#which means he is at all times full of rage

[ellecdc]

Hardass

Chef!Sirius Black x mixologist!reader who survive a shift from hell

CW: fem!reader, mention of alchohol/drinking, fluff.

comes from a request from @maladaptiveescapism: chef!sirius and mixologist!reader. sirius is a chef at a fancy restaurant and maybe a mishap happens with booking and reader has to keep the people sitting at the bar waiting for a seat and she does such a good job because she’s flirty and fun and trained for this. sirius who always has such a short temper (chefs, am I right) secretly worships her because she’s the one thing he can count on

Sirius was fuming, to say the least.

He loved his job; he really did. The kitchens were his sanctuary, and it was the first place he fled to when he ran away from home at only sixteen. 

Though he knew Effie and Fleamont would have helped with anything he needed (or even wanted, for that matter), he didn’t want to become a burden or take advantage of their kindness. So, he found a part time job in a small family owned restaurant as a dishwasher.

Washing dishes became bussing tables. Bussing tables became hosting. Hosting became serving. He went from a server to a line cook, until finally someone took him under their wing, and Sirius made a name for himself.

Now he was a successful chef working in a successful restaurant and he certainly had made a name for himself.

That name? Hardass.

But it took a certain intensity to run the kind of kitchen that Sirius did, and he expected nothing short of greatness from the kitchen staff.

Fortunately for Sirius, it was the restaurant manager’s fuck up that caused tonights issues.

Unfortunately for Sirius, that fucked everything up for his staff in the kitchen. 

“So, quick question for you Jeffery; did you pass year four maths?” Sirius asked earnestly, watching Jeffery shove his tongue in his cheek to avoid snapping back at the glowering chef in all his tattooed intensity. “Because last time I counted, we don’t have this many sodding tables!” He continued, pointing at the number of reservations scheduled for tonight.

“Uh oh.” You carefully called out as you walked in through the front door, in the process of shucking off your jacket as you made your way towards the bar. “Looks like you could use a drink, chef.” 

Sirius was almost mad at how much of the rage seemed to settle down into a simmer at the sight of you; he didn’t want to calm down, he wanted to ring Jeffery’s fucking neck out.

But Jeffery, the coward, had used your entrance as a means to fuck off from whatever circle of Sirius’ personal hell he’d been summoned from. 

“We’re overbooked tonight.” Sirius grumbled as he sat dejectedly at your bar; mirroring what likely most of your patrons looked like as they spent their weekday evenings with you.

“Shit luck.” you sighed commiseratingly as you poured two shots of vodka and slid one to him. “Here’s to working our sodding asses off then, hm?” You said with a smirk as you touched your glass to his and threw it back like a pro. 

And you had indeed been right; the two of you had worked your sodding asses off tonight. But the difference between the two of you was astounding.

Sirius spent most of his evening sweating, cursing, and - more embarrassingly - shouting at the poor servers looking for their orders that ‘clearly weren’t fucking ready yet, were they?!’. 

But not you. 

Alright, did he take the opportunity to run out the odd plate for the servers just to steal a glance at you? Sure. Sue him. And everytime he did, he’d pass the very busy bar which was always full of couples and groups waiting for a table to clear. None of them seemed to mind, however, as they watched you shake, throw, spin, catch bottles like it was an olympic sport; all with a smile on your face and mischief in your eyes. 

It was as if they were your captive audience and you were thriving on stage. 

Sirius wanted to stay and enjoy the show; but you were working your arse off, and Sirius should be too.

Sirius’ feet were killing him, which meant most of his staff’s feet were worse; his shoulders ached, his head was pounding, and his fingers were raw.

But they made it to the end of the shift; and he supposed that was all that mattered.

He brought out two plates of the restaurant’s famous (read: Sirius’ famous) pasta alla gricia.

You were no longer wearing your beaming smile and Sirius could now see some of the weight of the night in your shoulders and the way your hair was falling as you reorganised your bar.

“Think you can take a break?” He asked as he sat at your freshly cleared bar and placed one plate in front of him and one behind the bar for you.

You startled, which Sirius thought strange for someone who seemed so confident and assured every time he’d walked past your bar for the past almost year the two of you have worked here, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Oh my God.” You groaned appreciatively as you abandoned your task to take in the plate he’d prepared for you. “I’m starving; thank you!”

Sirius chuckled and suddenly felt shy, which he did not think suited him at all, but you were smiling at him like he was your personal angel on earth and he couldn’t help but return the gaze.

“Let me get you a drink?” You asked, but turned to start pouring him a glass of wine (perfectly suited for the dish, mind you) before he had a chance to answer. 

You placed both drinks on the bar and brought your plate around to sit on the stool beside Sirius.

The two of you ate in relative silence; allowing the stress and exhaustion from the shift to wash over you. 

“I think I made Chloe cry.” Sirius said finally, causing you to snort.

“You did.” You agreed quickly. “She came and helped me in the bar for a bit and Jeffery had to run her tables after that.”

Sirius barked a laugh as he took a sip of his wine. “I was wondering why that sod was in my kitchen. Well, I’m sorry to Chloe, but happy to have put Jeffery to work.”

Speaking of the devil; Jeffery came out front with his jacket on and a work bag slung over his shoulder. 

“I’m heading out now; are you two okay to close up?”

You smiled at him, but unfortunately for Jeffrey, Sirius responded first. “Yes we can close up.” He sneered. “We’re not new here Jeffery.”

“Thanks Jeffery, have a nice night.” You relented; giving Sirius a gentle kick in the shin.

The door shut behind the bastard and Sirius felt his shoulders relax. “I hate that sod.”

Thankfully, you only laughed at him.

“I think you hate everyone here.”

“That’s not true.” Sirius disagreed quickly.

“Well you certainly don’t like anyone here.”

“That’s not true either. I quite like you.” Sirius admitted, quickly hoping to god his cheeks didn’t flush at his impromptu admission. 

You hummed in acknowledgement with a cheeky smile on your lips. “Is that why you made me dinner? As a thanks for being the most tolerable coworker?”

“Most tolerable, certainly. Also for saving our arses tonight in the kitchen; I’m not sure how you managed to keep those folks so happy all evening.”

“Oh, that’s easy; get them drunk and steal desserts from the kitchen.”

“That’s where all my tiramisu was going?” Sirius asked in faux contempt.

You only smiled at him and shoved the last bite of your pasta in your mouth.

“You minx.” He continued, taking the now empty plates to the kitchen as you followed dutifully behind him with the glasses. 

“Get out of my kitchen.” Sirius joked, plucking the wine glasses from your hands as he moved to wash the dishes.

“I’d think not.” You argued. “I got a free meal; put me to work, chef.”

“First of all, it was not a free meal; you more than earned it after your performance tonight. Secondly, don’t call me chef.”

“Why not? You are a chef, aren’t you?” You teased as you leaned sideways against the counter to watch him work.

“Yes; but if you call me chef, what am I supposed to call you?”

Your eyebrows raised at that. “What do you mean ‘what are you supposed to call me’? My name is fine.”

“My name’s not chef.” He countered.

Your eyes narrowed challengingly at him. “What do you want to call me, Sirius?”

Mine?

“Haven’t decided yet.” He said instead, keeping his eyes on the dishes in his hands instead of meeting your gaze currently burning into the side of his head.

“Well…” You started, walking over to release some paper from the chit, and scribbling something out on it. “Why don’t you just call me…tomorrow?” You said, handing him the paper after he dried his hands on a teatowel.

Your number was scrawled out with a dainty little heart beside it.

Sirius looked back up at you to see you smiling shyly at him.

“I can assure you I will be.” He promised.

Your smile grew at that as you began walking backwards towards the backroom. 

“Have a nice night, Sirius.” You said before you exited the kitchen.

It was too late to wish him a nice night; he’d already had one.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #mutual love #sirius black #sirius being sirius #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black blurb #sirius black fic #sirius black ficlet #chef!sirius #restaurant au #ellecdc fics

[eyndr-stories]

Doodle dump :D

i'm sure the 'he asked for no pickles' has been done before but now its been done again lmao

#the creature going 'bite bite bite' with moon is my lil persona guy demon dude lol #also #i like to headcannon that sun is by choice a pacifist #which means he is at all times full of rage #i think working in a daycare and being a vigilant animatronic he sometimes sees the effects of how some parents treat their kids #and every day he chooses to not be violent #but damn sometimes he wants to go ape shit #BIG FAN of when ppl draw or write unhinged sun going apeshit because as an exhausted Nice Lad i too would like to be violent #daycare attendant #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #security breach #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #fnaf y/n #fnaf yn #eyndr does art #dca fandom #fnaf dca #oc demon dude #my persona

[mangoisms]

this is based off a quote post and not anyone or anything in particular Noah fence but i think tim’s whole thing with ra’s in red robin 2009 is so boring. especially because. well first off people have Made Points about the terrible characterization ra’s has gotten so that should be the problem First and Foremost. but it also goes in hand with how it feeds into the whole fanon idea around tim being the greatest detective in the world or something because ra’s. for whatever reason. holds tim up to that high standard because bruce is gone (i think it’s been ages since i’ve read rr 09 bc it annoys me 💪) but like. you know. like this is silly. it conflates tim into something he isn’t which just makes him More Annoying because of course it’s like Ohhhh ra’s bad but respects tim… and it’s like a good thing. for him. narratively. like oooooooh tim is the greatest detective ever. and then it’s a bad thing in red robin 09 for like. a little bit. like oh the woes of being too smart…. but then it’s still A Good Thing. despite that. which is just 😐 and it is all rooted in ra’s terrible characterization so 🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤

#feeling like a hater tonight #but also i’m pretty sure i’m gonna be starting my period soon. Which means i’m full of an impossible amount of rage all the time #i think that’s my issue is that a lot of things that get sold onto tim in fanon #like being the smartest robin or whatever (which isn’t true. but also when it’s outside of that it’s like babs is right there.) #when 1) he doesn’t need it 2) it just closes off any potential flaws bc of that being explored #because it’s a good thing. like here AND in universe #which is annoying #you know. yeah

[godsfavoritescientist]

I have a draft saved somewhere talking about my classpect headcanons for everyone, I really need to finish that sometime so people can see where I'm coming from when I say "fidds is a mage of rage". I have Ford down as a prince of light, stan as a thief of time, and bill as a lord of hope, but I think those are a liiittle bit more self explanatory

#classpecting #<-a homestuck personality/narrative role classification system for those who dont know #godsrambles #rage is the aspect of doubt. meaninglessness. of tearing things down when they arent working. #do you see my thinking here. fidds as thr opposing force to bill. doubting the project. trying to stop it. #inventing a device that literally takes away memories. things that give context and meaning to ones life #and then being stuck with narrative meaninglessness for decades #during which time he most fully embodied the aspect of rage. like. #even the clown/jester themes of rage sort of apply during most of the show. bc of his role as a joke character for so long #idk how to sum it all up in a post. but yeah #and then with bill. hope is about endless possibilities. imagination. feeling like you can do Anything with no restrictions #which fits really well with his whole deal. like inspiring ford. 'lie until youre not lying anymore.' wanting there to be no rules. #never growing up in all his milennia of existence. playing pretend to trick people. literally existing inside dreams. being whimsical #and the 'lord' class is the most powerful destructive one of all. #so yknow. wielding the hope aspect and everything it represents. as a destructive force. it fits him so well #when i write a full post i'll go over my thoughts on all the classpects. i just know itll take longer than i'd like #to write it all out and then make it concise enough to be readable

[riality-check]

The eagerly awaited part 2 of the DILF!Steve concert saga is here!! Part 1, in case you missed it.

"You're not going."

"Come on! I haven't thrown up in an hour!"

"The drive to the venue is an hour and a half."

"Steve-"

"And if you throw up in my car-"

"Oh my God-"

"I'll kill you."

Steve doesn't need to see Dustin's eye roll in order to feel the full force of it through the phone.

"I'll just kill you. You'll have a headstone within the week that says Here Lies Dustin Henderson: Rightfully Murdered for Puking in Steve Harrington's Car," he continues as he packs Capri-Suns into the cooler for the car ride.

He doesn't remember ever being that thirsty as a kid, but if Anna wants strawberry kiwi, Anna gets strawberry kiwi. It helps that it's Steve's favorite flavor, too.

"I'd need a big ass headstone to fit all of that," Dustin snaps.

"Your big-ass ego would demand no less, shithead," Steve shoots back.

"Swear jar, Daddy!" Anna calls from her room, across the house because while she doesn't listen to Steve when he's right in front of her, she can hear him break the swear jar rule from halfway across the world.

He zips up the cooler, fishes a quarter out of his pocket, and throws it into the half-full soup can next to the stove.

(A quarter doesn't mean much, but Anna doesn't know that. The day Steve teaches that kid about inflation is the day his pockets become permanently empty.)

"Did she just swear jar you?" Dustin asks from over the phone.

"You baited me into it."

"I did no such thing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You're not coming, though, are you?"

Dustin sighs, and, for all his teasing, Steve does genuinely feel bad. "I still feel like if I breathe wrong, I'll hurl, so, no. I don't think I'll manage the car ride, nevermind the actual show."

"Sorry dude."

"Don't be. Some dickhead will live stream the whole thing on Instagram, anyway. I'll live vicariously through them."

Steve snorts and picks up the cooler. He got Anna dressed beforehand, so it's just a matter of getting her to stop playing with whatever toy she dug up - Play-Doh has been the fixation of the week - in her room so they can go.

"Besides," Dustin continues, and Steve hates where this is going. "Anna loved the show, and you've got a reason-"

"Nope," Steve says, knocking on Anna's door. "Don't finish that sentence."

"All I'm saying-"

"I know what you're gong to say, which means you know my answer. I don't date."

