are twelve years old, standing behind John, watching through the schoolyard fence as JJ and the others shove you into the dirt.

"Ain’t she your sister?" someone asks.

John laughs with them.

"Nah, man. I don’t know her."

You are fifteen, standing in the living room, your hands trembling at your sides as your father slams you against the wall.

John is at the end of the hall.

Watching.

Silent.

Your father’s voice is thunder in your ears.

"You think you’re smart, huh? You think I don’t know it was you?"

But it wasn’t you. It was John.

And he lets it happen anyway.

You are seventeen, standing in this very yard, watching your brother walk away from you again.

Just like he always does.

Just like he always will.

Because John —the John you thought you knew, the John that sobbed in your arms for months every night your father didn't come home, the John who wouldn't eat unless you fed him, who wouldn't sleep unless you held him, wouldn't leave the house unless you were close enough that he could grab you, was never there. John, the boy, John, the brother. He's only ever existed as far as he needed you. And now he doesn’t— is not there. 

He's John B.

The star student, the popular kid. That boy that was always too good to hang around some mongrel like you.

And this is what John B does.

This is what he’s always done.

He doesn’t protect you.

He doesn't defend you.

He doesn’t choose you.

Every time you’ve asked God whether you were your brother’s keeper, you felt the weight of every living soul around you say no —You closed your eyes, and you were Abel, lying, stupidly, on the ground you just tilled as he stood behind you with a stone, ready to crush you. You were Remus, laying bricks with your back turned as he came to slay you. You were Osiris, walking thoughtlessly into a coffin he’s made to bury you, fully believing that he wanted nothing but to see you well— Because for every life you’ve shared, he’s killed you, and still somehow convinced you to pray that you’re still siblings in the next.

You don’t remember when your hands started shaking.

Or when your knees lost their strength.

Or when your breath began coming too fast, too shallow, not enough, never enough.

All you know is that the world tilts.

And you sway.

And you break.

And you cry.

You reach out—for something, anything—but there’s nothing to hold onto.

Nothing but empty space where your brother used to be, where the two of you used to play, where you once believed you could be something like brother and sister.

The sky blurs. The trees waver. The ground rushes toward you.

But before you can collapse, before you can even feel yourself falling, Barry catches you.

He's solid. Real.

Not like John. —You shake your head, mentally scratching that concept from your conscience— Not like John B. 

– Hey—hey—look at me. – Barry’s hands grip your arms, tight, steady. His eyes search your face, his chest rising and falling like he’s just run a mile. – C'mon. Breathe.

You press your hands against his chest, against something solid, something unshaking, something that won’t disappear the moment you close your eyes.

And finally you do breathe. But the wound is still gaping. Still bleeding. And John B is already gone. The door slams closed, leaving you to rot in the silence, bathed by the flickering light of the porch; the one you asked him to change for a lightbulb you bought weeks ago, and is still sitting, forgotten on his nightstand.

Barry smooths the tears away from your face, like he used to do when you came to him after a fight with your father, like he’s done for every heartbreak since. – Let’s go home. – He whispers, his hands still cupping your face. The plastic of his keys—Rafe’s keys— pressed against your jaw. – C’mon, let me take you home.

– It's gone, Bee.

– It's not.

– He kicked me out, I can’t come back. It's gone.

– It’s not, it isn’t, don’t fucking say that—don’t ever say that again. – His grip on you tightens, the muscles of his hand flexing against your skin, quick, so quick, you barely brace yourself when he makes you stand in front of him. – That piece of shit isn’t your home. This place? This fucking dump you lived in? This isn’t your home. I’m your home, okay? And you’re mine, and you’re not staying here to keep breaking your own heart over and over again. Let's go.

– Barry—

– I don’t wanna hear it. – He's firm. He's angry. Your chest weighs heavy, still forever afraid of any sign of anger, even when it’s not directed to you. But he holds you, and he looks at you, really looks at you, and he repeats. – Let’s go, okay? I’m taking you to my place, and I don’t wanna hear you complaining. 

– Okay.

– C’mon. 

Barry’s hands are firm, unshaking, steady, and you barely feel them as he guides you toward the bike. Everything is distant, muted, like you’re watching yourself move from somewhere outside your own body. A conscience beyond your own. 

You let him press the helmet onto your head, let him buckle it under your chin with a flick of his fingers. And you watch the way he moves.

His hands are still clenched as he tosses your purse, discarded over the ground, on your lap. He looks over his shoulders, at the closed door, with his jaw clenched, and every so often he shakes his head, frowning, outraged by a thought you can’t hear, can't know.

You don’t remember climbing onto the bike.

You barely register the way Barry grips your hands, pulling them around his waist, but he doesn’t say anything. Not the usual "Hold on, sweetheart," he always says like it’s second nature, not any of the stupid comments he makes whenever you ride with him. His movements are brisk, borderline impatient, but not careless, never careless. He kicks the bike to life, the engine shuddering through your bones as it hums beneath you, the heat of the exhaust jostling against the scrapes on your legs.

Then, you’re moving.

Not fast. Not yet.

But even at this speed, the wind presses against you, makes you feel untethered, unsteady, fragile in a way you haven’t let yourself acknowledge until now. You close your eyes and grip him tight, focusing on the smell of the helmet, breathing it  in, the smoke of his cigarettes, the shoddy menthol of his nicotine gum, and something grounding, something real. 

Your fingers find the fabric of his shirt —your shirt— the old marina shirt that belonged to your dad, the one you were wearing that day with him and Rafe, when everything went to shit. It’s crumpled, but it feels nice, still tender from the fabric softener you used for that last wash.

You feel the moment he registers it, the way you grip him, trying to distract yourself—the way his muscles tense slightly, the way his hands shift against the handles, grip tightening, the moment of hesitation before he sighs through his nose and settles.

He drives slower than usual.

Not slow, but slow enough that you can tell.

Slow enough that it’s not Barry’s usual recklessness, his usual need to prove something.

Slow enough that he’s paying attention.

You don’t know how long you ride like that.

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Maybe a whole fucking lifetime.

Everything is blurred, stretched thin, bleeding together like a half-forgotten dream, and you let it wash over you, let the hum of the engine drown out the roar in your head, let the road carry you somewhere, anywhere that isn’t here, that isn’t now.

You don’t notice when he turns onto the familiar back roads.

You don’t notice the flickering neon light, the cracked pavement, the darkened windows.

You don’t notice where you are at all.

Not until he kills the engine.

Not until the silence crashes over you, sharp and final. Not until you hear the low creak of his kickstand settling, the way he shifts slightly beneath your hands, pulling off his helmet, running a hand through his hair before glancing over his shoulder.

Not until you look up.

And the sign is right there, right above you.

The River Styx.

Your stomach drops.

But Barry doesn’t say anything, his fingers brush over your wrist, still taught around his waist, and he pats his other hand over your knee. – C'mon.

You just stare at the sign, the neon glow casting strange shadows across the pavement, the weight of everything pressing down on you all over again.

You should have known.

Of course he’d bring you here.

Because where else would you go?

Where else is there to go?

Barry swings his leg off the bike, tossing the helmet onto the seat, shaking his head like he’s already exhausted by whatever is going on in his own head. He exhales sharply, running a hand over his jaw, then gestures toward the door.

– Come on, sweetheart, it's about time this day fucking ends. 

You swallow hard, unmoving.

His brows pull together slightly, like he’s trying to be patient, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say, but Barry isn’t built for patience, for softness, for comfort in the way people expect it.

So instead, he sighs, takes a step closer, and reaches for your wrist, fingers curling around it, not pulling, just holding. – You promised. – He says, but this time it actually is softer, kinder, nearly patient. – Now, we can go back if you want, but then the deal is over, and you'll have to sleep on the pull-out couch.

You scoff, still looking at the sign, but you feel your arm relax under his touch. – You suck.

– Not just yet, I’m still sober. – He winks, smiling half-heartedly as he pulls you to the door.

Finnean, the owner’s son, grins the moment he sees you, arms crossed over the bar, his too-many tattoos peeking out from what should have been the sleeves of this dirty wife-beater he’s wearing, the gold tooth in his smile catching the dim light. – Well, well. Look who finally crawled outta the grave.

– You thought we were dead? – Barry hums, unamused, knocking twice against the counter as he slides onto the stool, pulling you beside him. 