Anna opens her door. From the little Steve can see inside, there are at least three containers of Play-Doh open and strewn across the floor. He thinks her Barbies are involved in it somehow.

"Time to go," Steve says, and he thinks, Please don't let there be Play-Doh in the Barbie hair.

"Five more minutes," Anna tries.

"Nope. Clean up and roll out."

"Hi, Anna," Dustin says through the phone.

"Uncle Dusty!" Anna shrieks, and she starts jumping up and down. "Are you comin', too?"

Dustin sighs, and Steve can't tell if it's at the nickname or if he's still cursing the universe. "No, but you and your dad have a great time, okay?"

"Can you, can you tell Daddy I should get five more minutes?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at her. Anna, to her credit, ignores him wonderfully.

"If you clean up," Dustin says, because he's actually Steve's favorite person right now, "you get to do more headbanging at the concert."

Anna gasps like Steve didn't already tell her that earlier today, and she gets to work on putting her toys away. Steve helps, of course, and he finds that there is, in fact, Play-Doh in two of her Barbies' hair.

Fun. They're going to turn into Buzzcut Barbies when Anna goes to sleep because he can already tell that they are the furthest thing from salvageable.

But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting Anna in the car, deploying the first two of many strawberry kiwi Capri Suns from the cooler, and making the drive to the venue, which Steve does with minimal road rage and accompanied by the Disney radio station.

Success by all metrics, really.

Dinner might as well be now, so Steve shells out a truly disgusting amount of money for overpriced chicken nuggets and fries at the venue. Anna will only eat half her portion but say she's hungry later, but that's what the snacks and water Steve smuggled in via his jacket are for.

They get to their seats, dinner finished up, just as the lights go down for the first opener. Steve looks to his left, half-expecting Eddie and his friends to be there before remembering that they won't be.

He tries not to feel too disappointed. He fails miserably.

The seat next to him, however, isn't empty. There's a note taped to the back of it, one addressed to Steve and Miss Anna, so Steve feels alright taking and opening it.

At the top, there's a messily scrawled phone number. Underneath, it says:

Here's my number. Probably a bad idea to call with all the noise. Texting works, though you should do that after the show. I'll be a little busy until then.

-Eddie

Steve puts the note in his pocket, puts Anna's ear defenders on, puts his own earplugs in, and looks at the stage, where-

Hang on.

He squints at the stage, where four guys have started playing a song that, frankly, sounds too much like literally all the music Steve listened to yesterday for him to care about all that much. The drummer is pretty small, with wild, curly hair. The bassist looks familiar. The lead singer, who is very talented but not to Steve's personal taste, also looks familiar. And the guitarist-

No way. No way in hell.

It's a total coincidence. Lots of guys have long, curly hair and heavy jewelry and big eyes and are wearing formal wear, for some reason, and catch Steve's eye, and-

"Thank you for such a great welcome!" the guitarist says, and his smile totally isn't doing anything to Steve, thanks very much.

Anna stops moving, where she's standing next to Steve, and climbs up into his lap to get a better look at the stage. She looks out, then back at Steve, then out, then back at Steve, making a face as confused as Steve feels.

Some days, he thinks he ended up with a clone, not a kid.

"I'll get off the mic in a second. I only do the talking because Jeff," the guitarist points at the lead singer, who ducks his head, "is really shy."

Jeff. That name is definitely relevant, but Steve is a permanent resident of denial.

"We fought about what song we were going to include next in our set list, so much so that we didn't decide until yesterday and had to consult a tiebreaker."

Okay, maybe Steve is a less permanent resident of denial than he thought.

"So, thank you to Miss Anna, who did great at headbanging for her first time-"

Anna whips around so fast, her forehead nearly collides with Steve's jaw.

"And to Steve, who's a big fan of American Psycho."

At the song name, the crowd loses their minds, and if Anna wasn't sitting right in front of him, Steve would join them.

Because what the fuck is happening right now?

His question isn't answered. In fact, about five more questions pop up in its stead when, during the bridge of the song, Jeff puts on a clear rain jacket and picks up a prop axe.

Please, God, don't let this traumatize my kid, Steve thinks.

Anna, thankfully, doesn't get scared. When Jeff brings the axe down, again and again, Steve's weirdo daughter fucking smiles. And giggles. It's kind of cute, actually.

When the song ends, she turns back to Steve.

"That's Eddie onstage," Steve says, and saying it, somehow, makes it real.

"I thought so!" Anna says, and she turns back to watch the show. Steve puts an arm around her waist so she doesn't fall off his lap when she bangs her head to the music.

The rest of the songs, in Steve's opinion, are better than the opening song. They're more melodic, which Steve can definitely get behind, and each of them has a gimmick onstage, all based off of various horror movies. It's ridiculous, but also really, really cool.

And Eddie, onstage, because it is the same guy who flirted with him and was so sweet to Anna yesterday, is really, really hot.

Steve has never had a thing for guitarists before. He's never had a thing for musicians before. Hell, until a year ago, he didn't realize he had a thing for men.

Eddie is. Uh. Yeah. Really doing it for him.

Steve doesn't know whether it's his enthusiasm, or the way he moves, or seeing his hair tied up, or the fucking dress pants and suspenders, or just his hands, but he does know he has to get himself in check because this is an all ages show and he's here with his daughter.

He already knows he can't add these songs to his grading playlist, not when they're accompanied by visuals of Eddie playing his guitar.

Sweet Jesus.

"Alright, that's our set!" Eddie says. "Thanks, y'all, for sticking around for us, and let's give it up for the next act!"

The crowd, including Anna and Steve, cheer as they exit and the lights go up.

Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket, fully intending to add Eddie's number to his contacts, and is greeted by not one, not two, but sixteen missed calls from Dustin Henderson.

Naturally, Steve calls him back. "Who died?"

"What the fuck?" Dustin yells, and Steve just puts the phone on speaker to save the rest of his hearing. "Did Eddie fucking Munson just personally thank you from the stage?"

"Swear jar, Uncle Dusty!" Anna says.

"Sorry," Dustin says. "But Steve. Answers. Now."

"How do you even-"

"Instagram live. Is Eddie the guy you were telling me about yesterday?"

Steve takes his phone off speaker. Prior experience tells him that this conversation has a less than zero chance of staying PG, nevermind PG-13.

"Yeah," Steve says. "He is."

"The one who flirted with you, and you forgot to ask for his number."

"Well, I have it now."

"What?" Dustin shrieks, and Steve is incredibly thankful that he didn't take his earplugs out.

"He left me his number on the seat."

"Text him."

"I was going to, until I saw that you called me sixteen times."

"Jesus Christ, Eddie Munson was flirting with you."

Steve rolls his eyes and hands a pack of gummy bears to Anna when she taps his arm. "He could have just been nice. I don't even know if he's into guys."

"Have you looked at him?"

"Wow, Dustybuns, I didn't know you were homophobic."

"I think it's the complete opposite of homophobic to try to get you laid."

"Hanging up!" Steve shouts because a part of him will never see Dustin as any older than thirteen, and no thirteen year old should ever say that.

"Text-"

Steve hangs up the call. "Can I have a gummy bear?"

"No," Anna says, mouth full, in her seat, legs swinging.

"I bought them."

She shrugs. "You gave them to me. Mine now."

Steve stares. She stares right back.

He sighs and opens a new pack of gummy bears.

With his mouth full of sweet Haribo corpses, Steve takes out the note and adds Eddie to his contacts. Before he can overthink it, he sends him a message:

I guess I don't have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we're even on that front, I'm a teacher, and Anna's full time job is preschool.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and focuses on making this a good experience for Anna, who somehow wormed her way into a conversation with the intimidating-looking couple sitting next to her.

Because it's totally not like a literal rockstar is going to text him back. Right?

Part 3!!

#ria writes #this au needs a tag #uhhh #d&c au #there we go #dilf & concert #this was inspired by me seeing ice nine kills open for metallica #in case you couldn't tell #as well as the really cool dad and kid i sat next to #at fall out boy #shoutout to them #they were awesome #anyway #real tags time! #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #st #st ficlet #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #corroded coffin #rockstar eddie munson #dilf steve harrington

[eelhound]

"I think Homer outwits most writers who have written on the War [fantasy archetype], by not taking sides.

The Trojan war is not and you cannot make it be the War of Good vs. Evil. It’s just a war, a wasteful, useless, needless, stupid, protracted, cruel mess full of individual acts of courage, cowardice, nobility, betrayal, limb-hacking-off, and disembowelment. Homer was a Greek and might have been partial to the Greek side, but he had a sense of justice or balance that seems characteristically Greek — maybe his people learned a good deal of it from him? His impartiality is far from dispassionate; the story is a torrent of passionate actions, generous, despicable, magnificent, trivial. But it is unprejudiced. It isn’t Satan vs. Angels. It isn’t Holy Warriors vs. Infidels. It isn’t hobbits vs. orcs. It’s just people vs. people.

Of course you can take sides, and almost everybody does. I try not to, but it’s no use; I just like the Trojans better than the Greeks. But Homer truly doesn’t take sides, and so he permits the story to be tragic. By tragedy, mind and soul are grieved, enlarged, and exalted.

Whether war itself can rise to tragedy, can enlarge and exalt the soul, I leave to those who have been more immediately part of a war than I have. I think some believe that it can, and might say that the opportunity for heroism and tragedy justifies war. I don’t know; all I know is what a poem about a war can do. In any case, war is something human beings do and show no signs of stopping doing, and so it may be less important to condemn it or to justify it than to be able to perceive it as tragic.

But once you take sides, you have lost that ability.

Is it our dominant religion that makes us want war to be between the good guys and the bad guys?

In the War of Good vs. Evil there can be divine or supernal justice but not human tragedy. It is by definition, technically, comic (as in The Divine Comedy): the good guys win. It has a happy ending. If the bad guys beat the good guys, unhappy ending, that’s mere reversal, flip side of the same coin. The author is not impartial. Dystopia is not tragedy.

Milton, a Christian, had to take sides, and couldn’t avoid comedy. He could approach tragedy only by making Evil, in the person of Lucifer, grand, heroic, and even sympathetic — which is faking it. He faked it very well.

Maybe it’s not only Christian habits of thought but the difficulty we all have in growing up that makes us insist justice must favor the good.

After all, 'Let the best man win' doesn’t mean the good man will win. It means, 'This will be a fair fight, no prejudice, no interference — so the best fighter will win it.' If the treacherous bully fairly defeats the nice guy, the treacherous bully is declared champion. This is justice. But it’s the kind of justice that children can’t bear. They rage against it. It’s not fair!

But if children never learn to bear it, they can’t go on to learn that a victory or a defeat in battle, or in any competition other than a purely moral one (whatever that might be), has nothing to do with who is morally better.

Might does not make right — right?

Therefore right does not make might. Right?

But we want it to. 'My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure.'

If we insist that in the real world the ultimate victor must be the good guy, we’ve sacrificed right to might. (That’s what History does after most wars, when it applauds the victors for their superior virtue as well as their superior firepower.) If we falsify the terms of the competition, handicapping it, so that the good guys may lose the battle but always win the war, we’ve left the real world, we’re in fantasy land — wishful thinking country.

Homer didn’t do wishful thinking.

Homer’s Achilles is a disobedient officer, a sulky, self-pitying teenager who gets his nose out of joint and won’t fight for his own side. A sign that Achilles might grow up someday, if given time, is his love for his friend Patroclus. But his big snit is over a girl he was given to rape but has to give back to his superior officer, which to me rather dims the love story. To me Achilles is not a good guy. But he is a good warrior, a great fighter — even better than the Trojan prime warrior, Hector. Hector is a good guy on any terms — kind husband, kind father, responsible on all counts — a mensch. But right does not make might. Achilles kills him.

The famous Helen plays a quite small part in The Iliad. Because I know that she’ll come through the whole war with not a hair in her blond blow-dry out of place, I see her as opportunistic, immoral, emotionally about as deep as a cookie sheet. But if I believed that the good guys win, that the reward goes to the virtuous, I’d have to see her as an innocent beauty wronged by Fate and saved by the Greeks.

And people do see her that way. Homer lets us each make our own Helen; and so she is immortal.

I don’t know if such nobility of mind (in the sense of the impartial 'noble' gases) is possible to a modern writer of fantasy. Since we have worked so hard to separate History from Fiction, our fantasies are dire warnings, or mere nightmares, or else they are wish fulfillments."

- Ursula K. Le Guin, from No Time to Spare, 2013.

#ursula k. le guin #homer #quote #quotations #the iliad #trojan war #storytelling #fantasy #fiction writing #war #conflict #tragedy #john milton #paradise lost #greek mythology

[nastybuckybarnes]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Simon Riley X Reader

Summary: Nothing shatters the tension of a fight quite like needing your boyfriend to rush home to save you from people who would do you harm.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Fighting, Fluff, Kind of mean!Simon but not too bad, very minor violence, home invasion, I think that's it...?

Word Count: 1.5K

A/n: we're gonna dip a toe in the COD water and see what happens. I love ghost and Konig so we'll see what else I do there. For any and all COD stuff, I use Canadian Military as a basis for the readers background.

~*~

"I've had enough of this. I'm not gonna argue with you about somethin' so stupid," he hisses, glaring at you with hard, cold eyes.

"It's not stupid, Simon, you just don't want to ever entertain the idea of talking about things that might make you slightly uncomfortable!"

"Oh fuckin hell." He drags a hand down his face and shakes his head.

"Everythin's always gotta end with you being right, doesn't it?"

You frown at his absolute lack of any sort of understanding or empathy.

"This isn't about me being right, this is about you at the very least hearing me out!" You try.

"You knew what you were getting in to the moment you met me, m'not sure what you're expecting of me now. S'not like I can go and change the way things are, now can I?"

You narrow your eyes at him and his blatant ignorance.