Finnean laughs, more a scoff than anything as he places two cups before you. – D’you ever hear the expression ‘only the good die young’? Good ain’t the case for you two. I was actually leaning towards your ass finally getting detained.

– Why? Your brothers need a lil company? Maybe sweetheart can go to see them. – Barry pats your leg, smiling, tight and taught, none of the usual ease on him. – What’d you say, jailbait?

– You can go all you like, sweets. I’m just not sure you’d come back.

– You’re a peach, Finn. – He smiles at you, green eyes flashing with something you don’t want to understand as he turns his back and grabs something.

– And you’re a plump, little red cherry. – He shakes his head, setting the glass down in front of you with a wink before tossing something onto the bar. – I could just pop you in my mouth.

A bowl of bright red maraschino cherries sits before you. Your heart stumbles, a smile actually forming on your face.

Barry grins, nudging them closer. – Knew that’d cheer you up. – His shoulder brushes yours as he pulls your stool closer, watching you eat. – We weren’t in jail or nothing, but this one just got out of house arrest.

– That brother you’re always talking about? – He asks Barry, already throwing his head back, laughing, reaching for the bourbon before Barry even asks. – That explains it. – You stop for a moment, aching again.

Was it so obvious? – Does it? – You murmur, and Finnean gives you a look.

– You disappear for months, and when you finally show up, you look like someone dragged you through hell backwards. – He nods at Barry. – He looks ready to start swinging on the first motherfucker who blinks at him wrong.

– That’s just his face, – You say dryly, eating so you don’t have to look at them.

Barry just snorts, shoving your shoulder lightly. – Ain’t you a charmer? – He takes a cherry from your hand, still chewing it as he downs his cup. – Hit me again.

– You tryna meet God or something? – Barry chuckles at your words, this time more genuine. The smile lingers as Finn pours more bourbon into his glass, sliding another over to you.

– Holler when you get tired of this loser, okay sweetheart? – He winks, that same old joke he always says, grinning as he slides on over to another customer. – Finn will love you long time.

You breathe out slowly, your lungs still burning as you reach for the glass.

You’re tired of thinking about John.

Tired of mourning someone who was never there to begin with.

Maybe Barry had a point with the whole drinking your sorrows away thing. He’d been doing it for years, already. Started drinking just after his father was finally arrested for good.

And hey, if it worked for him…

You bring the glass to your lips, feeling your friend’s eyes on you as the liquid runs down your throat like straight gasoline. He chuckles, patting you in the back.

The first drink burns.

The second warms.

By the third, you’re floating.

The night bleeds away with every time you glimpse the bottom of your cup staring down at you.

Time slips through your fingers, lost in the clink of glasses, the sharp burn of bourbon, the sticky sweetness of cherries.

But though your thoughts slow, the ache never leaves you.

Barry loosens, even as you remain a little melancholy, all warmth beside you, his voice low in your ear, teasing, coaxing laughter from you with every sarcastic remark, every quiet joke. He tips the bottle, refilling your glass before you can even think to ask.

Your chest clenches.

The songs in the background rise, fall, twist into something familiar.

Somewhere between the fourth drink and the sixth, you’re singing along, voice tangled with Barry’s, both of you yelling out the lyrics, slurring through the old Irish verses, laughter shaking through you as the whole bar joins in.

You don’t remember when Finnean slid the bottle of homemade moonshine across the counter, just that Barry caught it with a smirk, tucking it under his arm before pulling you off the stool.

His hands are already on you, already guiding, already pressing against your waist.

You stumble, laughing, pushing him back. – You can’t fucking drive like this, dumbass.

Barry grumbles, rolling his eyes, but you grab his arm and pull.

So you walk.

Through the streets of the Cut, the night air cool against your flushed skin, your voices loud, singing through the empty roads from your empty chest. Barry spins you at one point, pulling you into his arms, making you laugh, and you linger a moment longer than you should, his arms still around you when you finally pull away, palms burning hot through the fabric of your shirt as he walks behind you.

By the time you reach his trailer, your legs ache, your chest hurts from laughing, and your head is woozy.

His trailer is dark, not a single light on as he pulls you towards it, hands searching your sides, his chest pressed against your back. His fingers rest at the small of your waist, loose, familiar, something closer to instinct than thought.

He’s closer than he should be, you know he is, but you don’t push him away.

Maybe it’s the drinking.

Maybe it’s the way the night has stripped you raw, leaving nothing but exposed nerve endings and memories that won’t stay buried.

Or maybe it’s just him.

The warmth of him.

The familiarity of him.

The fact that he’s still here despite the fact you’re down in the dumps.

But the way he's looking at you now isn't new. It's far too familiar.

His lips part slightly when he turns you, his head tilting, eyes flicking between your mouth and the mess of your hair, the flush of your skin, the shape of you standing so fucking close to him you could feel the shape of your body moulding to his.

He leans in, breath fanning against you like a dragon’s, warm, cutting, almost inviting you to be bitten. You turn just in time, his lips landing on your cheek, warm and soft, and way too eager. – You know we never stop once we start. – You mumble, your back brushing the railing as he pulls you up the stairs.

Barry’s lips twitch. His fingers flex against your waist, just barely dragging down, slipping lower, gripping just enough to pull you fully against him.

His voice is low, rough, already gone. – Who says I want to stop?

You know you shouldn’t.

It’s been a while since you drank and remained conscious, but the ache in your chest is doing nothing for your rational thinking skills, and when he cups your face, soft, so soft, like no one else in the world ever does, you let him.

You taste yourself first—sweet, sticky cherry, the sugar lingering on your tongue, and he hums, pulls away just a bit, licking his lips before he kisses you again. You taste him, then. Malt. Amber. Tobacco. Bourbon-smooth and burning at the edges.

You feel guilty already.

But you want the comfort. The ease. The warmth.

His hands tighten, pressing into the small of your back, like he needs you closer, like the inches between you are somehow unbearable, and he sighs against your lips as he kisses you again. The guilt writhes within you as your pride swells. He hums into your mouth, something low, something pleased, something that sounds dangerously like relief.

You barely register him guiding you back until your calves hit the edge of the couch on the porch, and suddenly you’re falling.

Not away from him.

With him.

Barry pulls you onto his lap, knees spreading beneath you, hands gripping tighter, hotter, rougher.

His mouth moves against yours with purpose now—hungry, claiming, a little desperate, a little too much. But he never pushes. He always begs you to take.

You feel his breath stutter when you shift against him, when your hands tangle in his hair, when your fingers scrape against his scalp just the way he likes and he groans, deep in his throat, pulling you tighter.

This is it.

This is the cycle.

This is the inevitable.

This is history repeating itself.

This is what you do when you have nowhere else to go.

This is a promise, a bad decision made in the heat of too much alcohol, sealed between his teeth and your lips, unspoken, unbreakable. You don’t really know what you’re promising. But like the fool you are —like the fool you’ve always been— you’re almost glad to hold it out on a silver platter, just to get that rare sliver of love you’re always desperately grasping at.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvilliantrope @vampiriito @sassybearfire

[bloodlineslut]

Quickie | Roman Reigns

Images/GIFs aren’t mine, credits to rightful owners.

Pairings: Roman Reigns x black! reader

Warnings: smut, almost getting caught, nearly cockblocking mother, quickie sex, freaky deaky Roman, daddy kink, dirty talk

Summary: You and Roman were trying to behave for the weekend at your mom’s house, but you both couldn’t wait any longer.

Word Count: 1.57k

A/N: Ya’ll. OOU WEE. that damn interview when Daddy was talking about how he looked like he was in the middle of an orgasm really did something to my body so I had to write this. all i write is smut i feel ashamed LMAOO

“Bend over, baby.” Roman’s gravelly voice softly commanded you, hearing the whooshing sound of the zipper on his pants.

You giggled all the while obeying him, getting on the guest bed on all fours with his large frame standing behind you.

“You locked the door right?” You look back over your shoulder to see him pulling his boxers and pants down just enough to free his heavy, throbbing cock.

His eyes met yours and you saw that desire in them. “Hell yea. Nobody seein’ this but me, princess.” He spits into his hand and glides it over the head of his mushroom tip before rubbing it up and down against your soaking folds.

The immeasurable pleasure made your back arch even deeper. Roman loved your plump ass, and he let you know it every damn day.

His massive hands each grabbed handfuls of your ass and moved it around, enjoying how soft and fleshy the cheeks were. “Fuck, baby…” He bit his lower lip, still teasing the head of his cock against your sensitive clit.  

You pushed back against him, wanting him to hurry and put it in before your mom came looking for the two of you.

Any other time, you two would be on a leash, but you hadn’t seen Roman in a couple weeks because of his schedule so…

You both were horny.

“Unghh…Roman, put it—in.” You begged him.

He loved to hear you beg for him. “You want this big dick inside you huh?”

“Mmhmm.” Your desperate whines oozed out of your mouth.

“Fuck…I wanna see that ass bounce for me, baby.” He sexily bites onto his lower lip, just imagining all your fleshy ass putting him into a trance, as he positions the head of his dick against your aching hole.

No matter how many times you had sex with him, nothing ever prepares you for his thick manhood. It felt like you were getting split in half, feeling every vein that ran along it snug against your sensitive walls.

He never continued moving until you gave him the green light, but you were so turned on that you didn’t need that long to adjust this time.

Both of his hands were grabbing your waist, so you swung your right arm back to grab onto his forearm, pulling him towards you.

“You okay, baby? Let me know.”

“Yes, just please fuck me.” You rushed out. Your entire body felt white hot, eyes rolling back and almost seeing stars.

You had no choice but to do a quickie, Roman thrusting into your heat with deep strokes. He moved your panties more to the side, trapping the cloth underneath his hand that was still gripping your waist with firmness.

Even more of your wetness was leaking out of you onto his cock, and even on the bedsheets.

Roman loved seeing you cream all over him, it drove him crazy. “That dick feels so good it’s got you creamin’ huh?”

Dirty talk.

How he was so good at it baffled you. Words that could make you lose yourself was a foreign concept before you met Roman.

He was drilling into you so that your ass was starting to clap against his pelvis, filling the room with that loudness. His heavy balls slapping against your erect clit wasn’t making you trying to keep quiet any better.

“Ooh, shit! You’re so deep in me.” Your hands were gripping onto the comforter for dear life, even biting on it to try to keep from screaming.

Everything around you disappeared, but Roman was still keeping an ear out for footsteps in the hallway.

He slowed his thrusts down and stopped, but still stayed inside you.

He heard footsteps and the muffled sound of your mother’s voice talking silently to herself. “Where did those two go? Dinner is ready.”

Then there was the knock on the guest bedroom door.

Your head shot to the door, and then to Roman, silently telling him to say something.

“Are you guys in there?” Your mother’s chirpy voice called out from the other side of the door.

Roman cleared his throat and decided to speak back. “Uh, yeah. We’re about to shower and come back down.”

The thrill of almost getting caught somehow made Roman’s cock swell inside of you and he began moving again, making you have to hold in your moans.

“Oh okay! Both of you are taking a shower?” She asked as if that would be a weird thing.

You reached around and put your hand against Roman’s abdomen to make him stop thrusting so you could get out a tangible sentence.

“Yes mom! We’ll be down, I promise.” You saw Roman smile out of the corner of your eye.

He began thrusting deep into you over and over again, gripping one of your shoulders to get a new angle, making your mouth fall open in a strangled moan.

You looked over your shoulder at him, pleasure on your face, but also a hint of fear, not wanting your mom to hear you getting cracked.

He smirked at you and just brought his index finger to his lips, signaling for you to shush.

You flopped back down onto the bed. Roman heard the footsteps descend away from the door and down the hall.

“It’s okay baby, she’s gone. Let me make you cum. I wanna feel that pussy squeeze around me.”

He knew exactly where your G spot was, dragging his length against it repeatedly. Your ass was bouncing with every movement and he was hypnotized by it.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growled out.

His words barely registered in your brain, but nonetheless you tried to answer quietly. “Ooh, it’s yours Daddy. You fuck me so good.” The squelch of where you were joined could be heard by the both of you.

“That’s right. Even this pussy knows it. You hear that?” His steady voice growls out to you, still keeping the pace of his thrusts.

Turning your head to rest your face against the sheets, you could see your man’s face. Despite his rough exterior and serious demeanor, you were the only one who could make him lose control like this.

His eyebrows were furrowed together in focus and his mouth was agape, reveling in the pure ecstasy that you two had shared countless times.

You took pride in it, though.

Roman wanted to feel another angle so he raised his right leg to rest his foot beside you on the bed. This position always got him deeper inside you.

You felt him sink in about another 2 inches, really rubbing up against your spot that made your legs quiver.

“Ooh fuck baby, you feel that?” His voice resonating through the room like silk. You began to thrust yourself back to meet his hips, your ass hitting his pelvis resulting in the clapping sound that he loved to hear.

“Shit, Roman! Ugh, I love it.” You whimper to him, moving your hand to rub that swollen nub between your legs.

“Let me rub that for you baby. I wanna feel that little pussy squeeze around me when you come.” He replaces your fingers with his thick, warm ones.

He sped up his thrusts, hips snapping toward yours, as he circled your clit in figure-eights which was just the way you liked it.

Your orgasm hit you before you knew it and before you could scream, you felt Roman each around to put his hand over your mouth to muffle the noise a bit.

“Shhhh, c’mon baby. You tryin’ to get us caught?”

You tried to focus on your breathing to keep quiet but all you could feel was the pulsing and gush of wetness between your legs.

Roman looked down at your pussy pulsing around him as he fucked you through your orgasm which brought him to the edge too. He felt his balls begin to tighten up and let you know.

“Fuck princess. You gon’ make Daddy come too.” He removed his hand from your mouth to land back on your hips, going at a rigorous pace now.

“Yes Daddy, please gimme that nut. I want it so bad…” You sweetly begged him, knowing it would push him over that edge.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck baby.” He gasped and pulled out at the very last minute, releasing his hot come all over your ass and back.

He stroked his throbbing dick to every last drop, his moans like music to your proud ears.

You bit your lip and smiled back at him, enjoying seeing him in that post orgasm bliss.

Roman couldn’t help but swipe some of his essence off your ass on his two fingers and bring it up to your waiting lips.

You happily obliged and sensually sucked on his digits, licking them clean. “Mmm. That’s my good girl.”

You two were just enjoying each other in the bliss until you were rudely interrupted, again.

“Are ya’ll finished showering yet?” Your mother’s voice rang through the other side of the door.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Yes mom. We’re just getting dressed now.”

“Okay just checking!” And her footsteps faded away down the hallway.

You got off of your knees from the bed, leading Roman to the bathroom so you could actually take a quick shower.

“Baby, next time let’s just get a hotel room.” Roman voiced his thoughts as the water cascaded down onto you.

“Agreed.”

The end.

[grandline-fics]

For Valentine's event! I'm so deeply in love how you write, especially Doflamingo!! So maybe, True love's kiss for him?

Anyway thanks for your works they're all amazing 🙌💕

DESCRIPTION: True Love's Kiss- The moment they realise they're in love

WARNINGS: none (at least I don't think so, other than the fact is about Doflamingo)

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 1,420

A/N: At first I was tempted to link this to Immune To Your Charms but then decided against it so we could have a different version of Doffy and another version of his realisation he's capable of love. I hope you enjoy what I came up with for this for you anon. Thank you for the request!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

———————

Doflamingo thrived on the adoration and unequivocal loyalty of his family, his most trusted elite officers in the inner circle ready to throw their lives down should he simply say the word. The rush that would flood his system when his subordinates and civilians bowed low before him took him flooding back to his short lived days in his rightful standing as a Celestial Dragon; it’s never quite the same that his nostalgia had preserved in his memory but it's as close as it’ll ever get. The only other thing that ever came close to giving him a surge of true satisfaction and happiness is when you, one of his best and most precious officers, would throw him that sweet smile contrasting with that sharp and dangerous gaze of yours and greet him with a smooth “Hello Doffy.” 

He could always count on you to see to it that any mission he gave you was executed perfectly and without hesitation. Not only did you take pride in your efficiency and skill but seeing it recognised in a man like Doflamingo mattered to you too. You knew that Doflamingo’s trust and reliance on you had nothing to do with the fact that you were Doflamingo’s current lover. As it was, you understood your place in the whole situation, just as you’d witnessed with his previous entanglements.

It was only ever going to last as long as your King wished it to. Should anyone else ever catch his eye and attention and he wished them to warm his bed instead of you, you would be cast aside in that regard. You came to terms with that long ago and idly part of your mind always wondered when that day would come so you enjoyed what you had for as long as Doflamingo wanted you that way.