"I understand full well, Lieutenant. I've been there, which is something you seem to conveniently forget."

He lets out a humourless chuckle and shakes his head, "don't go put yourself in the same category as me now, lovey. You know you weren't exactly at my level when you served."

His words are a slap in the face.

Sure, you were never quite JTF2 or SAS level, but that doesn't mean your time in the military is any less valid than his.

Seven years of your life you devoted to serving your country, the medical help for teams like his, and all he can do is turn his nose down at it as if it means nothing to him.

"You know what? Fuck you, Simon. I never even insinuated that we were at the same level and for you to try and..." you stop, pinching the bridge of your nose as anger fills you.

"What? Got nothin' to say now? That's a shock."

It takes all your strength not to lash out at him and even more to stop your bottom lip from quivering at just how mean he's being.

Sure, he's always been a little rough around the edges, a little harsh and brazen, but never has he been so downright mean to you.

"Get out."

"What?" This seems to genuinely catch him off guard, his arrogance faltering for a moment.

"Get out. Leave."

Simon Riley isn't a man who gets scared. He's been chewed up and spat out of hell before. Nothing on Earth can get the jump on him and nothing can scare him.

At least, that's what he thought.

His palms tingle and he needs to grind his teeth together a few times to collect himself before speaking.

"So that's it then?" He asks, his deep voice barking the question like he would an order.

You two have had your fair share of fights in the time that you've been dating, even more since you moved in together, but none where he's thought you might end things.

"I'm not gonna stand here and take a verbal beating from you, Si. Get out and come back when you've had a chance to fucking cool off."

He stares at you for a long moment, testing your resolve, waiting to see if you really mean it.

When you hold his glare, not backing down, he grabs his coat, mask, and keys and storms out of the house without another word.

You stand there in the kitchen for a long moment, the silence ringing heavily in your ears before you storm up the stairs to take a shower and, hopefully, argue out all your hostility in private.

The warm water runs over your tense shoulders for a few minutes and you try your hardest to relax, to let the anger seep out of you and run down the drain, but when you hear the front door open you're filled with rage once more.

You stand in the shower silently, waiting for the door to open and close again, signalling his departure, but instead you just hear boots on the kitchen floor.

Scoffing and shaking your head, you start to seethe.

As if he's wearing his shoes in the house on top of everything else.

You yank the shower curtain aside and step out onto the mat, not bothering to turn the shower off.

A crash from the kitchen makes you freeze.

Simon is never this loud.

Like a deer on the highway, you stay still, silencing your breathing as you listen to the noises coming from the kitchen.

Instead of calling out to him and potentially causing more trouble, you take a silent step to the counter where your phone lies.

You grab it and hit his icon quickly, listening to it ring for a while before he sends you to his voicemail. A loud beep sounds tauntingly in your ear and you huff out an angry breath.

You hang up and call him back, grinding your teeth together when he sends you straight to voicemail again.

The noises in the kitchen continue, and your heart jumps into your throat.

Answer your phone, Simon.

You shoot the text off quickly then immediately call him again, your stomach settling when the call connects.

"Are you home?" You waste no time on pleasantries, and instead hear him sigh heavily.

"You told me to get the fuck out, didn't ya? Why would I be home."

Your breath hitches and you press your back to the bathroom door, turning the lock silently as panic fills you.

"Simon, someone's here."

The fear in your voice has his blood running cold, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter as your fight gets shoved from his mind.

"What do you mean 'someone's here'?" He asks, his voice lacking the anger it had only moments ago.

"I heard the door open and I can hear someone in the kitchen."

You hear his tires screeching on the pavement and his engine roaring as he speeds home.

"Where are you right now?" This isn't Simon talking now. You recognize the change.

This is Ghost.

"I'm in our bathroom. Door locked and shower on."

"Good. Keep that water running. As long as they think you don't know they're there, you should be okay until I get home."

"Okay." You feel a little bit safer knowing he's on his way home.

"Keep me on the line."

"Okay."

There's a few seconds of just breathing before you speak again.

"How far are you?"

"Two minutes away."

"Okay... After you deal with these guys we can go back to yelling at each other," you whisper, wrapping a towel around your body and leaning against the wall across from the door.

He chuckles softly and the sound makes a small smile tug at your lips.

As much as he pisses you off and even sometimes hurts your feelings, deep down you know you'll never love anyone the way you love him.

You don't realize you've been quiet until he calls your name softly.

"You still with me, dove?" His voice is soft and you hear him turn the car off.

"I'm here."

"Good. I'm home now, don't come out of the bathroom 'till I come get you, understood?"

"Understood."

Sometimes living with Simon reminds you of being on base, and there are times when you despise it.

And then there are the times when you don't mind it as much. This is one of those times.

You hear the muffled sound of what must be him putting his phone in his pocket, and you close your eyes as you hear the soft click of the door handle through the speaker.

His footsteps are silent, even through the phone, and you feel ridiculous for ever thinking you'd hear it if he came home.

You can hear him as he takes down one intruder, and then what must be a second one.

He says nothing to them, that you can hear. But a series of dull thuds echo through the house before silence remains.

A few minutes go by of nothing, but you don't dare speak or open the door.

Ghost gave you an order, and you have no intentions of disobeying.

There are a few more moments of silence before you hear a crisp knock on the door.

"Lovey? You can open up now."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you open the bathroom door and are immediately engulfed in Simon's strong arms.

He walks you backwards into the bathroom and squeezes you to his chest, mask hiked up over his nose so he can breathe in the scent of you.

"You all right, love?" He asks softly, his voice gruff and ever so rough.

"M'okay, Si. Thank you for coming home."

"S'my fault anyway. I shoulda locked the door before leavin' in a huff the way I did."

You frown and shake your head, pulling away to look up at him.

"This is in no way your fault, Simon. I could've easily locked the door after you. I'm just happy you got home in time."

Though you're not sure what the intruders really wanted, you're glad you didn't have to find out alone.

"I'll always come home."

And with those four words, he puts to rest not only the intruder situation, but also your argument from earlier.

Because he will. He'll always come home to you, regardless of what he needs to do, he'll make sure he comes home to you.

#simon Riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon Riley x reader fluff #simon x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #cod mw2 x reader #soap #price #gaz #fluff #angst #simon Riley fluff

[zeijia]

ITOSHI RIN gets easily jealous. He's unconsciously possessive of you.

He hates it whenever he sees you being all giddy and friendly with his rivals; special mention, isagi and sae. He despises it, so much.

Something about seeing you with another man making you smile somehow fuels his jealousy, it makes his heart burn with rage.

He isn't even the type to show his emotions. He just stares at you with a blank face, and it's difficult to figure out what the man in front of you could be thinking of.

Whenever you ask if he's okay, he'll just respond with “yeah i'm okay.” and give you a long hug, and you have to tell him that he's heavy and you can't breathe.

But by the end of the day, he knows you'll only be his. Why's that?

Because no other man could simply have you begging to be stuffed full, no man could have you all sprawled out on the bed, crying and whining.

Maybe, just maaaaybe, there's a part of Rin that thinks that breeding you is the solution to keep those annoying luke warm bastards away from you.

The idea of them seeing you with a belly all swollen, and seeing those guys back away from you makes him want to breed you.

Or even better when you carry a child with you that looks exactly like him, thinking of how adorable you two would be,

it really makes it hard for him to pull out and just breed you, wanting to baby trap you.

Oftentimes, Rin's soft with you in bed. Unlike the nonchalant persona of Rin that you always see with his peers, he's actually really soft. He always made sure you were okay, and he never did something you didn't like nor make you uncomfortable. He praises you during sex, kissing your tears away whenever his cock enters your pussy, trying to distract you from the stinging pain which seemed to never go away; you never got used to his length.

Though, during this time, it's different. He's mean and all cocky, humiliating you with his words and spatting all degrading words and not even giving you time to adjust to him, just straight up fucking you selfishly to how he likes.

Rin isn't easily overwhelmed, but whenever this happens, he just can't help but think with his cock rather than his own mind, fucking you insane while whispering all naughty thoughts to you.

“fucking hell, you whore, doing that on purpose?” he'd say in your ears all the while his cock thrusting in and out of your hole as you cry out that you definitely did not. 

“come on, just admit it, you were provoking me to do this.” he'll accuse over and over again, along with degrading insults.

But of course, Rin also has a heart. He'll probably snap out of it once you actually start whining and telling him to pull out. He has to respect your wishes, after all.

With all his might, he tries his best to get a grip on his self control and pull out just before cumming and his seed dripping down to your abdomen. 

Rin tries his best to comfort after that, he'll say sorry over and over again, and even cook for you even though you tell him that it was okay and you just got a little scared.

Rin loves you, really he does. He cuddles you after that, telling you jokingly to stop being so close with those bastards unless you actually want to get knocked up.

He really doesn't like sharing you even in a friendly manner, and maybe, just maybe, you'll provoke him and be close with his 'rivals' again if it meant getting another hard fuck from him.

© zeijias. do not copy/steal, translate, modify my work. ALL CHARACTERS R 18+

#bllk x you #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk smut #bllk x reader #blue lock smut #blue lock x you #bllk #itoshi rin smut #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin

[fallenhunnyapple]

Some Baby Savior AU Expansion

This is an Adamsapple AU because I love them they have taken over my life. I'm sorry in advance because there's a lot going on and I'm bad at being succinct.

This AU works under the Assumption that Adam didn't Die to get into Heaven. He was Ascended while he was still alive as a 'reward' for staying 'good', having not eaten of the Fruit of Knowledge. But his children were still tainted because of their mother, and so while they were still young, the eldest still only being in their teens, he was taken away from them to stay safe in Heaven.

Also, there are yearly meetings held a week after Exterminations where Lucifer and Adam (and Lute) meet in order to discuss quotas, numbers, etc. They're mandatory as per the agreement.

So-

Lilith left Lucifer while Charlie was still just an infant and he had to raise her alone. It was Difficult and when Lucifer was Busy, Charlie spent a lot of time being watched by her Aunts and Uncles, the Sins. But he foolishly let himself trust the people of his ring once and they took advantage, an Overlord trying to vy for more influence hired someone to steal the Princess and hold her hostage. The night before the Extermination.

Lucifer is already overworked and stressed and now having his daughter kidnapped made him lose his mind and go on a full rampage, destroying part of Pentagram City in his blind rage and panic. Which, Great for the Exorcists as long as they keep out of his way because that means they can pick off all the freaked out and fleeing sinners.

And it's during this panicked frantic mess that Adam quite literally drops in on these shady sinners (through the ground because of Hell's shitty infrastructure) who try to Kill him. Surprise, Angelic Steel weapons are being manufactured and they can Hurt Angels. They're still no match for Adam, so he kills them, but not without getting nicked by a few bullets, his arm injured, his wing useless, and his mask a little shattered. And then he hears a fussy crying sound and finds a baby hidden in a nearby crate. Pale with cute red cheeks and golden hair. She reminds him of someone. And she reminds him of his youngest daughter the last time he saw her... Well, she's hellborne, so he wasn't going to kill her anyway. Maybe he'll just take her home with him and he can puppy dog eyes at Sera until she let him keep her!

But he can't fly with these injuries, so he needs to go to the Embassy where he knows Lute and his girls will be waiting for him. But the Embassy is really close to Lucifer's rampage zone. What's he being so insane about anyway? And after almost becoming collateral, and Adam Yelling at him, it clicks. Those red cheeks were familiar for a reason. She must be his kid. There go his plans for bringing her with him. And here he was picking out a name and everything : / He can't bring himself to hate her or to take her away from her dad when he's obviously so upset. It's Begrudgingly that he gets Lucifer's attention to give the baby back. He's attached to her now.

A week after the Extermination, there's a meeting. To discuss the use of Angelic Weapons in hell, to find out who and how they're being made and distributed and ending that production immediately. And Lucifer can't exactly trust anyone in Pride anymore so Charlie comes to the meeting. She's happy to see the weird Kitty again. Adam is Thrilled to see her and spends a good chunk of the meeting making silly faces to make her laugh.

This becomes Normal, Charlie coming to the meetings, too young to understand anything but excited to get to see Adam. She has very clearly gotten attached to him.

Many years pass (Charlie is over 200 years old, and I assume that means super slow aging so she's developmentally 6 years old) and Adam tells Lucifer to not bring Charlie to the meeting. Lucifer agrees and leaves her with Bee in Gluttony. At the meeting, Adam is there in person, pacing and stressed. Lucifer arrives to find him in that state and Adam breaks down, begging on his knees for Lucifer to keep him in Hell. He can't go back to Heaven. They're going to make him remarry Lilith and she's probably into pegging and he doesn't want to be pegged.

Lucifer tries to wrap his mind around the fact that Lilith is in Heaven. Adam feels a little guilty but what was he supposed to do? He couldn't force Lilith to go home and stop being a deadbeat Mom. Lucifer is Mad that Adam never told him Lilith was in Heaven, he knew how much of a struggle he was having without her. Adam tries to make excuses and reverts to begging again, saying they won't let him leave Heaven again if he goes back. And that hits a cord. Lucifer's angry about the thing with Lilith, but Charlie didn't know her mother. She knew Adam though, and he doesn't want her to go through the pain of losing someone important to her. Okay, he'll help keep Adam safe in Hell so Heaven can't get to him. And by that Point, Adam was reminded that there's a chance that Heaven might come after Charlie so actually he'd be staying regardless so he can keep an Eye on Charlie and keep her safe.

Unbeknownst to Adam though, Lucifer has a secret. He'd fallen in love with him. It's 100% because of seeing how good Adam is with Charlie. Charlie is Lucifer's Everything, she is the most important thing in his life and she likes and gets along with Adam and Adam clearly cares for her and that means more than anything else could. And he's in love because of it. But he doesn't tell Adam that.