One morning you were summoned to his office for your latest mission. Wordlessly you accepted the information he handed over to you and began to read it over while listening to his every word. “Seems someone’s been pushing their nose into places that doesn’t concern them. That’s the most recent location we could learn so it’s likely they’ve moved on already.” He explained, his sinister grin in place. “I know it’ll be no issue for you to track them down and taking care of them before returning home to me.”

“Sure you don't want me to take my time?” You asked curiously, finally lifting your head with your own smile curving your lips. “You normally enjoy it when I make them suffer first.”

“You’ll already be spending time away in search of your prey, my dear.” Doflamingo explained while rising from his seat to step around the desk to stand in front of you. Never needing his strings to make you move or respond in the ways he wished, you simply always knew. Keeping your eyes on his face, you turned to face him, stepping back until the desk was now behind you and his hands settled on the wood to playfully cage you in. “I’d much rather have you go and kill and come back, otherwise I’d just miss you too much.”

For the smallest moment his words threw you off but you quickly controlled your expression. Unfortunately you weren’t fast enough and it hadn’t gone unnoticed to Doflamingo. Lifting one hand away to pinch your chin he made you look firmly at him, refusing to let you go until he got answers out of you. Doflamingo knew you wouldn’t have to force it out of you. The second he asked, you’d answer. “Now what was that look for? What could I have said to possibly create such a face?”

“Just surprised my absence would have such an affect on you.” You explained calmly, your smile returning. “There’s plenty here that’ll keep you company if I take too long. Speaking of, with your permission, I’ll go straight away Doffy.” Doflamingo regarded you silently and moved his hand from your chin to thread his fingers into your hair and pulled you in as he leant forward to capture you lips in a harsh, bruising kiss. Under his lead, you effortlessly followed the pace and intensity of the kiss, only breaking apart when he allowed it to. Breathless and dazed you could only stare at Doflamingo when he released you, offering a small but determined nod when he ordered you to complete your mission as fast as you could.

——

Two weeks went by and still you hadn’t returned, leaving Doflamingo to feel restless. Uncomfortably so. He had been receiving updates from you steadily up until a few days ago, everything in code and brief but you hadn’t given him any signal that something was wrong. You were closely on the heels of your target who you were certain you’d catch up to soon. Doflamingo had no doubts about your abilities, you were one of his best so he knew you’d get the job done but still something was annoying him about it all. He was also unshakable in his knowledge of your loyalty to him, there was no way you’d leave him but he still needed to know what was causing his agitation. Thinking back to the day you left he remembered the look of genuine surprise that captured your usually self-assured features when he spoke of how he’d miss you. 

Your little comment about others keeping him company also hadn’t gone unnoticed by him either. Truth be told now that he had the time to think about, you had lasted so much longer than anyone else had as his lover. Those that came before you held no true interest with him, simply attractive things that allowed him to satisfy his needs before he kicked them out of his bed and sought his next source of entertainment in another person. You held his every attention, staying close to him even without having to give your body or touch to him. It was you he wanted and he had meant what he’d said when he said he missed you when you were gone, only now he seemed to realise just how much. 

Two more days passed before you returned to Dressrosa’s Palace, walking slowly and tensed. At your arrival in the entrance hall, you saw a few servants hurrying in different directions most likely in search of Doflamingo to let him know. You didn’t know why they bothered, he was going to be the first person you sought out to report the success of your mission and apologise for taking longer than you should have. You were only halfway up the staircase when Doflamingo appeared at the top, watching you climb the last few steps until you were beside him. 

Carefully he inspected your face. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes and your shoulders slumped slightly. You were barely staying awake, he could see the steeled focus in your gaze as you were determined to remain conscious enough to greet him with an attempt at your usual sweet smile. “Hello Doffy. Sorry I took longer than intended.”

“Was the mission successful?”

“Mhm.” You nodded before covering you mouth to yawn. “Target was a nuisance though.”

“In what way?” Doflamingo lifted you effortlessly into his arms and carried you to his quarters.

“Devil Fruit user.” You explained with a mumble, a small hum of contentment breaking from your lips when you were laid down on his bed, sinking against the pillows. Doflamingo tilted his head curiously at that revelation. Had he known that the target had an ability, he would have ensured you were better prepared for that. Doflamingo felt relief wash over him to see you’d been unharmed, knowing better than anyone how monstrous Devil Fruits were, and made sure that in future you would be better prepared so there would be no surprises like that on your missions. “Doffy? Why am I in your room?”

“I had your things moved here while you were away, of course.” He chuckled watching you struggle to open your eyes to look at him in confusion. “It seemed as though you had a lapse in awareness about your standing with me. Your place is beside me always and there will never be any room for anyone else. Understand, love?” For emphasis he pressed a tender kiss against your lips.

“I understand.” You hummed softly, the loving smile gracing your lips suddenly securing itself in Doflamingo’s regard as something no-one else could ever come close to competing with.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @sagyunaro , @artemis162534 , @rosemary-lungs , @thecraftywriter , @rorozorolover , @yagirlsmuchelle , @engenemoazen , @sukunasstomachtongue , @nico-ith

[bloodchapell]

Do you want to write anything for Dr.Stone? Maybe hcs of what it’s like living with the characters? Platonic or not doesn’t matter.

what it's like to live with dr.stone characters

what to expect: implied stanxeno

your sword's note: thankyu so much for the request dear anon! let me know if i should do a part 2 with more characters, more on my mistresslist

senku

you never know when he is home, he could not come home for three days straight or come home at the same time every day

extremely organized but somehow doesn't mind some mess (as long as it doesn't disrupt his organization of important things)

if you are living with him as a roommate, this guy needs to know you for this life and three previous ones, if on a relationship it needs to be a really serious one for you two to live together

you will find things in the fridge that should NOT be in the fridge (with a note saying "do not consume unless you will 10 billion percent die")

his computer needs to run insane calculations so it can also run almost any game, he lets you use it (if you mess with his stuff the universe might colapse)

really popular: he either sleeps on a senior citizen schedule or has lost track of reality

if on a relationship: ideally he wants separate rooms, he doesn't want to disrupt your sleep when he is engulfed in the latest project and occasionally just wants to sleep on his own, sometimes tho he just crawls into your bed and lays stiff until he falls asleep, always wakes up hugging you or being hugged, swears on copernicus' name that he doesn't like it but it keeps happening (is this a pattern?)

great at following cooking instructions but can't innovate

showers with cold water for the "benefits" and complains if you take too long on the bathroom

folds clothes horribly so he just hangs them

no pets (its for the creature's safety i swear)

gen

if on a relation ship: u found a four of clubs in your underwear drawer? no you didn't

will manipulate you into cooking (either way don't let him cook)

collects cards decks and has them displayed

solid skincare routine, can't decide if he does some form of exercise like pilates or idek, have y'all seen his waist!? is that body tea natural???

if on a relationship: feet and hands always cold and he seeks your warmth when you sleep together, refuses to put on socks (bro walked everywhere without shoes in the stone world, he'd do that at home too)

will eat your food, he doesn't care if its labeled

hates chores day, but he is also really organized so that helps (has a random hidden pile of chao)

your place will always smell good because he brings flowers regularly

why are there 3 six-packs of cola in the fridge?

tsukasa

either brings mirai really often or straight up lives with her, she has her own room and all

cooks delicious meals my gawdd

if on a relationship: he makes sure you don't have to do a single thing. cooking? he got it. chores? he got it. you want the lights off? done. craving something? he will go buy it

if on a relationship: lets you brush his hair, play with it and take care of it (this is my dream)

this guy wakes up at the crack of dawn and will be making some protein shake that is inhumane

i hc that he really likes photography for some reason, so he will have pictures all up his room (or the entire place if you are together)

if on a relationship: he is a human heater, he is so damn warm when sleeping is kinda scary

exercises every single day (no shit), might drag you along

trophies and all displayed

ryusui

MANSIOOOOON

francois lives with you too, they have their own room

idk what is the situation here if you are roommates, makes more sense if you are together

you don't have to do a single thing, ever, it is all taken care of

you open doors and discover full on facilities that you never knew the place had, it keeps happening (is this place infinite?)

if on a relationship: your room matches those of royalty in webtoons, gigantic bed, a closet like barbie's in life in the dream house, a vanity with every product you could ever imagine, the bathroom has a massive tub and a smartass toilet

he would ask you to accompany somewhere real quick (you end up across the world on a party), if he ever asks for some of your time and you deny because of work, he will buy whatever company you work on and give you infinite paid vacation, if its because of studying he backs down and lets you study

has so many dogs, francois handles their schedule

the mansion is so big that you get surprised when you meet him unintentionally

if on a relationship: you also have separate rooms, and a room for the two of you

he brings sai over (against sai's will)

stan and xeno

why would you live with these two? are you their adopted child?

elegant ahh house

you are allowed to have a fish

chrome

rocks everywhere !

in the new modern era he is fascinated by simple house appliances. the microwave heats up the food? THATS BAAAAD. the washing machine washes the clothes? THATS BAAAD (downside is that he will take apart everything to learn how it works and it may not function again OR he will invent a house appliance that already exists "what if we had this artifact that woke us up through a bell?" "oh you mean an alarm clock?" he falls backwards)

organized as hell, knows where everything is. has he seen your polka dots sock? hell yeah

[belit0]

omg I loveee you dear author!! The details that you give to every Uchiha are so in character!!

Can I ask for Uchiha × Reader about them going to bed? will they cuddle immediately? or going to read bedtime stories? I am curious!!>w<

Thank you very much, what a beautiful compliment! So many years of writing them pay off!❤️‍🩹

Now... Even the most hardened Uchiha has a routine before rest. Some by necessity, some by habit, and some simply because (Y/N) has worn them down over time. Each night unfolds differently, yet beneath their individual quirks, a thread of tenderness lingers (whether they acknowledge it or not).

Indra

Indra is not a man of indulgence. Sleep is not a comfort, it is a necessity at best, a weakness at worst.

(Y/N) learns early that he does not simply lay beside her. He keeps watch. Even in his stillness, his presence is unyielding, like the mountain upon which his clan rests.

Most nights, she falls asleep before he does, his warmth a silent fortress at her back. Sometimes, he remains seated, eyes unreadable in the dark, fingers idly tracing ancient scrolls even as she drifts off.

On rare occasions, though, his hand finds her wrist.

Not possessively. Not out of need.

Just a reminder that she is still here.

That she is his.

(Y/N) never asks him to hold her. She does not need to.

Because when the weight of the world finally settles upon his shoulders, when the silence becomes unbearable even for him—Indra does not resist the pull of warmth beside him.

He will not turn to face her. He will not speak of it.

But in the depths of the night, his palm rests heavy against the small of her back. And if she shifts closer, pressing against him without a word, he does not push her away.

It is not an embrace. Not quite.

But it is enough.

Madara

Madara does not "cuddle." Madara positions.

Every night, there is a process. A sequence. He plans his rest as he plans a battle.

(Y/N) must be here, within reach but not smothering. The blanket must be precisely adjusted; not too warm, not too cold. His arm placement is calculated; wrapped around her waist just enough to feel her, but not enough to be considered "needy."

It is flawless. Until she moves.

(Y/N) shifts in her sleep, unknowingly unraveling his strategy. She burrows against him, tangles their legs, steals half the blanket, and suddenly, his entire system collapses.

He wakes up scowling, begrudgingly rearranging their limbs, only for her to roll over again.

By the time morning comes, Madara has accepted defeat.

He still refuses to admit to cuddling. But (Y/N) wakes up firmly locked in his arms, his grip ironclad around her waist.

She does not argue. She simply smirks, stretching against him with deliberate slowness.

His hold tightens.

And with a resigned huff, he buries his face into her hair.

Madara does not lose battles.

Except, perhaps, this one.

Izuna

Izuna acts like he’s doing (Y/N) a favor.

-You're lucky,- he murmurs, already pulling her against him as they settle into bed. -Not just anyone gets to sleep beside me.-

(Y/N) hums, unimpressed. -Mm. What an honor.-

He grins, chin resting on top of her head, arms wrapped securely around her. He’s all heat, all confidence... Until he actually starts to fall asleep.

Then, the truth comes out.

The teasing stops. The bravado fades.

And suddenly-

Izuna is clinging.

It’s subtle at first. A hand at her waist, a leg draped over hers. But by the time the night settles in, he is completely wrapped around her, a human furnace, entirely at her mercy.

(Y/N) shifts slightly. He whines.

She gasps.

Izuna Uchiha just whined.

-You're awake?- she whispers, turning in his arms.

He does not answer. Instead, he pulls her tighter, face buried against her skin.

She smirks in the dark. -Izuna?

-Mm.

He’s already half-asleep.

(Y/N) lets him be. She closes her eyes, smiling to herself. Tomorrow, she’ll tease him mercilessly.

Tonight—she simply lets him hold her.

Obito

(Y/N) is cold.

And it’s entirely Obito’s fault.

She glares at him through the dim light, blanket firmly wrapped around his entire body like a cocoon.

-Obito.

No response.

She nudges him.

Still nothing.

Fine.

(Y/N) tugs, hard. The blanket jerks, and Obito immediately wakes up with a yelp.

"Wha—?" He clutches the fabric like it’s his last lifeline.

(Y/N) scowls. -You stole the blanket.-

-You weren’t using... it....

-I WAS ASLEEP.-

They stare each other down. A silent war in the darkness.

Then—

Obito moves.

Not to return the blanket. No.

To throw himself onto her, smothering them both under the stolen warmth, wrapping her up in his arms like a human-sized burrito.

-There,- he grumbles, burying his face against her shoulder. -Happy now?-

(Y/N) sighs, resigned.

-...You’re lucky I love you.-

His hold tightens.

-Yeah,- he murmurs, finally sleepy again. -I know.-

And just like that, he’s out.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes. She’ll never get that blanket back.

But at least she’s warm.

Shisui

Shisui is impossible.

Every night, without fail, he flirts.

-You know,- he murmurs against her skin, -we could just… skip sleeping altogether.-

(Y/N) snorts. -You’d fall asleep in ten minutes.-

-Would not.

-Shisui.

-…Okay, maybe.-

He grins, pulling her closer, tangling their limbs effortlessly.

(Y/N) should be used to it by now; the way he melts against her like he was always meant to be there. The way he tucks his face against her neck, breath warm and steady.

-You’re too comfortable,- he mumbles, already half-asleep.

(Y/N) smirks.

-You’re too easy.-

A chuckle. A hum.

And then... Soft snoring.

She sighs. -Ridiculous man.-

But still—she holds him just as tightly.

Itachi

Itachi does not fall asleep immediately.

(Y/N) knows the routine well.

He reads.

Every night, without fail.

The soft rustling of pages is as much a part of their bedtime as breathing.

Sometimes, she listens, letting his voice guide her into slumber. Sometimes, she teases him, poking at his concentration until he sighs and tucks the book away, finally giving in to rest.

And sometimes, he reads to her.

It starts as a joke. A ridiculous notion that (Y/N) suggests one evening after watching him drown in yet another tome. -If you're going to ignore me for a book, at least make yourself useful and read it out loud.-

He arches a brow.

But then, he does.

His voice is low, steady, unraveling tales of history, poetry, strategy. (Y/N) listens with a small smile, lulled by the cadence of his words.

By the time she drifts off, his arm is already resting over her waist.

And as the book falls shut, he presses the lightest kiss to the crown of her head.

A habit he will never acknowledge in daylight.

But one she secretly waits for, night after night.

[blouisparadise]

Here are some great bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of February. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Just Wanna Be Loved By You | Not Rated | 1,901 words

Louis is too tired to be tough and Harry tries to love him through his struggles. A Defenceless AU.

2) Darling, I Will Give Up Everything | Explicit | 1,903 words

Louis' had a terrible day at uni, but thankfully he can always fall into Harry's arms and be taken care of.

3) Dear Harry, | Not Rated | 1,945 words

The one where Louis writes a letter to the Alpha that he one day dreams of meeting.

4) The Eagle Has Landed | Not Rated | 3,311 words

Louis comes back from the Superbowl and Harry exacts his revenge for Louis' night with Zayn in LA

5) Early Mornings | Explicit | 3,428 words

“You’re everything to me, you know that?” Harry whispered, his forehead resting against Louis’ as he looked into those familiar blue eyes. “I know,” Louis whispered back, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

6) Skulls And Crossbones | General Audiences | 3,467 words

“Thanks for the tea, mate… but uh, why did the steam turn into a skull and crossbones when you stirred it?”