Together Adam and Lucifer raise Charlie, they're Dad/Daddy and Dadam (Adam came up with it because actually being called a nickname for father reminded him too much of the kids he didn't get to see grow up). And when Charlie gets old enough to move out on her own, Empty Nest Syndrome kicks in. But in the "we're not raising a kid together anymore, we should go our separate ways" kinda way. Because the entire time Lucifer never said anything about his feelings so they'd been Platonically co-parenting for over a century while Lucifer pined.

Charlie finds out that Adam is thinking of moving out and panics because she thinks this means her dads are getting a divorce. She never knew they weren't married. She never knew they weren't even Together. Because they sure Seemed to love each other all those years! She tries to encourage her dad to tell Adam how he feels and he does. It doesn't go well. Adam doesn't believe it, he refuses. (And it's not because he doesn't love him, Adam has loved him consistently since Eden) But he just can't accept it and decides it's Definitely better to move out. Lucifer goes into a depressive isolated episode while Adam is out there going on week long Benders to try and cope. The Sins have to get involved once Charlie reaches out, worried about both of them because Lucifer is barely responsive and Adam is dismissive. Ozzie tries to find out what's going on with Lucifer and Bee is taking care of the doped up drunken depressed mess that is Adam, she knows how to deal with drunks.

The Sins and Charlie are going to help them sort out their shit so they can actually try to be happy together the way they should have been the whole time. That's about where the conversation's ended for now. Orz this is long

Gonna @ the people who seemed interested in more info @lordxsblog @fightinsoda

#hazbin hotel #baby savior au #adamsapple #guitarduck #charlie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin charlie #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #my art

[dragonmuse]

Keep It In The Box : An Essay on OFMD Season 2 and the Failure to Heal

(here in is my season two reaction. It contains many many spoilers. It's also about 3k words long so you know what you're getting into.)

“See, I have a system for dealing with all the terrible things I've seen. There's a box in my mind, and I put the things in the box..” -Frenchie, Season 2 of Our Flag Means Death

…..and then he never opens it. Chekov’s locked box has no key in season two.

On first watch, it seemed clear to me that Frenchie’s declaration was a narrative plant. Clearly the whole season would be about that box of pain and trauma being opened, sorted through and at least the beginning of healing. The show had developed a reputation after season one of being kind and focused on queer narratives of healing from childhood. Ed and Stede’s parallels in their childhood traumas were frequently on display through season one and were repeated in flashback throughout season two. Jim’s season one arc about becoming someone who doesn’t think just of revenge and can now forge meaningful connections was profound, beautiful and often funny. Izzy is an antagonist because he doesn’t want Ed to move on or stop acting like the trauma-response version of himself. The antagonist wants to stop healing. The point is to grow, to change, to learn how to love. It’s one of the things that made season one work for me at the time, despite reservations about pacing and tone.

So naturally season two should follow suit. It’s a kind show! About healing and falling in love!

For the first several episodes, the remaining crew on the Revenge go through a gauntlet of trauma, forced to do and receive violence at Ed’s whims as he careens from self-destructive behavior to self-destructive behavior. This is the wounding setup. It was dark, but it seemed like it would have a payoff and at first it did.

Perhaps one of the most beautiful moments of the season comes in one of the small respites in those early episodes as Jim recounts Pinnochio to Fang to soothe him through his grief. That was the show that I expected. The kindness of that moment struck me very deeply. It gave me some understanding of Archie too, who seems to fall for Jim right at that moment.

That scene is the show season one promised. Season two led with packing Frenchie’s box full to bursting. Here is the fight to the death between lovers, there is a first mate who is mutilated and rotting in the very walls (the rot of the Revenge itself), and there is the storm of Ed’s rage and pain that threatens to consume all of them.

So surely these remaining episodes would concentrate on finding the humor in healing from those moments. That is the setup. Frenchie has a box. The box must eventually open.

Except time and again, all the characters who suffered are told that the only way to deal with what they’ve been through is to stick it in the box and never open it again.

Pete tells Lucius that he’s unable to move on and needs to let it go. Izzy has a story about a shark. Ed’s apology to the crew which doesn’t even contain the words ‘I’m sorry’ is just…accepted. I kept waiting and waiting for a meaningful apology to the people Ed had hurt the worst with his actions, but it seems all we get is Fang saying ‘eh, no problem, I got to hit you back so I feel better’.

The playful theme of ‘pirates are just violent sometimes’ from season one becomes a grinding horror machine in season two when every atrocity visited on someone is forgiven because the narrative needs it to be. Ed and Stede spend more time making amends with each other over the bloodless night on the beach than either of them spend trying to repent for their actions towards anyone else.

And let’s talk about Ed. Arguably this season pivots on his narrative, on his path to healing and growth. A path that starts at a very low point. His moment in the gravy basket, deciding he wants to live because there are still things to live for is so great! So one might assume that what would follow would be him pursuing those things, making amends, making connections. He and Stede have a wonderful moment, talking about being whim prone and how they’ll work to avoid that, build a relationship by going slower.

Yet, at no point do either of them stop following whims. They never heal or learn from what’s happened to them. They both keep running from thing to thing, particularly Ed. It’s a whim to sleep with Stede, it’s a whim to run off to fish, and the finale gives us just more of their whims. Ed drops fishing as fast as he picked it up. He finds those leathers in the ocean, murdering the symbolism of leaving them behind. Even the inn is a whim, one of those things Ed decided he’d be good at without evidence. And Stede joins him in that without a single on screen conversation about it ahead of the moment.

Ed needs to heal himself and to do that he needs to confront what he’s done and do the work to heal the wound. Instead, he doesn’t meaningfully apologize to anyone, besides Stede and Fang. Despite Izzy’s dying words (we’ll get to that), not only do we never see the crew caring about Ed, working to make him family in the same way they do with Fang and even Izzy, he also doesn’t choose to stay with them. So what is the point? Where is the healing? Or does even Ed, beloved main character, have to live with it all stuffed in a box?

He ends the season in the leathers he threw away, in a relationship that’s barely stabilized, going to live in a house which we are told by the narrative (in that they are very very clearly paralleling Anne and Mary with Ed and Stede or why do we even get that whole Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? episode) will only end in them setting fire to each other to stay warm.

But Vee, I hear you cry, it’s a ROM-COM. This is all meant to be ha-ha funny and you are taking it so seriously!

Cool beans. Then why the hell isn’t it funny? Healing is often filled with comedy because people deal with pain with humor. You can heal and laugh at the same time. The finale especially is almost entirely devoid of laughs, almost entirely devoid of joy until the last minute for that matter. The episode that should show off with a flourish how far everyone’s come, mostly serves to show that no one has grown.

Okay that’s Ed. I want to talk about Lucius next. Our former audience surrogate (that’s taken away in season two when he doesn’t get enough screen time to perform that role and no one takes his place) really goes through the wringer. He experiences many many terrible things, including sexual assault (which is made into a grimace-laugh line that doesn’t take away from it’s seriousness because oh hey, that can be done as it turns out). He’s nervous, he’s smoking, it’s clear he’s suffering.

There’s a beautiful moment where Pete tells him ‘hey, I was also in pain. I grieved’ and that’s great. It’s good that Pete sets a boundary about Lucius not obsessing over the past to the point of occluding their future.

We even get our comedic moment where Lucius pushes Ed off the boat (still not apology, but I’d lost hope for that by then) and that doesn’t help enough. So Izzy comes in with a shark and the advice that you just have to move on.

Just…you know. Play pretend. Forget.

Shove it in a box. Ed didn’t take my leg, a shark did. Ed didn’t kill you, a shark did. Live with the person that tried to murder you because it’s your fault you dangled your leg over the side of a boat. That is the show’s message. I thought on first watch, that surely this would also come back up and be explained that you can’t live that way, that that is no way to heal. That it would become clear that this was no way through. You cannot make everything into sharks.

Lucius can move forward and still carry pain. He can still want a meaningful apology and still want to talk to his lover about what he’s dealing with while moving forward toward a brighter future.

And what of the flirtatious promise of relationships and connections being the way to heal? Look to Oluwande and Jim, whose heartfelt romance from season one was relegated to the bins of history in favor of a narrative that made him a brother Jim once had sex with. They could have had Archie AND Oluwande, who in turn could also have Zheng, but that never seems to be an option. With a single short conversation, they are broken up with, despite a brief tease at the birthday that they still ‘dance’ together, it never actually manifests. Jim and Archie never talk about what they went through. It’s swept under the rug as fast as knives are lowered.

Lucius also no longer flirts with other people, the solution to his pain is to propose and get married (but not too married, lest we forget that they’re two men, they don’t even get to be husbands or even the more respectful mates, no. They’re mateys.) This season proposes that the only happy endings are monogamous ones, where no one talks about anything painful that went before.

To ensure that message, beyond assuring the success of Oluwande and Zheng’s relationship, Jim and Archie almost entirely disappear from the narrative. Sorry you guys were given layers of trauma and no growth and not even much to do this season, we need to make sure that everyone remembers Oluwande is the break in Zheng’s day so when he says that to her five minutes later we know exactly what he’s referencing. No time for Archie to learn what an apology is or for Jim to get one line in with Oluwande that isn’t affirming their newfound broship. Must do more flashbacks to things we just did two episodes ago!

The show even dangles the conversation of the Revenge being a safe space. Why would any of them ever feel safe when the man who tortured them is allowed to walk among them and they are expected to forgive and forget? What’s safe about that? The ship is never made safe for any of them, but that’s never addressed.

And Zheng! Amazing, hysterically funny Zheng! She loses her ships, her entire way of life, the kingdom she built for herself and then…she doesn’t even get to captain the Revenge. We don’t know what becomes of her fleet, of her plans, her ambitions. Don’t worry about it, she has a romantic partner and isn’t that what every lady wants in the end?

(But Vee, I hear you cry again, there will be a season three! Maybe it will be All About Zheng! To which I say: then why did they present us with the most series finale feeling episode ever? If there’s more, I have no idea where it’s going. BUT VEE: BUTTONS AS SEAGULL ON THE GR- Fine. It’s time.)

Let’s talk about Izzy Hands.

Izzy manages more healing than anyone else this season. He reaches his lowest point, suicidal in the bowels of a ship that’s become a prison (very much in contrast to Ed’s suicidal low). The person he loves most in the world has shredded him physically and emotionally (and if you’re in the camp that thinks Izzy deserves the abuse that Ed gave to him, I would really like you to sit quietly with yourself and ask why you think there is ever anything anyone can do to deserve that treatment). He’s low, he shoots Ed to protect everyone, and then seems to plan to drink himself to death, mourning his losses.

And then another beautiful moment! The crew move past their own pain to help him. They work together for the first time and it’s to give Izzy mobility back. He treasures it. He cries over it. He uses that kindness extended to him to reach a new understanding of Stede and help him succeed, doing the work to make real amends. He sings in drag, he’s vulnerable and beautiful, celebrating the side of himself that he must’ve loathed in the first season. He’s an elder queer man, coming into himself.

He never gets an apology though. (‘Sorry about your leg’ without eye contact is not an apology. There is no responsibility taking, no acknowledgement of the weeks of torture that came with it.) Izzy also never really has an honest conversation with anyone about what it means that the man he loves punished him so severely for the crime of trying to protect the crew (yes, lest we forget, Izzy lost his leg because he was trying to keep Ed from re-traumatizing the crew and himself).

Izzy does all this work, but even he’s not allowed to take it out of the box. It’s a shark, not Ed. Ed is just ‘complicated’ (the language of abuse here is so upsetting and I think not even intentional).

And then he dies. His last act? To apologize to the man who tortured him and shot at him. To have done all this work, to take on all the blame. And then die.

In a rom com.

This show ends in a profoundly unfunny moment of telling the audience: this is the one character that did the work, that made amends, that tried his hardest to accept the parts of himself that he had a hard time embracing and formerly embittered him. He’s fully accepted his queerness and turned it into beautiful music. He’s disabled, and he worked hard to accept that. The man he loves will never love him back, so he worked hard to make Stede able to meet Ed on an even playing field. The Giving Tree gave up its limbs and its trunk, and it’s not even allowed to be a stump to sit on.

Kill the queer elder, who has managed to figure out how to live and in his own way how to heal. Kill him before he manages to teach anyone else how to meaningfully move forward (he almost gets it with Lucius, almost, but it’s meant to be rule of three, you know. Cigarette..shark…and then…and then fuck it, Lucius doesn’t even get to say a word at his funeral).

The message of this season again and again is that there is no healing, just moving forward. Like a shark. Like a bird that never lands.

That is not a kind show.

Season two is not a kind season.

It splinters people up and jams them back together without purpose or reason. It tells everyone who experiences pain that they should shove it in a box and not deal with it. No one who really needs one gets an apology of any sincerity. No one puts in the work to gain forgiveness. (Ed wearing a onesie is not The Work. Ed fixing a door is not The Work. Ed broke people that the show wants us to care about. Ed never does the work of making those amends. He fires off a Notes app apology at best. After all, it’s what he told himself via Hornigold in the gravy basket: you move on or you blow your brains out! Good thing he took his own advice and therefore had to change nothing to get his just rewards.

I would’ve taken just fifteen minutes of Ed trying to actually make amends. It could’ve been hilarious! Imagine awkward Ed trying to dance around what he’s doing with Jim and the two of them having a knife throwing competition about it. Or him and Frenchie attempting to make music together, writing a song about the raids they went on! It’s not just the crew robbed of their healing because of this, it’s Ed himself. He never meaningfully changes or makes amends. How is he any different at the end of the finale then he is standing on the edge of that cliff with Hornigold? He hasn’t moved on, he hasn’t healed. He tried one thing (fishing) that doesn’t fucking work and then he runs right back.

No one leaves this season better than they went into it. They’ve lost an elder queer, they’ve lost their joyous and queer polyamory, they’ve lost a chance for meaningful reconciliation with Ed and Ed lost any chance of looking like he gave shit if they did. Stede grows enough to accept the crew’s beliefs as important and then leaves them behind without a care.

Izzy gets a beautiful speech about piracy being larger than yourself. Ed and Stede, within twenty minutes of that speech, leave piracy. They are incapable of giving themselves to something bigger, apparently. They haven’t learned to be a part of a community. They haven’t healed from their childhood trauma or their fresher wounds. They are still just following their own whims.

Zheng’s life work is in tatters, but it’s fine, she has love. Oluwande and Jim aren’t together, but it's fine because they both have dedicated monogamous partners. Lucius was deeply scarred by what happened, never recovers much of his first season personality, but hey he got-well it’s not married exactly- but you know good enough!

Frenchie, who has a box forever locked in his head, is captain. Because the key to success is to lock it all in a box and never open it. What a message. What a show. Conceal, don’t feel. Smile because it’s a happy ending. Don’t mourn the dead, don’t try to tell people what happened to you (they will literally run away or cry too hard to listen and really you’re just bumming them out), and any meaningful change you make is only rewarded with death.

Frenchie is now a pirate captain with a box in his head full of trauma that’s never been opened, leading a crew with more wounds than scars. Wonder how that could turn out? Wonder how many years before he might want to retire and then happen to run across a gentleman pirate. As if no one learned anything at all.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd spoilers #the strangest message sent #and no idea if it was on purpose #I kind of think it wasn't somehow #but boy howedy did it come across

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Two — Azriel x Reader.

Summary: Azriel comes back for a little more practice. But this time, he wants to learn more than just kissing.

Word count: 7k.

Warnings: Some violence, injury detail, mention of blood. Smut 🌶️ some touching and fingering 😏

“Is that painful?”

“A little. Keep going.”

Rhysand’s hands are gentle when, a week later, you lay face-down on his couch, naked from the waist up. You wince as his fingers skate over jagged, poorly healed scars. You can picture the look on his face without needing to glimpse it; pursed lips and a furrowed brow and barely contained rage.

But he doesn’t let that rage seep into his hands as he smooths a pleasant, cooling salve into what remains of your wings. Which isn’t much.

“Sorry,” he murmurs at your slight jolt. “Almost done.”

There are very few people you will trust with touching your back. It’s too personal for you to visit the camp healer for such treatment, however trained and skilled he may be. But Rhysand—

“I swear to you, Y/N.” His voice is deep, stoic, warm breath fanning your shoulder. “When I’m High Lord, this will be outlawed. Females will not go through this under my rule.”

He promises it every single time he helps you with this. And he means it. Which is why you trust him implicitly with the act.

“I know.” You murmur against a couch cushion. “Thank you.”

“All done.”

As he wipes his hands on a rag, you ease yourself into a sitting position, clutching your shirt to your bare chest. As always, a crackling fire breathes heat into Rhysand’s mother’s home, and the feeling is pleasant, soothing.

“I haven’t seen your mother recently.” You mention, waiting for Rhys to turn around so you can slip your shirt on. It’s not that he hasn’t seen more private parts of your body over the years, nor that you particularly care, but he does you the courtesy, anyway. “Is she well?”

A soft, loving smile curls at his lips. “She is.” And then the smile widens into a full-blown grin. “My father wants her closer to home. She’s with child.”

“Seriously?” You blink, and then you’re throwing yourself at Rhys, sheer happiness and excitement filling you. “Rhys, that’s amazing. You’re going to have a brother or sister.”

“Sister, I hope.” He snorts, squeezing you, and yet also minding your still-bare back. “We need more girls around here.”

“Well, boy or girl, you’ll be the most incredible big brother. I just know it.”

And you absolutely do. Rhys has always been that sort of presence in your life; caring and loving and protective. Stern sometimes. A shoulder to cry on. A giver of warm, much-needed hugs.

You lean into one of those hugs now, not caring nor thinking about the fact that your top half is naked and pressing against him. That is, until the front door opens behind you, sweeping a gust of icy air indoors.

You turn just in time to see Azriel kick the snow from his boots. And then he pauses in the doorway, staring between you and Rhysand.

There’s been no mention of the kiss that night a week ago. Things haven’t been strange nor awkward. Just…normal. As if it never happened.

You’ve combed over it in your mind a little, though. Maybe more than a little.

“I told her the news.” Rhys announces, pulling away from you. A beaming grin still lights up his face.

Azriel’s mouth immediately tilts up, matching his enthusiasm as he smiles at you. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

“Oh, incredibly.” You shrug your shirt on. “I’m bound to get far more stimulating conversation from a newborn babe than I do from you three idiots.”

Rhys swats you and Azriel snorts, and then you’re pushing to your feet and heading towards the small kitchen area. “I’m making tea. Do either of you want some?”

“No, I’m heading out to visit my mother.” Rhys stands. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, though.”

“Give her my love.” You tell him.

Azriel dips his head. “And mine.”

With a chipper goodbye, Rhys is dipping out of the cottage. Shutting the door behind him seals the heat inside once more, and already you have some soothing release from the pain in your upper back.

“Tea?” You offer again over your shoulder.

“Please.” Az approaches you from behind, stopping mere inches away to tie the strings at the back of your tunic. “Cass won’t be joining us. He ran into Sacha on the way here.”

You snort. Cassian’s most recent fling is coming up to a week-long stint, now. It won’t be long before cracks begin to show, and the whole thing is called off, and another female or male takes Sacha’s place. Rinse and repeat.

“I wonder which one of them will break it off. My money’s on Sacha.” You ladle a generous helping of sage tea into two cups and hand one to Az. “How are things with Kaeda?”

You can’t lie — you’ve wondered it a fair few times over the past week. Which is only natural, right? To question if the…help…that you gave Azriel was of any use. But so far, he hasn’t mentioned a damn thing.

He takes a long, pensive sip of his steaming drink. And then shrugs. “I’ve not really had the chance to see her.”

Immediately, you cock an eyebrow. Because Az seems to have had plenty of time for you and Rhys and Cass over the last seven days. Even spared one of those days to fly you to the local market to pick some things up for your father. It hasn’t been a particularly busy week for any of you — slow, even — and you’re almost positive he’s had a spare few minutes to land a kiss on his romantic interest.

Leaning your back against the wall, you shoot him a look. One that says, that’s not going to fly with me, Shadowsinger. “Wanna try that again?” You say. “The truth this time, please.”

He sighs, pressing back against the opposite wall. It must be so annoying for him that you can read him so well. Azriel doesn’t like being read. At all.

“I’m just…not confident enough yet. So, I’ve been avoiding her.” He admits. “I think I need more practice.”

You stare at him. Study him. You’re not sure if he’s implying what…what you think he might be implying. “You’re a good kisser, Az.” You tell him. “Trust me.”

The firm, truthful tone of your voice has his cheeks reddening slightly. He lowers his gaze to the floor. “But I don’t feel like one. And that’s the key to it all, isn’t it? Confidence. I’m just not there yet.”

Fair enough, you think. He’s not wrong. But the direction in which this seems to be going has your heart doing a strange, anticipatory flip in your chest.

“So…” You drag the word out. “Are you asking to practice on me again, or? Because I can totally steal one of the sparring dummies from the training ring and guide you that way—”

“Forget it.” He cuts your teasing off with a roll of his eyes.

“No, wait, I’m sorry.” You bite back a laugh. “I’m taking it seriously, I promise. Tell me what you need.”

He purses his lips, eyeing you for a long moment. You allow him to do so, even if it makes you feel a little naked.

“All I know,” he says, “is that I’m comfortable with you.”

The words are…strangely heavy. Vulnerable. He means them, and you know that, but they’re so weighty that for a moment, you can’t speak.

You suppose you’re so accustomed to your friendship with him — the familiarity and comfort of it — that you don’t think too often about how good it feels to be such a support for somebody. It makes you feel good. Useful. You want to always be able to help him like that.

So, you know you’d offer him anything, do anything he needs.

“If you need to practice on me some more, Az...” Your voice is strangely raspy. “I’m right here.”

He swallows. “But I don’t want it to seem like…like I’m using you.”

“It doesn’t.” It really doesn’t. You keep it to yourself that you need this in your own, little way. “I’d tell you if I felt like that.”

His eyes scan your face, and he seems satisfied with the truth that’s displayed there. He licks his lips and swallows and shifts from foot to foot. And then he says, simply, “Okay, then.”

And you guess this is happening right now, like it happened right then a week ago. So, you place your mug of tea on the counter and push away from the wall. Azriel does the same.

He steps a little closer. Pauses. “Do I need to do anything different to what I did before?”

“No.” You answer, probably a little too quickly. “No, you were great.”

He blushes again, and he seems to be fighting the urge to look away. But he maintains the eye contact like a champ and closes the space between you.

His scent, his warmth, is like a blanket that’s draped over you. You want to wrap yourself inside it, build a fort out of it, hide in it.

Azriel’s hands tremble as he lifts them to your face. He seemed to enjoy that last time — the feel of your skin beneath his. You enjoyed it, too. You tilt your head up just a little.

His thumb makes contact with your cheekbone, brushing a gentle sweep over the area. He leans down—

But then the door flies open, and a snow-covered, pissed off Cassian stomps in.

“Sacha and I are finished.” He announces, not seeming to notice yours and Azriel’s compromising position. “Let’s go to the mead hall.”

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

The mead hall is packed and noisy, exactly how Cassian wants it. He’s in a foul mood, and so a higher volume of people means he has a good choice of who to pick a fight with.

When he gets like this, there’s not really any stopping him.

Luckily, your father isn’t there tonight, so you’re comfortable sitting wedged between Az and Cass without his paranoid, judgemental stare. But you don’t want to be here — the males are too drunk and boisterous, and you seem to be one of very few females present. It makes their leering gazes far more apparent.

“It was a total misunderstanding.” Cassian says from beside you, leaning over you a little so that Az can hear, too. “Yes, I might have called her the wrong name—”

“I would have thrown you out on your ass, too.” You cut him off, rolling your eyes. “At least know the name of who you’re fucking before you dive between their legs.”

“I do know her name. I just got confused—”

He stops mid-sentence and looks up as, from behind, a pair of rough, meaty hands land on your shoulders and squeeze. You immediately recoil at the touch, turning to glimpse the mammoth of an Illyrian male whose name you think is Tanin. Not that you care.

He stinks of ale and sweat as he leans down and smells your hair. You tense. Cassian tenses. Azriel tenses.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Tanin slurs. “When are you going to let me dive between your legs?”

And there it is. Cassian’s excuse for a fight.

He’s out of his seat and on him quicker than you can even register, slamming Tanin down on the adjacent table amidst plates of food and goblets of ale. Blood goes flying as he pummels his fist into the bastard’s face, and then he’s grabbing a goblet of ale and pouring it over Tanin until he’s coughing and spluttering.

“How about you wash your filthy fucking mouth out?” Your friend snarls, diving in to land another punch. “Piece of shit.”

You turn to Azriel in mild alarm. Usually, he would have jumped in by now, pulled Cassian off before he can do too much damage. But the shadowsinger merely watches the affray with something akin to satisfaction on his face. You sigh in exasperation. This will quickly get out of hand.

“Cass.” You stand, reaching for your friend. “Cassian—”

But your voice is barely heard beneath all the yelling and jeering, and then Tanin is fighting back, landing a hit on Cassian so hard that he stumbles backwards — falls into you and knocks you to the floor, right amongst the gathering, boisterous males.

There’re feet everywhere in all directions, catching you in the side and stepping on your hand and knocking you back down whenever you try to get up. Suddenly, the fight is no longer between Cassian and Tanin. Males are punching each other for the sake of it, and more and more of them join in, not even knowing why they’re brawling. It’s the Illyrian pastime.

Just before another foot can swing into you, you’re aware of strong arms lifting you and plucking you straight from the centre of the chaos. Azriel shoves a drunken lout who backs into you, and then he’s dragging you away, his eyes fierce and blazing.

“You’re alright?” He asks over the shouting, his gaze roving your dirtied, creased tunic.

Your hand is throbbing from being stepped on, but the ache is already dulling. You nod. “I’m fine. Where is Cass?”

“Here.” Cassian suddenly appears behind you. His hair has mostly escaped the knot he’d tied it into, and his lip is badly split, blood gushing down his chin. He spits some onto the floor, and his words are thick and almost unintelligible as he cups his mouth and says, “Pieth of thit got me good.”

You scowl, knocking his hand away to grip his chin. “Serves you right. That fight was completely unnecessary.”

“I dithagree.” His eyes glitter, but then he grimaces and pulls away to spit more blood out. “Dammit. I think I need thitches.”

He definitely does. The gash in his lip is deep and pouring. And with the fight still merrily going on around you, it won’t be long before someone tries to drag him back into it. And Cass will happily oblige.

“Go to the healer and get that seen to.” Azriel tells him, not unlike a stern parent. He grips him by the shoulder and steers him out of the door, dragging you with him by the other hand. “And then sober up. I’m taking Y/N home.”

“And apologise to Sacha.” You add.

Cassian grumbles, but the fact that he doesn’t protest is a positive. He can sometimes be so stubborn that it makes you want to split his lip yourself. It would seem he’s had enough drama for one night.

“Fine.” He spits blood onto the dirt path. “Maybe Satha will take pithy on me.”

The fact that neither you nor Az agree is downright hilarious. But nor do you correct Cassian’s drunken, skewed thinking. Nights like these are a common occurrence, and to some degree, you just have to let your friend get on with it.

Cass turns, and you catch him quickly by the hand. “Thank you.” You tell him, because he was defending your honour, after all. “Love you.”