7) Truth Or Dare | Mature | 4,296 words

"See that guy over there?” Louis shifted slightly in her seat, directing her gaze toward the table across from her. “The one in the wool vest?” Camila nodded at the blue-eyed girl's question. "Go make his day, Lou; he looks like he wants company.” Louis raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s cute. Just look at him; he looks so adorable with his plaid vest and coffee.” .... "I've never done this, I don't want to ruin it" Louis leaned on his chest. "You're not going to ruin it, just let yourself go" She kissed him again tenderly and Harry ended up nodding softly.

8) Are There Still Beautiful Things? | Explicit | 5,473 words

Louis brings Harry to a secluded meadow for one last night of happiness before they both go to war.

9) Fuck Me Til I Feel Better | Explicit | 6,904 words

Louis is stressed, tired and anxious and he just wants his Hazza!

10) The Devil in Disguise | Explicit | 8,276 words

At a lavish masquerade ball, Harry and Louis, once inseparable bandmates of One Direction, find themselves unknowingly drawn back to one another after years of silence since the band’s split. Hidden behind elaborate masks, they exchange furtive glances from across the room, each wondering if the other can see past the disguise. As the night unfolds, their quiet game of cat and mouse leads them to a secluded spot, where the truth of their identities—and the years of separation—are finally laid bare, sparking a reunion neither of them saw coming.

11) Not Quite As Planned.... | Not Rated | 9,105 words

The plan was for them to make gingerbread houses with the gingerbread Harry had made. But things don’t end up going quite to plan….

12) Where You Lead, I Will Follow (Part 1) | Explicit |2,301 words

Louis and Harry are best friends. One night after a great show, he admits his feelings for one of his friends, his male friend. He knows his crush has experience and asks Harry for his help on what to expect.

13) Too Young | Explicit | 18,193 words

Accidentally bonded as 8 and 10 year olds, Louis starts resenting Harry once they were old enough for him to realize what had been taken away from him and now they're roommates who fuck out of obligation.

14) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 22,795 words

Louis has a hopeless crush on his best friend’s dad but his crush may not be as hopeless as he thought.

15) With All My Heart | Not Rated | 34,339 words

Popular omega Louis receives a present each day from a secret admirer. Throw in some humor, jealousy, calculus, a masquerade ball, Mario Kart, snowball fight, mixed CDs, a cute dog, oh, and a cute nerdy shy alpha, who just might be the biggest surprise of all.

16) Rogue Omega | Mature | 38,791 words

Louis is a rogue on the run from his birth pack, who want to kill him because he's a male omega. He ends up in the Styles pack's territory, trying to get away from his hunters. But it's too late--the alphas surround the exhausted omega and attack him. The last thing he sees, before he passes out, is a huge black wolf with green eyes. What a sight to die to.

17) Loving You's The Antidote | Explicit | 60,450 words

Louis is a struggling musician who can barely pay his rent, Harry is a successful art curator with a rich family. Louis ends up as Harry's fake boyfriend for a weekend and they have to share a bed.

18) I Believe In Magic | Explicit | 115,276 words

Harry is the Crown Prince and the future king of Camelot. His sworn duty is to protect his kingdom from outside threats, especially from the dangers of magic. Louis is his best friend and, technically, his servant. And he has a secret.

19) You Belong To Me | Explicit | 125,621 words

Where Louis is sent to prison for the first time. He is set up with Harry who is willing to help him to get through his sentence. But his help doesn't come without a price tag.

20) Yours, Mine, & Ours | Explicit | 126,630 words

A ten year reunion puts ex-boyfriends, Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, in the same room together for the first time in ten years. Louis' desperate to avoid the man who left him sobbing outside a dive-bar in the middle of London. It's going swimmingly until an accidental submission to the reunion's slideshow highlights the existence of the son, Leo, that Harry never knew about. Harry's determined to stake a permanent claim in Louis' life as their child's father. Louis knows Harry's temporary, and refuses to allow him to break their son's heart too. The past bubbles up in uncomfortable ways, and choices need to be made. Will Harry and Louis be able to put everything aside in the best interest of their son? Or will everything fall apart just like it did all those years ago?

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[annabthesolitarywriter]

Thank you for the tag, @saurongorthaur9!

Since I fear a single sentence wouldn't make much sense, I am going to share a very short snippet from my yet untitled One-shot for Day 7 of this year's upcoming Boromir Week. This unedited snippet features Boromir and his eldest daughter Findelis (nicknamed Lis).

-

“I think you ought not worry about that, my child.”

She smiled. “Mother and I have been setting up her chambers and we have worked on the finishing touches in what will be her master bedroom for as long as she is allowed to stay here. She adores roses, lilies and tulips so I placed some on her night table. I have also instructed the kitchen staff to cook an entire batch of glazed carrots as well as mashed potatoes with lots of melted butter and roast potatoes with thyme. That is what she apparently wishes he could eat if only Ioreth allowed her. I still do not understand why that woman still hovers around her like a hawk. She is going to be a mother soon. She no longer needs a nursemaid and one so cruel, at that.”

Her eyes widened. “Ioreth will not be attending on the child, will she?”

Boromir sighed once more. “I wish I knew the answer to that question, for I will not deny that it is a matter which troubles me greatly.”

“Do you reckon she would harm him?”

 Boromir frowned. “Him?”

“My dearest cousin is persuaded that she is going to give birth to a boy. I attempted to tell her that she should not anticipate it, but she would not hear of it. On my last visit to Minas Tirith, she threw a slipper at me, which I easily dodged, and then a physician was summoned.”

“A physician?”

“Yes, Father. She screamed at me and started having pains soon after. She had been informed of the nature of her condition earlier that week and…I was told that she nearly lost her baby. It has been many weeks since we last saw one another and I have been wondering whether she fell ill because of me since I left the Capital. She is so frail and…”

“I know, sweetling.” Boromir caressed her face. “Worry not, my darling girl. Enna and her child are going to be alright.”

“How can you be so certain of it?”

“That is only my hope, Findelis.”

She gulped. “I know you do not particularly care for them, but…do you reckon the Valar will watch over her?”

“I fear it would be hypocritical of me to address such matters. I am sorry to disappoint you, my child. I do, however, hope that they do. Enna is every bit as dear to me as you are. My beautiful, unlucky niece. I hope she finds happiness at last.”

“Hope…you always speak of it.”

Boromir smiled and lightly squeezed his daughter’s shoulder. “Hope is the most precious thing one can have. I bid you never lose it.”

-

That's all! I hope you liked it. More to come! 😊

No pressure tags: open tags (anyone can join) and @lucifers-legions and @emmanuellececchi because...Boromir? 🤣 I really like how this is turning out so far but you two write the Captain of Gondor much better than I and I need a learned opinion 😅

WIP game! Post the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words! Thank you for the double tag, @verecunda and @themalhambird! <3 I already did this one two times, but since I am currently doing quite a bit of writing, I can do it again, hehe! :D

"What a lovely sight you make," Celebrimbor couldn’t help but say.

Zero Pressure tags: @plotdesigner @gauntletgirlie @wowstrawberrycow @thephoenixandthecrocodile @saffronstories @gingeragenda @varda-star-queen @ailendolin @radiant-sunlight-blueberry @eowyn7023 @baddybaddyadardaddy and anyone else who wants to play <3

[ar-agon]

TikTok

So branching out some more on writing but I got inspo for a fic and I thought I'd give in a try- Ar

Summary: Inspired by @alnilaem post about TikToker reader and grumpy-looking Simon Riley. Reader is described using fem pronouns.

Length: 1276

You gained a following on TikTok due to making easy meals and baking cakes. You also always wore dresses and hand-made embroidered aprons while making your videos, giving all your videos a warm, homey vibe. It was what some of your viewers called your aesthetic, a lovely housewife. You didn’t mind it too much, given you were a stay-at-home wife. Your husband Simon worked construction, and that brought in enough to pay for everything, and the little you got from your videos helped cushion whatever else you wanted. Simon never showed up in your videos, either letting you have reign of the kitchen or him being at work while you filmed. 