He grins a bloody grin, and then winces as it tugs at the wound. “Loveyouthoo, thweetpea.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ You don’t feel like going home and facing your father tonight, and with Rhysand’s mother’s cottage at your disposal, you don’t have to. It’s not unusual for you to spend nights away from home; usually he doesn’t care enough to even question it. But if he does, you always tell him the same thing — you spent the night with one of your many female friends. No males present. Such a little liar, you are.

But you’re content with that lie as you sink into the couch, your eyes flicking over to Azriel in the kitchen. He stirs a cup of tea silently, pensive as always. He’s asked about your wellbeing at least seven times since you stepped through the door.

You’re fine, you’ve answered each time, and it’s true. With him, you’re always fine. It doesn’t stop him worrying, though.

His footsteps thud against the floor as he approaches you, and he holds out a steaming mug. “Drink this. I put plenty of honey in it.”

Your lips twitch into a fond smile, and you accept it, taking a warm sip. “I was on the floor for a matter of seconds, Az. I have a bruised hand, that’s all.”

He knows this, of course, but trying to get him to stop fussing would be like beating a dead horse, and you really don’t mind being taken care of, anyway. Azriel settles into the space beside you, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. You lean into his side.

For a few moments, it’s comfortably silent. And then he snorts softly. “Cassian’s going to have a hard time apologising to Sacha when he can barely form a legible sentence.”

You laugh, tipping your head back against his shoulder. “Maybe she really will take pity on him.”

“If only she’d been there to witness his gallant display of coming to your defence. It might have impressed her.”

“Or put her off him for good.”

“The heartbreak would drive him into someone’s bed, I’m sure.”

The two of you share another laugh, and then silence blankets the small cottage. You’re always content like this, just…existing with Azriel. No need to be a certain way or do a certain thing, like you have to in your own home. With your closest friends, you have the freedom of being yourself unapologetically.

You finish your drink, and then Az is pulling you down with him, his wing draping around you. You’ve fallen asleep like this countless times — with all three of your friends at least once — and it’s one of the few places you feel truly safe.

But as you lie there, basking in Azriel’s warmth, your eyes don’t grow heavy. Rather, they continuously creep over to that spot in the kitchen you stood in with Az earlier, your bodies inches from each other, your lips very nearly meeting but not quite touching thanks to Cassian’s abrupt arrival.

A strange sense of disappointment hits you. Disappointment that you didn’t get to feel that heated kiss a second time.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” you murmur, knowing Azriel is just as awake as you are. “That we got interrupted.”

He turns his face slightly, chin brushing the top of your head. “It’s not your fault that Cassian has terrible timing.”

Your shoulders shake as you give a little laugh. No, no it isn’t. But amongst your disappointment — which is selfish, really, because the kiss was never for your sake —you feel guilt, also. Guilt that you didn’t get to help Az, despite that being what he needed.

You tip your head back enough to look up at him. “I’m still happy to help, you know. The offer is still there.”

For a couple of seconds, he merely stares down at you. His fingers absentmindedly twiddle a strand of your hair. And then he says, a hue of pink colouring his cheeks, “I still need the help.”

And in that moment, he looks so genuinely perturbed by his own inexperience that you can’t bear it. You’ll do anything, say anything, to put him at ease. To help him realise that these things are different for everyone. There’s no time frame he should be keeping to. Twenty years of age or thirty or forty or fifty, he could have come to you with these things worrying his thoughts, and there would never be any judgement. Only understanding. Only what he needs.

So, you slowly sit up, folding your legs beneath you and turning so that you’re facing him. “Would you like to practice now?”

He eyes you and swallows. And then he nods. “I would.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Come here, then.”

Just as you had, he pushes himself up into a sitting position. You can tell he’s tense by the way his wings fall about him; his shoulders squared. You reach for his hand and squeeze it gently.

“We already did this once, Az.” You remind him. “Just do what you did before.”

He nods — more to himself than to you. And then he’s scooting closer. His palm settles at your jaw.

He doesn’t go in for the kiss immediately. You allow him to do whatever he needs to do, whatever feels right. He seems content, for the time being, with dancing his fingers over the skin of your cheek, your jaw, your neck and the shell of your ear. His hand, scarred and callused, climbs and falls, explores each area with rapt attention. He takes note at the way your eyes momentarily flutter closed — an inadvertent reaction to his fingers skating over the pulse point of your throat.

“Is that pleasant?” His voice is deep, husky.

“For me, yes.” You clear your throat. “But I suppose not for everyone. Everybody has sensitive areas. That’s one of mine.”

You’re shamefully disappointed when, after a moment, his hand moves back up. It finds its place at your jaw again, and Az cups your cheek.

“Okay,” he whispers, and leans in.

There’s no chance for you to utter a word as he dips his head and presses his lips to yours. This time, there’s no quick, chaste peck to test the waters. Azriel dives straight in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that robs the breath straight from your lungs.

His mouth paws at yours, and you give yourself to the sensation, submitting fully to the practice. You want Azriel to take what he needs — to get a desired result from this — but as you kiss him back, you can’t help noticing the stiff, tense set of his body.

He’s not relaxed, not at all, and it shows. Something about this is bothering him, holding him back. Nerves, probably. Maybe even second thoughts. Whatever it is, you want him to communicate it, be honest about it.

So as much as you really, really don’t want to, you pull away, your face hovering a mere hair’s-breadth from Azriel’s. He seems to blink, and he licks his lips and stares at you with unguarded concern in his eyes. You know he’s already thinking a million things at once, wondering if he put a foot wrong.

“What is it?” You ask, making a grab for his hand. “You’re…tense. This is no different to what we did last week.”

Your friend stares back at you, conflict a war on his face. And for a split second, you start to think that he is having doubts, that he’s regretting having gone along with this.

And that…that would hurt. You’d understand, of course, because he’s your friend, and this is simply about helping him — but it would definitely hurt.

You don’t want to think too much about why that might be.

Rejection is never pleasant, you suppose.

“Az…” you chew your lower lip. “You can tell me. Whatever it is. If you want to stop this and just…talk…or do nothing at all…then that’s fine, too—”

“Kissing isn’t the only thing I’ve never done.”

The words leave him in such an abrupt gust that you’re stunned into silence.

You stare at him wordlessly.

Of course, it’s not that you haven’t considered that over the past seven days. Up until a week ago, you’d simply assumed that Azriel must have had a whole wealth of experience when it came to kissing people. And you’d turned out to be wrong. It wasn’t unusual to question whether there was more you didn’t know.

But you also knew perfectly well that sex didn’t require kissing. Az could have slept with a whole host of different people, and yet chosen — for whatever reason — to not kiss a single one of them.  He could have built up knowledge and experience in plenty of other areas without ever having explored what many would consider to be the first step.

You’d considered that Azriel might not have any sexual experience. And then you’d surmised that he most likely had.

That, it would seem, is not the case.

He looks more uncomfortable than ever, lowering his gaze and rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand. You want to tell him that none of that matters, that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but the words simply will not come.

“I’m just…completely inexperienced. In every way.” He admits gravelly. “I’ve come close to doing things, but…I always overthink it. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to…to progress.”

Makes sense. It’s a daunting thing to explore, and even more so when you don’t trust easily. It’s perfectly reasonable that Az has protected himself from that pressure.

“Have you…” You clear your throat, desperate to make sure you’re handling this correctly, decently. “Have you ever done anything at all?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m completely well-versed where my own pleasure is concerned, Y/N, trust me. It’s with another person that I have no fucking clue.”

Right. Got it.

Swallowing down a ridiculously huge lump in your throat, you give a slow, pensive nod. “Alright. Well…these things just…evolve naturally. One thing leads to another. The absolute worst thing you can do — with kissing or anything else — is overthink it. Do that, and it’s over before it begins. You just…follow your body’s lead and do what feels natural.”

Good fucking advice, if you do say so yourself. Azriel’s still-unsure expression is the only thing that stops you from giving yourself a well-earned pat on the back.

“Right. Follow my body’s lead.” Az sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. He clears his throat. “Can we continue?”

“If you want to continue, Az, we’ll continue.”

A small, soft smile lifts his lips, and it melts your heart a little. He’s genuinely grateful for your patience and understanding; you wonder if he truly knows that you’d give him, his kind heart, the entire world if you could.

But before you can sink too far into your mushy thoughts, Azriel’s hands are at your face once more, and he’s angling it up towards him.

You wait. Allow him to make the first move. He does.

He kisses you like your lips might disappear before his very eyes if he doesn’t. His mouth slants over yours, and that coiled tension is no longer making his body rigid and unnatural. He’s heeding your advice, relaxing into it, and this time, he doesn’t hold back.

His thumb sweeps your cheek, and his tongue sweeps your lip, and you’re opening up for him, allowing him to slip it inside to meet yours. At once, his taste is overpowering you, mixed in a little with the mulled wine he drank at the mead hall. It’s a song to your senses, and you’re desperate to hear it, feel it, from start to finish.

Perhaps that’s why you’re not really aware of the way your bodies move. Az is shifting on the couch and so are you, and while one of his hands remains at your face, the other moves down and slides gently to the scars on your back. It seems, for a moment, that he might tug you closer, but in one swift movement, he’s laying you down, and he’s tucked between your legs and hovering over you so closely. He cushions the remains of your wings, always concerned about your comfort.

Kissing him like this feels wildly different to kissing him sat up. It feels…intense and yet tender. Fast and yet slow. Like this could go anywhere and everywhere all at once. And part of you wonders if it should go nowhere. Perhaps you should stop. Helping Azriel gain confidence is one thing, but he’s your closest friend, and never before have you had your closest friend more or less lying on top of you, his body moving against you, while his mouth dances over yours.

Bizarre, really.

But you still continue to kiss him back.

Your hand moves up to cup the back of his neck, and you kiss him harder, graze your tongue over his lower lip—

He pulls his face away from you abruptly. Perhaps that was a step too far—

But something in the way he stares down at you, panting heavily, tells you it wasn’t.

“Where do you like to be touched?” He asks you, so gutturally that the words vibrate through you.

And they damn well catch you off guard.

You blink up at him, flustered, not sure you heard right. “I…what?”

Azriel then licks his lips. “I mean…where do you think Kaeda would like to be touched?”

Kaeda.

You’d forgotten about her. The reason that Az is even kissing you in the first place. Because he wants to be good for her.

The thought stings a little. You try to shake it off. “That…that’s something you’ll have to learn from Kaeda herself.”

He stares back at you. Studies your face. And he looks so…so genuinely daunted, that you search for something, anything, to put him at ease.

“But me…” You clear your throat. “I like to be touched in lots of places.”

He’s still staring at you in that strange, intense way. After a beat, he asks, “Will you show me?”

It’s your turn to stare at him then. You’re starting to think that perhaps the world has been turned on its head. You and Azriel, to each other, are familiarity and comfort. You’ve seen each other at your best and at your worst, been there for some damn near humiliating circumstances. This is the male who has bathed the blood of your own cycle from your skin and held your hair back when the cramps have turned your stomach. He’s listened to some of your most embarrassing stories without humour or judgement; just understanding. To him, you are an old, well-worn, well-loved pair of boots.

And he wants you to show him how to touch.

Never, under a million fucking sunrises, could you have predicted this would happen between you.

But you’re not recoiling from the request. You’re just…surprised. You’re not balking from it, nor running out of there screaming.

Nor has Azriel ever balked when you’ve asked for his help, his guidance. Not once.

You angle your body up slightly, just to get a better look at him. And you study him a moment longer. “…Az, are you…”

“I know what I’m asking, Y/N, and I’m sure.” He says without pause. “Show me how a female should be touched.”

Suddenly, you feel like the nervous, inexperienced one. You can totally say no, of course — Azriel would put a stop to it immediately if you did. But you don’t want to.

You want to do this. Want to help.

Your hand cups the back of his neck once more, and then you’re tugging his face down, pulling his mouth onto yours.

The kiss starts out slow and soft. There will be no rushing this for either of you. It’s an exploration, a way to trace the maps of each other’s mouths. You’re both desperate to know more, feel more, before this goes any further.

So, you follow your own advice. You told Azriel to trust in his body, follow its lead, and you now do the same. You want this to progress naturally, like…like it isn’t a transaction. Isn’t something that you agreed on beforehand.

There is no breaking from the kiss this time, even when you’re panting into each other’s mouths. Azriel’s hand is firm and pleasant at your jaw, and your tongues are intertwined, and you’re kissing like you want this specifically with each other. A fact you will not ruminate on,

You nip gently at Azriel’s lip, and this time, he does not pull away. He hums quietly — seemingly unaware of doing so — and applies a little pressure to your mouth. Kisses you harder.

And it’s then — then that you reach for the hand that’s settled at your jaw. You curl your fingers around Azriel’s wrist, and slowly, you drag that hand down.

You think you might be shaking a little, but you don’t give the nerves too much thought. Azriel allows you to guide him. His fingers brush over your neck, content to explore the soft skin there, but you keep that hand moving. The warmth of his palm permeates the fabric of your tunic, and the feeling is pleasant against your chest.

When you finally close his hand over the swell of your breast, you break away just to whisper onto his mouth, “I like being touched here.”

Azriel’s eyes bore into yours, heated and blazing. He swallows.

Clothed you might be, but there’s no undergarment between your shirt and your breast. The weight of Azriel’s hand falls heavy over the swell, and there may as well be no barrier of clothing with how delicious it feels.

His gaze remains on yours as he cups you in his palm. And then his thumb inches in, grazing over your nipple. You suck in a short breath at the contact, your back arching a little.

Azriel pauses. “Is…is this okay?”

“Yes,” you say, a little too quickly. “It’s more than okay, Az.”

A soft smile appears on his lips. You smother it with yours, pulling his face closer once more. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to kiss him again, or what you’re supposed to do amidst any of this, but it feels like the right thing.

This time, there’s no hesitation. Your kiss is hot and needy, and you find yourself bunching the fabric of Azriel’s shirt in your fist as he begins to more confidently explore your breasts.

He squeezes them, palms at them, traces the turgid peaks of your nipples, and you happily arch into it all. But then, without any guidance from you, his hand is leaving your breasts. Travelling down.

And you don’t breathe a word. You figure if he has a question, needs direction, he’ll ask. You kiss him as if you were always made for kissing him, and his fingers are dancing over your stomach, down and down.

“What…” he tugs his lips from yours, his fingers now at the waistband of your breeches, “what about here? Do you like being touched here?”

You stare up at him. And you’re supposed to be guiding him, aren’t you? So, panting, you fold your hand over his and move it down. Away from the waistband. Between your legs.

You fold his hand over the very centre of you. And you wonder if he can feel your heat through your breeches. It feels blazing to you, and torturously so. Like a fire has been lit between your thighs. You’re growing wetter by the second, and your scent must be filling the room.

“Here.” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. It’s deep, smoky. “Right here.”

Azriel watches you closely. Watches your face as he applies pressure to your heat. His thumb presses down.

And you’re not thinking about his intense stare as a soft moan falls from your mouth. Your brow is furrowed, lips parted, and you want more.

“There?” The shadowsinger murmurs, repeating the action. Your moan is louder this time.

“Can you…” Already, you’re panting, but he’s not…not close enough. You grab his hand again, and you’re moving it back to your waistband. To the button on your breeches.

His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t need to be experienced to know what you’re asking from him. Sure, he could probably do this through your clothing, but surely skin-to-skin is better for his experience.

That’s what your selfish mind is telling you, anyway.

“You don’t mind?” Az asks. “I appreciate your help, but…I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want you to feel you have to do anything—”

“Azriel.” You clasp the back of his neck. “I really, really do not mind.”

For him, it will always be about making sure that you’re positive.

Your needy expression must tell him that you are.

You capture his mouth with yours, and this time, the moan comes from him. Kissing seems second-nature to him already. This one is fast and passionate and desperate, and yet he leans into it, gives himself to it entirely.

You don’t know how long you kiss for, but it’s possible that Az needs the time to build up to the moment. To get the nerve to actually cross that line.

You don’t push him or rush him. If he decides that this can’t go any further, you’ll stop immediately. You can see to the ache between your legs yourself.

But then, as his tongue rolls with yours, you feel his fingers at that button. Azriel pops it open. Your breeches part.

You lift your hips a little — a small encouragement. Az follows it. His touch is warm against your skin. His fingers slip past the waistband.

He pulls back to look at you. And he rasps, “Tell me what to do.”

“You can’t do anything wrong,” you pant. “Just…explore.”

He nods. Nods again. Draws in a slow, steeling breath.

And then he explores.

Not once does he look away from you. Not once, as his fingers slip between your folds. You bite down on your lip, not wanting to startle him. This is about him. This is about him.

His fingers dip tentatively through your damp heat. He drags them upwards, drenching himself with your wetness.

“You’re soaked…” He seems surprised by the fact. As though it’s unthinkable that your body would react in such a way to him. He explores more. “Really soaked.”

“Yes, Az.” You breathe. “That’s a good thing, trust me.”

He pauses his movements. And he’s entirely serious as he says, “I always trust you.”

And fuck, the sentiment makes you want to kiss him again, so you do. You yank him closer and slide your mouth onto his, and then his fingers are moving between your folds again.

They inch upwards with ease. And then one of those fingers is brushing over your clit.

You have no control over the way your hips jerk, bucking up into Azriel’s touch, or over the noise that rips from your throat.

Azriel pulls back to study you yet again. And repeats the action with more intent. “There?” He asks, and then adds, “Your scent reminds me of…of pears.”

“I don’t know whether I should say thank you, but yes, gods, there.”

Once more, his finger presses against your clit, and you’re gasping. His head cocks slightly, like he’s genuinely intrigued by your reaction. He watches you closely as he begins to circle the sensitive little nub.

You’re not wholly aware of the fact that you’re tipping your head back — not until Azriel is guiding it forward with his free hand and fastening your eyes on his once again.

“Can you look at me?” He clears his throat. “I just—want you to look at me.”

You swallow, and you nod. And you stay looking at him.

Even as his finger circles your clit again, and you feel the sensation like a lightning bolt through your entire body.

The pleasure is shocking. Your hips buck up into the sensation, and it seems to reward Azriel with confidence. His hand moves into a steady rhythm, his palm seeming to cup you and rub against you as his finger works at your clit.

You will not last like this. You never do. The stimulation is far too much, and you’re writhing beneath him, already feeling that tight, warm coiling in your lower belly — the sign of imminent release.

“Fuck,” you pant, rocking against Azriel’s hand. “Gods, Az, I’m gonna—”

Your words are lost, swallowed by his mouth closing over yours. Azriel kisses you, and he begins to move his finger in quick, flicking movements, and you’re gone, gone, utterly fucking gone, your body a swirling, weightless form as stars burst behind your eyelids.

The climax hits you so thoroughly that you shout into Azriel’s mouth, and you're grabbing at his shirt, simply needing to hold onto something as your hips undulate, desperate for more of the sensations he’s wringing from you and yet so incredibly sensitive that your body is already beginning to tremble.

And the second Azriel notices that you’re shaking, slumping back down against the couch cushions, his fingers cease their movements. He tears his mouth from yours and drinks in your expression.

“Are you okay?” He breathes heavily. “Was that…good?”

Good did not come close to describing what it was. There’s something magic about those fingers that still linger between your folds. You’re sure of it.

“More than good.” You gasp, your head falling back. “I just…need a moment.”

He pauses, before slowly, gently, tugging his hand out of your breeches. You think a whimper leaves you at the loss of contact. It’s an effort not to grab his hand and put it right back where you want it.

But instead, Azriel moves it up to your face. He brushes a strand of hair from your eyes, and his chest is heaving as much as yours as he leans down and brushes his lips over your cheek — an affectionate gesture. One he’s done a thousand times before.

It kind of…rips you from the moment, just a little. Reminds you that this is your closest friend who’s hovering above you. Who’s just made you come so hard, you saw stars. Who’s only doing this to learn.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure — but you’re stopped in your tracks by the door bursting open behind you.

You and Azriel move away from each other just as Cassian waltzes in. His lip is stitched up, but there are fresh marks at his neck; ones he seems incredibly proud of. You quickly fasten the button on your breeches before he can notice.

“Sacha and I worked things out.” He announces with a shit-eating grin. And then he pauses. Frowns. “Why does it smell like pears in here?”

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x you #azriel fic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar writing #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #acotar smut #acotar series #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #reader insert #Illyrians

[star2fishmeg]

ᴄᴏᴄᴋ ʙʟᴏᴄᴋ

Pairing: Song Mingi x afab!reader

Summary: birthday presents come in all shapes and sizes…and are full of unwanted surprises just as it gets to the best part

Warnings: 18+ smut, porn w/no real plot, established relationship, big dick mingi, getting it from the b-b-back, hickeys, praise kink, pet names (princess), wooyoung cock blocking lmfao, clit smacking, dacryphilia, swearing

Authors note: this is mainly an extremely self-indulgent but the original drabble also slapped so here’s a full thing

Request: @ja3hwa, you ask, you shall receive!

Fuck, oh fuck fuck fuuuck

His strokes started painfully slow, lips leaving wet and purple blotches on her neck with small groans every time he bottomed out. She could barely keep her mouth closed with how her walls squeezed around him, like a warm embrace he couldn’t bring himself to let go of. Mingi’s grip bruised her skin, pinning her to the arm of the sofa, the fabric leaving a red rash as his skin slapped against hers with such a sinful volume that they became numb to the stinging.

“Fuck, Princess,” He groaned, his voice reverberating through his chest and forming melodies into y/n’s ears, arousal spilling onto his cock, “So fucking tight. Doin’ s’well.”

Hand snaking up her inferno chest, groping desperately at her tit before fingers wrapped around her neck, pulling her back flush against his chest, locking their lips together into a deep and languid kiss with tongues sharing saliva shamelessly in which it slithered down the corners of their mouths. Mingi’s hips rutted with a quickening pace, his other hand circling her throbbing clit. With her mind fogging with an indescribable pleasure, begs for more escaped from her throat in broken wails with every thrust hitting a deeper spot.

“Harder, Mi-Min!” her ability to speak coherently became a struggle with the way his fingers played with her clit is if it were his toy, slapping and pinching to send sparks through her nerves, “Cum on me, c-claim me!”

His fingers delved into her sopping folds, spreading the arousal over her thighs, and licking it off his fingers, only to play with her more with his strokes getting clumsy but harder.

“You like that, Princess? So fucking good f’me.” His husky voice shot straight to her core, a moan ripping through her with a hard thrust up. He let her body go, holding her face down into the sofa cushion and letting the arm keep her arse propped up for him, giving it a slap before smirking to himself. Tears pricked her eyes and ran down her cheeks, lips tugging into a smile as Mingi slammed his cock into her pussy, the golden hour glow accentuating the glistening sweat over their bodies while voices released a spectrum of high and low-pitched moans and vulgar language.

“S’fucking pretty when you cry, cry for me. Who-“ thrust, “makes you,” thrust, “feel this good?”

“Mingi! Mingi does!” she cried.

“That’s it, cum for m-“ his grumbling was interrupted by someone banging on the door, quite aggressively at that. He dropped his head, groaning in frustration and pulling out much to both their dismay. The couple looked at each other, Mingi asking for her to stay in the position while he slung his boxers and shorts back on lazily.

Opening the door with hostility, raging erection still present, he cocked an eyebrow.

“Hey, man! You weren’t picking up so I-“ Wooyoung lifted his gaze from his phone, only to cut himself off at the sight of his friend, dripping in sweat from head to toe, half-dressed and sporting a necklace of hickeys and one pissed-off expression, “-am going to let you get back to what you were doing. Sorry.” And he – wide-eyed – spun on his heel and power walked down the street.

Mingi returned to the living room, y/n still bent over the arm so prettily and still dripping from her cunt. Smirking, he stripped again, lining back up behind her.

“Just because we were interrupted doesn’t mean I’m not gonna finish the job.”

[Masterlist]

[Requests CLOSED]

2023 © STAR2FISHMEG All Rights Reserved - do not plagiarise, translate, repost, claim any of my works. If you notice that any of these have taken place, please let me know.

If you would like to be tagged in ATEEZ content, lemme know :) I'm always open for moots too!!

@araveninthedarknight @rainisawriter @babyboybinbin

#song mingi smut #song mingi #ateez #ateez smut #song mingi x reader #mingi #mingi x reader #ateez x reader

[screamingoverfiction]

Sleeping In

Fred Weasley x f!-reader. No house mentioned. 18+ smut ahead minors DNI!!

Also, I'm sorry for disappearing, I was stressed, and writer's block took its toll! Hopefully, I'll be able to do a request I have sitting in my drafts.

Word Count: 2.24k

--------

"Oi, George, where's your sodding twin?" Y/n shouted, throwing her hands in the air as she entered the Gryffindor common room.

"Er, I think he's still in the dorm," George replied, nodding toward the stairs. The younger twin was sitting on the couch, playing cards with a few other students, his girlfriend Angelina resting her head on his shoulder.

Y/n huffed annoyedly, mumbling incoherently as she ascended the stairs, her nostrils flaring.

She reached the twins' dorm in no time, turning the knob and stepping inside, flicking the light switch.

"Ah, fuck me," A voice cried out, which Y/n immediately recognized as Fred's.

"Rise and shine fuckface," Y/n spoke, grabbing a random jumper off the floor and chucking it at Fred, who was busy rubbing away the sleep from his eyes.

The cloth hit him directly in the face, making him reel back.

"Ow," Fred mumbled, yawning again and blinking a few times.

"You were supposed to meet me in the library an hour ago," Y/n said, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to her hip.

"Shit. Did I sleep that long?" Fred said, his eyes widening. He looked at his nightstand, and the small clock read 11:23 am.

"Fuck," He mumbled, running a hand through his hair and glimpsing at Y/n, flashing her an embarrassed smile.

Y/n just rolled her eyes with a sigh, running her tongue along her cheek. She walked over to the curtains, pulling them open and letting the light shine in.

Fred cringed from the brightness, sitting up with his back against the frame, admiring her from behind, sucking in a sharp breath.

Y/n turned around, her eyes widening slightly as she saw him.

He was shirtless, his muscles on full display, wearing only his plaid pajama pants beneath the covers. His red hair was messily falling over his forehead, and his eyes were still drowsy with sleep.

She quickly looked away, her eyes focusing on everything but him, the curtains, his dresser, the wall.

After all, they were only friends.

"Get dressed and meet me in the library," Y/n said, starting to walk to the door.

As she walked by, his hand wrapped around her wrist, tugging her down on top of him.

A light gasp escaped her lips when his hands found themselves tightly grasping her hips, steadying her on his lap.

"I didn't mean to oversleep," He spoke softly, his eyes a pool of warm brown as they stared at her.

Y/n couldn't say a word, her mouth was open, but no sound came out, and her heart was beating a million miles an hour. She feared he could hear the rapidness.

"I did actually get up, brushed my teeth and everything, but then I took a...'five-minute nap.'"

"I looked like an idiot waiting for you," Y/n whispered. Her breath was shaky, full of nerves. She just now noticed her hand placement, both on either side of his neck by his collarbones, but he didn't seem to mind. Her legs straddled his waist, and the only thing separating them was the thin covers.

Fred let out a dry, breathy laugh. His eyes flickered to her lips before he lifted his gaze to hers.

Slowly, his hand raised to cup her face, his thumb gently tracing her cheek, making her inhale sharply.