You decided for today’s video to hop on the “pack my husband’s lunch with me” trend. So you began the video as you always do, “Hey, everyone, I am doing something new today. So, we are going to be packing my husband’s lunch today.” You smile at the camera as you start making Simon two roast beef sandwiches. “He's not very picky when it comes to food, but he certainly doesn’t like anything super fancy for lunch,” you say as you continue to pack his lunch. You hum to yourself as you make the sandwiches, placing them in a plastic bag. You then grab a small container and fill it with grapes, placing it in the bag as well. You then grab a small thermos and fill it with coffee, placing it in the bag as well. You then grab a small bag of chips and place it in the bag, sealing it up. You then grab a small notebook and pen and write a small note, placing it in the bag as well. “And there it is, my husband’s lunch.” The camera pans over the lunchbox before the video ends. 

You posted the video without watching it fully. If you had, you would have noticed Simon in the background. You knew your husband looked mean all huge and muscular. He was also wearing one of his work shirts that was covered in paint splatter. You had tried your hardest to get most of it out when you washed them, but you never truly succeeded. Simon was handsome but always had a resting mad face. So, when you looked at the comments and noticed a bunch of people asking you if you were okay, you knew that your rough-looking husband had made an appearance. 

“Close your fist with your thumb inside if you're not safe,” You read one of the comments out loud to Simon as you cuddled on the couch, watching movies.

“What?” he asked.

“My comments from my packing your lunch video. They’re filled with people asking me if I’m okay.”

Simon snorts and laughs, pulling you closer. "You should know by now that people are always worried about you. But I'm sure they're just seeing my face and getting confused." Simon was a large man, always wearing paint covered clothes and always looking grumpy, even if he was in a good mood.

“Maybe I should do a video about you?” you ask as she scrolls through more and more worried comments. “Just because you’re bigger than me and look mean doesn’t mean I’m in any danger.”

“I don’t know you might be,” Simon laughs as he pinches your side.

“Si, I’m serious,” you squeak softly as you push his hand away, “they think you’re forcing me to stay home.”

Simon looks at you in shock, then rolls his eyes jokingly and lets out a fake gasp. “But what else can a brute like myself do except keep a tiny and very beautiful wife at home?” He asks in mock shock, and he pinches you again softly, knowing how ticklish you really were when you let your guard down.

“Stop it,” you giggle, pushing his hand away again, “you’re not helping your case right now.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” he states as he kisses your cheek, “fine, make the video if you must, but I doubt it will change much.”

“Blink twice in the next video if you need help. This is getting ridiculous.”

"Sure whatever you say dear," Simon teases, before grabbing your chin and making you pay attention to him. "But please know that I love you and wouldn't make you do anything you didn't want to," he added a gentle, teasing smirk growing before pulling you on to his lap. 

“I know, Si,” you sigh softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mrs. Riley,” he grinned before pulling you into a kiss. 

The next day, you decided to make the video while making one of Simon’s favorite cakes.

  The video starts with you standing in your kitchen, dressed up in one of your many dresses with a hand embroidered apron on. You smile at the camera, looking pretty in your quaint kitchen as you begin to speak. "Hey, everybody! It's me again," you greeted your phone camera, "today I'm making a special cake for my husband. It's one of his favorite, so I thought I'd share it with you."

Simon is seen sitting across the kitchen counter, reading a novel and occasionally glancing up.

“He likes them very rich, so we are making a dark chocolate with caramel filling and white chocolate flakes on top,” you state as you begin to prepare that batter. “So, I also wanted to address the very nice and worried comments about me. My husband may look mean, but I can assure you all that he is just a big ol’ teddy bear.”

You started to stir the batter together. “He doesn’t keep me at home, I like making videos and baking for all of you. So, I have made it my full-time job. I used to work in an office, but now that there are so many of you who enjoy watching me bake and cook, well, I am really grateful for all of you.”

Simon watched with amusement as you made cakes and defended him from strangers on the internet who were convinced he was keeping his wife chained to a stove.  He chuckled and then added a remark. 

"You always said you hated that job anyway,” Simon said, finally pulling his gaze away from his book to glance in your direction. You had always loved being a homemaker, but back in you office days, there was definitely no shortage of complaints.

“I did but thanks to you guys,” you said addressing the audience in the video, “I can finally do something that I love.” You pause the video so you could cut to when the cake was baked and cool before decorating.

“Do you think that will go over well? That they’ll believe me?” you place the cake batter into the oven.

Simon closes his book and gets up from his seat, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around you. "They better believe us," he mutters into your ear, "don't want people thinking that I abuse my poor wife." He gently kisses your neck before letting you out of his grip. 

“I’m sure some will still think so but I’m just glad to have you around, Mr. Riley,” you tell him.

“As am I my little housewife,” he says pulling you close.

You finish the cake and the video before posting it to you viewers to see. There's a couple of worried comments, but most of the comments range from "Aw, that's adorable," to "See? Told you guys he wasn't such a brute."

Simon leans over your shoulder, looking at the comments. "Told you they would believe us," he says with a teasing smirk.

“I know,” you smile.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

hi i just wanted to say i LOVE lovelovelove how you write and how you keep your headcanons of how these ghouls would act as partners pretty damn realistic as compared to other writers ive read from. also i HEAVILY enjoy how you write dear old joshua graham and explore how him being a legate for ~30 years would affect his mentality. like yes hes god fearing and tries to do right by the bible but he was also the meanest bitch for a long time that evil doesnt just leave you once you decide to pick up a bible again. it has made me think about him in a whole new way and most of the ways i think about him now are even more debauched than before and for that i thank you. youre amazing never stop writing and sharing your writing! and i hope you recover quickly and as painlessly as possible from your covid

This is so sweet! Thank you so much. I do try hard to incorporate a lot of realism into my ideas (as much as one can have in a post-apocalyptic sci-fi setting, that is), mostly because I think it makes them at least a little easier to connect to. But I believe it also helps to distinguish the characters who don't get a lot of lines/screen time from one another when you make them feel a little more real.

I totally understand why fans who hate Joshua hate him, but he's just far too interesting a character in terms of his history and his perspective for me to not be at least a little obsessed with him. Plus, you know, the way he's clearly oozing that special brand of religious sexual repression and/or personal fear of intimacy that eventually leaves you a foaming-at-the-mouth freak. That's the shit I like, tbh.

I'd argue that one of the things that fuels Joshua's inner debauchery the most is how vehemently he denies it even exists. Yes, he admits to being an overtly bloodthirsty and angry person in the past (and I think he'd be pretty frank in divulging that he still deals with anger every single day), but how could he deny it? There's historical record of what a shitty, violent person he's been in the past. His personal perversions, however, he can completely deny the existence of as long as he can keep them under wraps/ignore them. It's when he meets someone who makes that denial difficult or impossible that things get both sexy and very messy.

There's no way that man wouldn't resent you at least a little for making him so horny all the time, even if he really likes and respects you as a person. More likely he'd resent you a lot. Joshua gets angry with you, not because of anything you've done, but because you prove to him that he's failed to purge himself of his uglier characteristics, those he deeply wishes he could just pray away: his punitive jealousy, his lust, his desire for control. He wants you deeply, but you also torment him.

Anyway, I'm never upset to hear that I've made someone look at a character differently (but in, like, an off-beat horny way). Thanks for reading!

[binomech]

what is/are your favorite book/books?

i know this was sent on february 23rd and i apologize for both the delay and the answer you're getting, although i'm sure you'll understand how both are related the second you click the read more:

on favorites

i'm bad at picking favorites, if the length of this answer hasn't clued you in. i hate quantitative appraisal of things that are meaningful to me, especially if it's art.

a lot of the people listed here i would consider favorite authors and would generally recommend all of their published work. then there's authors that when confronted with their whole bibliography, i can't begin to choose a piece to recommend because they're all relevant and semi independent (bertolt brecht, oliver sacks, chantal maillard, jorge riechmann - whom i feel i'm doing dirty by only listing my favorite works of his and not like, everything he writes. because he's a dear mentor, a friend and one hell of a writer.) then there's adrienne rich, whom a lot of transfeminists take issue with (i have one of those Nuanced analyses for this one but this is not the post for it) that has incredible poetry, and handles human relationships under capital with such kindness and finesse that i can't help but recommend... all of her poetic work, really.

so here's a list off the top of my head of published books that i like a lot.

multiple-work recs per author

albert camus

the myth of sisyphus

the possessed (theatre)

resistance, rebellion and death (all the essays here are amazing, but if you must read one - reflections on the guillotine)

neither victims nor executioners

roland barthes

the pleasure of the text

camera lucida

mourning diary (one of my favorites, perhaps because it's so different from everything else on this list. this is an account of grief after his mother's death)

empire of signs

the responsibility of forms

what is sport? (and although i'm cheating my self-imposed rule of Only Published ISBN'd books on this, i recommend the fiction series 17776 as a companion)

mythologies

emil cioran

the temptation to exist

the fall into time

the trouble with being born

the twilight of thought

lesley a. sharp

the sacrificed generation

strange harvest

animal ethos

more-than-human aging

james baldwin

giovanni's room

this morning, this evening, so soon (short story)

notes of a native son (which adds like 20 essays with every new edition, and honestly, all of james baldwin's essay corpus is amazing. not a single work in there that i would not recommed, and it's a long list.)

franz kafka

josephine the singer (short story)

the trial

in the penal colony

fiction (prose)

invisible cities by italo calvino

never let me go by kazuo ishiguro

east of eden by john steinbeck

fictions by jorge luis borges (and the prologues for the library of babel, featured in fictions, although i don't know if that's been translated or how widely available it is)

how to live safely in a science fictional universe by charles yu

the monster baru cormorant by seth dickinson

dialogues with leucò by cesare pavese

grapes of wrath by john steinbeck

this is how you lose the time war by amad el-mothar and max gladstone

when i sing, mountains dance by irene solà

crime and punishment by fyodor dostoevsky

good omens by terry pratchett and neil gaiman (yes, i know. i think the book is really good, despite [handwaves])

discworld series by terry pratchett, but it's massive so here are my favorite story threads and novels within them:

watch cycle (favorite installments: men at arms + feet of clay)

industrial revolution cycle (favorite installments: monstruous regiment + going postal)

death cycle (favorite installments: reaper man + thief of time)

fiction (theatre)

waiting for godot by samuel beckett

rosencranz and guildestern are dead by tom stoppard

los árboles mueren de pie by alejandro casona

luces de bohemia by ramón maría del valle-inclán

fuenteovejuna by lope de vega

la casa de bernarda alba by federico garcía lorca

escuadra hacia la muerte by alfonso sastre

the flies by jean-paul sartre

huis clos by jean-paul sartre

angels in america by tony kushner

seven against thebes by aeschylus

hecuba by euripides

antigone by sophocles

prometheus bound by aeschylus (kinda. you know how it is.)

these last three have translations by anne carson that i'm 100% supportive of. actually, most anne carson translations of greek tragedy are awesome, go check them out.

non-fiction (prose)

capitalist realism, hauntology and (the salvaged fragments of) acid communism by mark fisher; these go in a three-pack to me, so i'm listing them together

ahí es nada by jorge riechmann

¿vivir como buenos huérfanos? by jorge riechmann

identity and friendship by emilio lledó

diario del cuidado de los enjambres by antonio orihuela

el tamaño de mi esperanza by jorge luis borges

hope without optimism by terry eagleton

minima moralia by theodor adorno

philosophy as a way of life by pierre hadot (as a general overview to the historical overlap of ethics-as-doing with the rest of philosophical thought, but if you can use it as a foothold to his phenomenology writings, Please Do)

the idea of the holy by rudolf otto

the bonobo and the atheist by frans de waal

can the subaltern speak? by gayatri spivak

pictures and tears: a history of people who have cried in front of paintings by james elkins

la resistencia by ernesto sabato

the dialogic imagination by mikhail bakhtin

the cyborg manifesto by donna haraway

epistemic injustice by miranda fricker

prison notebooks by antonio gramsci

pedagogy of the oppressed by paulo freire

non-fiction (poetry)

grafitis para neandertales by jorge riechmann

crush by richard siken

la luz impronunciable by ernesto kavi

how we became human by joy harjo

eyes to see otherwise by homero aridjis

night sky with exit wounds by ocean vuong

i wrote this for you (series) by iain thomas (it's a combination of poetry and photography and greatly benefits from a physical format)

[mrsfezziwig]

Dear Stray Kids: Bang Chan

As part of the cheer up week for our lost children, I want to write to each, starting with our glorious leader.

𝒟ℯ𝒶𝓇 ℬ𝒶𝓃ℊ 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓃,

Young man, do you know that you don't need to be so humble? I wish you could see yourself the way that Stay does because it hurts that you don't believe you deserve all the love, awards, and commendations you have! For a long time, I have wanted to tell you that you need to let yourself shine! We all know you went through hell during training, that you may have considered ending your life, and that the Stray Kids members saved you. Watching you go through the loss of a member was painful even though I was not there to see it first hand and I hate that you apologised for something out of your control. JYPE is wrong to do that to you and we know that you must have been traumatised by it. We love that you would see us weekly like our therapist and obviously we miss you being part of our weekly routine but honestly, more STAYs get why it was necessary than it may seem. Some of your comments about yourself really broke us, because it was clear you truly don't see the absolute pureness that lives inside you. Before I never believed in Star Children, those sent by the universe to bring light and peace to as many lost souls as they can but now I absolutely do because you are one. Please make time to nurture your own mental well-being because even the strongest break eventually and, I can't lie, after Moonbin died and you said you couldn't eat or sleep I thought we would lose you to the Hell that South Korea can be too.

For some reason, you don't let yourself bask in the fact that you did it—you survived it, you became everything you dreamed of and more. You were tenacious and full of sheer will to make it, so please don't let your love for the other members stop you from letting your light shine. Give yourself more lines and more centre time because you earned it, and Stay wants to see your bright soul and smile more than your abs. Not that we are complaining, but I think most Stay would agree. Hearing your voice and seeing you dance is far more valuable. We want to see you relax and let loose as the idol you should be rather than hiding your light under a bushel.

'Genius' is an adjective I will forever link to you, because it was your raw emotional intelligence that saw how the members would fit together so perfectly. Not only that but your ability to find beats out of nowhere just shows that music is your purpose for being here. I love watching the recording behind-the-scenes videos just to see how, even when exhausted, you glow and laugh, proving your soul was crafted for music. Somehow you take the most everyday noises and mould them like clay to satisfy the ears and if anyone says you guys are 'just' noise music then they haven't even bothered to listen to your songs.

For many of us, Stray Kids make those hard days easier and help us handle the times we want to disappear. Thank you for being a leader who is steadfast and immovable, bringing so much joy to people all over the world. Just by being the respectful, kind, honest, and down-to-earth man you are, you show your younger fans what a real man is, who deserves their love and who does not. Some people say you are the reason for demanding such high standards in their relationships, and for me, as someone old enough to be your mother, I am relieved knowing that someone is teaching today's teens what is right and what to demand from someone.

Stay love you so much, and as a fandom, we want you to get some sleep! Please take a break and some time to absorb the past 7 years and rest. Honestly, if we received a statement that you were taking a couple of months off or maybe even a full hiatus, we would probably rejoice because your health is so important to us! It’s true that you are nearing 30, and if you don’t take the time to decompress while pushing yourself so hard, it will affect your long-term health! Rather than another album, we want to see you chilling for a bit, shaking off all the stress of the nonstop comebacks and touring. We’d prefer longevity over more music; you’ve been pushing for 14 years. Letting go a little isn’t illegal, and we all want a healthy, happy, fulfilled Christopher Bang over Bang Chan the idol.

Love yourself as much as we do, and we will never have to worry about the mistakes and the fear that you will burn out. You are human, so being self-critical is normal; however, it's obvious that the pressure of your trainee years has made you terrified to stop working. You never, ever, ever, EVER have to worry about whether you are doing enough, working hard enough, or putting on the best performance because your humanity is what we love most. Even bleary-eyed and with your hair sticking up everywhere, you are perfect in our eyes. So, take a break, for fuck's sake, we aren't going anywhere at all! And when you make it back refreshed, hop on a live so we can see your face and chat a bit. No matter what the future brings for you, keep that child-like love for the world that you have and we will smile indulgently at you all the while. It is obvious that that is the genuine you, not the forced persona of so many idols. That you are universally loved by kpop stans, not just STAY, speaks volumes about your authenticity and humble nature which is something I have only ever seen for you.

On that note, I shall go now. I pray you finally accept just what an unstoppable force you are, that the kids accept your hugs and there is never another pineapple in your burger!

With love from

𝒜 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