His pupils were blown with what seemed to be lust and desire, and his eyes bore into hers, hesitant yet yearning.

Y/n's core burned with intense heat, her mind told her to back away, to save their friendship while she could, but her body's urge was far more powerful.

"Allow me to apologize," He said quietly, swallowing thickly as he gradually leaned forward, his hand still gently holding her face.

Y/n closed her eyes as his lips brushed against hers. With her lips trembling softly, she closed the gap.

Their lips met in a soft kiss. It was timid, slow, sensual, the calm before a raging storm.

Fred sighed against her lips, bringing his hand to the back of her head and drawing her closer, deepening their kiss.

Y/n leaned into him, her nails digging into his skin as she gripped his strong shoulder. Her other hand traveled to his jaw, holding it tightly.

A soft whimper-like gasp left her lips as Fred's free hand snaked under her shirt, his warm fingers brushing against the cool skin of her waist.

Like a bolt of lightning, desire shot through his spine from the noise. His tongue clashed with hers, and soft moans escaped their lips as the kiss dragged on.

"Fuck," Fred groaned, wanting nothing more than to rip off her clothes and ravage her completely. Hear her cry out his name as he fucked her into the mattress.

"Freddie," Y/n breathed, both of her hands now laced in his hair, lightly tugging it.

"Y/n, fuck. Can I?" Fred said, his fingers toying with the bottom of her black shirt.

She didn't hesitate to nod her head, a chorus of yeses quickly escaping her lips.

Fred lifted the fabric up and over her head, briefly disconnecting their lips.

Y/n didn't give herself time to feel ashamed, instead opting to connect their lips before he could scan her body.

Fred's fingers danced over her hips and around to her back, sliding upwards toward her bra clip.

If he died from kissing her lips, he'd die happy. There was no other taste in the world that could ever amount to her. She was the finest meal of them all.

"Can-"

"Yes, please," Her words came out in a whispering whine, a plead. She knew there was no going back to how things were, but hell, she didn't want that anymore.

Fred smiled, softly biting her bottom lip, kissing her passionately as he swiftly unclipped her bra.

He tossed it off the bed, pulling away from her lips and casting his eyes down.

If possible, his pupils expanded even more. He was so full of desire and passion that he felt he might explode.

Her body was perfect, exquisitely, and seemingly made purely for him.

Y/n could feel the shame rising on her cheeks. She felt the world slowly swallow her in the seconds before he responded.

"Bloody hell. You're so beautiful," Fred murmured, his lips attaching to her throat, kissing and biting downwards, making sure he left marks.

Y/n let out a soft gasp as he trailed further down, her head knocking back when he started on her breasts.

"Oh fuck," She whispered, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut as his lips thoroughly covered her nipples and breasts in hickeys.

"You look so fucking pretty covered in my marks," He said, smiling against her neck, kissing the sweet spot below her ear.

Y/n laced her fingers in his short red hair, breathing heavily, subconsciously rutting herself against him, searching for some sort of friction.

She hastily sat straighter, pulling the thin covers back and straddling him completely, feeling his erection through the cloth of his trousers.

Her lips found him again, and it was her turn to scatter love bites along his skin, which she did without hesitation.

Her teeth nipped and marked the skin around his throat, leaving a skillfully placed hickey just below his jaw visible to everyone.

"Making me yours, I see," Fred mumbled teasingly, his hand now drifting to her arse, head knocked back in pleasure.

"Not like you didn't do the same," She replied breathlessly, pulling back to admire her work, tracing her fingers over the various marks on his neck and jaw.

Fred smirked, taking her chin in his hand and dragging her back to his lips, kissing her deeply.

"Do I look pretty?" He asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

"Very," Y/n answered, gasping as his hand ran over her arse, stopping at the waistband of her sweats.

"Take them off," She says before he can even ask, already assisting him in sliding them down, kicking them off and away from the bed.

Y/n's fingers hooked into the hem of his trousers. He soon helped her take them off and quickly discard them with the rest of their clothes.

Her panties were next. Fred practically ripped them off her legs, too impatient for anything else.

The cold air hit her bare pussy, and she shivered, but as soon as his warm body touched hers, her mind was clouded yet again.

She wasted no time taking off his boxers as well, the bubbling warmth in her core only growing larger when his large erection brushed against her inner thigh, teasing her.

"Do you- Do you have-" Y/n started to ask, but he cut her off.

"Top drawer to the left," Fred said quickly, an audible displeased groan leaving his lips when she pulled back.

Y/n would've rolled her eyes at his whines, but she was too wrapped up in lust to even care.

She opened the top drawer, took a condom from the box, and handed it to Fred.

He ripped it open with his teeth, spitting the plastic out and carefully sliding the latex over his aching cock.

Y/n could do nothing but stare and drool, the mere sight of him making her cunt clench in anticipation.

He was half propped on his elbow, one hand traveling to her neck, pulling her lips to his while the other held her by the hip.

Y/n kissed him deeply, aligning his cock with her entrance and slowly lowering herself onto it, breathing rapidly.

Airy moans left both their lips as he bottomed out, her tight muscles clenching around him.

The covers were hanging off her lower back, but she didn't care. There was no way in hell she would get cold.

His warm body pressed against hers as she started rocking her hips. Chest to chest, their bodies worked together, his hand on her back, pressing her further into him, her hand on his bicep, nails digging into his muscles as she moved.

"Ah- fuck, just like that, love," Fred groaned, his handsome features scrunched in pleasure.

He looked down to see where they connected, her back arching ever so slightly to take him all, her perfect pussy stretched around his cock.

He was able to hit every perfect place inside her, rutting against her g-spot, sending waves of pleasure shooting up Y/n's spine.

But oh fuck, he needed to be deeper, needed her moaning and mewling his name like it was a prayer.

So without missing a beat, he flipped their positions, her legs locking around his torso as he started thrusting.

She wrapped her arms around him, encasing him closely, their chests still touching.

"You're so good for me, angel, taking my cock so well," He grunted, breathing heavily from the sensation of her walls clenching around him.

His thrusts weren't overly rough, but they didn't need to be. He didn't want to fuck her. No, he wanted to love her, cherish her body like the temple it was, and make her cry out in intense pleasure as she came on his cock.

"Freddie," She whimpered, arching her back to meet his thrusts, each perfectly timed. Tears of euphoria welled in her eyes, starting to slowly drip and roll down her cheeks as her orgasm quickly approached.

He looked so pretty above her, eyes closed in pleasure, messy hair, the freckles dotting his pale skin shining from the droplets of sweat trickling down his body.

His forehead rested against hers, fingers digging into her waist as he chased his climax. His breathing became more labored and rapid with every passing second.

Y/n felt the knot in her stomach coiling, the bubble of heat ready to pop with just a few more thrusts.

"Fred, I'm so close," She whispered, pushing her body closer to him, back arching off the bed.

"Fuck, me too. Come for me, Y/n," He said, his warm breath tickling her neck, the sensation sending her over the edge.

Her orgasm washed over her in waves of immense pleasure, lightning in her veins, a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. Her legs shook, and her core was on fire, burning through the high as she came with his name on her tongue, crying it out.

Fred finished a few moments after, his hips sputtering as he filled the condom, his stomach burning with heat and pleasure.

The first few moments after having sex with someone new are the most pivotal. They decide if it's a one-time thing or something more.

Fred swallowed, resting his forehead against hers and sighing deeply, trying to catch his breath.

Y/n's hand wrapped around his neck, lacing in his hair. She smiled softly when he let out a breathy laugh. The sound was always music to her ears.

"I think I need to sleep in more often," Fred whispered, pulling his head back to connect their gazes, admiring her fucked out appearance, bruised lips, hickeys everywhere, and dried lines of tears running down her cheeks. She was beautiful.

"I think..." Y/n breathed, propping herself on her elbows and cupping his face in her hands.

"I could go for another apology," She finished, a smirk toying on her lips.

A shit-eating grin spanned across Fred's lips, his eyes lighting up at her insinuation.

"If I ever say no to that, kill me,"

----

Hope you enjoyed! If there are spelling/grammar mistakes, I'm sorry. I wrote this at like 1 am.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fic #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley story #fred weasley x you #weasley twins #weasley

[ophelieverse]

I have an idea,Lia angel🪽can you please write Daemon x Hightower!reader where she is Otto youngest daughter and she is religious like Alicent and her father betrothed her to Daemon?Maybe with a little bit of 😏😏Thank you my angel🤍🤍

⊱ •There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

-Summary:In order to gain full power,Otto Hightower betrothed both of his daughters in the House of the Dragon.

-Warnings:Age gap,a little bit of smutty time,religious topics.

-Thank you for requesting and let me know what you think🫶🏻🩷

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The wind that caressed her bare back no longer carried with it that scent of saltiness that had weighed down her nostrils and kneaded her mouth,while sobs,wheans and bells had shaken her violently in following the ship and the wake of foam that moved away from the beach of Dragonstone and disappeared beyond the horizon.

It had become a pleasant breeze with floral and fruity hints,which rippled her skin filling her with chills,although Lady Y/n Hightower,youngest daughter of Otto Hightower the Hand of the King,was not cold.

She could not feel cold under the scorching sun of the island on which she had been abandoned by her family.Her father who gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and her older sister who cried silently with her,to be alone with her betrothed,the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, not when it was her own body that radiated heat,turning it on from the inside.

Maybe earlier,those days were her father gave her the information of his new plan.Before,perhaps,she had perceived the icy breath of what being married to a man like her future husband would mean,but now... Now those endless tears that had blinded her eyes and moistened her beautiful face had also dried.

«Father,Smith,Warrior,Mother,Maiden,Crone,Stranger.»Y/n whispers those names in her mind with her eyes closed,as if praying could purify her of what is happening to her body.

By the way Daemon hands creep under her nightgown and run through her skin,lingering on places she never dared to explore even on her own.Her hands instead she’ll the rosary of the Seven,to prevent herself from pushing him away or to bring him even closer.

Her whole body felt on fire,her immaculate skin was covered in goosebumps as the night sky engulfed her figure.Daemon had been waiting for her body,for her mind,soul and heart to be completely his.Maybe he suggested to Larys Strong to suggest to that cunt of her father to have her hand to him out of spite,maybe he did because Y/n had always been kind and gentle towards him unlike her father.

What he was certain of was that in that moment she looked like a holy figure,with her hair all sandy,her lips swollen,the skin of her jaw still covered in spit and wine.She looked like one of those gods that she loved tho pray and only now,taking in every inch of her body,he understood why people were religious.Why they needed something to turn to,someone to get on their knees for and chant their names.

Daemon wasn’t a religious person,but he liked to think that the gods had made Y/n just for him.

It was easy in the beginning,when it all started just to see Otto Hightower rage as the prince gave his younger daughter all those attentions.But after a short time,Daemon started to realize that there was something more that was pushing him to always look at her,to caress the back of her neck,to toy with her hair.

It was only when she told him that she prayed for him every night before going to sleep,that everything changed.No one has aver prayed for Daemon,maybe his brother had prayed him to change,but he never went down to his knees before his bed and asked to the gods to always protect him.

From that day he started to pay her more attention,to see the shy way she carried herself,always looking down at her feet,never saying anything without being asked.Always at her father side.She was wasted like this,such a young and beautiful girl that could bring the whole world to its knees to worship and cherish her just like the goddess she was.

When Daemon had caught the whispers of her father wanting to send her back to Old Town to become a Septa,he had to intervene.

He knew Y/n wouldn’t never gave herself to someone like him willingly,not without a promise.And so it was done,in less than a month they would’ve been husband and wife and he could have all the time to see her shine for who she really was,without the dark cloud of her father shadow on her.

Daemon wanted her to want him as he wanted her.Desperately.He wanted to make her shiver from his touch,he wanted to hear her voice breathless and shaky.Oh he wanted to hear her say his name like a prayer,like he was her new god.Full of devotion.

«You should stop crying,Y/n,am I hurting you?»Daemon murmured above her chest,his eyes not leaving the precious and untouched skin of her breast.

«T-that's not what I want.»she lied,her voice was weak and she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

Daemon takes her nipples in his mouth,one at a time and she can’t stop them from becoming erect and turgid.Her mother made her believe that no one could suck her breasts except her children,that sex was only meant for child-bearing but right now Y/n feels anything but a mother and a pure virgin.She felt dirty,she felt like a whore,she felt good for the first time in her life.

«You are a liar.»her betrothed taunted her,his rosy lips were soft,his tongue warm and wet made her thighs clench.

«Father,Smith,Warrior.»she whispered again,one of her hands was now grasping at Daemon long silver hair as he groaned.

Y/n dwells on those figures with a hint of fear,aware that none of them will come to save her now.Not her father who sold her to the Rogue Prince in marriage.Not the warrior,her sworn protector,that was waiting at the castle for Daemon to be done with her before escorting her to her maidens.In the absence of the smith,her father trusted a demon,Larys Strong,and his advices to strength Alicent oldest son claim to the throne by forging their union just to have Daemon on their side against Rhaenyra when war will come.

«You want this.You want me.»Daemon said looking up at her with lustfull eyes,releasing her nipples.

Y/n face was burning red,her lips were quivering with soft prayers«You should s-stop.»she pleaded.

He was still holding her,his fingers felt like pure fire on her ribs.He kissed his way down from under her breast,savoring the sweet perfume of strawberries and the clean and sinful taste of her immaculate skin.

«Stop where?Here?»he asked,he bit and sucked right under her ribcage making her gasp.

His hands were hiking up the gown of her white nightgown,the smooth and silky texture of her bare legs made his head spin.

«Daemon.»she called for him breathlessly.

«What do you want?Tell me,my beautiful princess.»he whispered.

She tries to stay motionless like a statue,but her body trembles,quivers,while he puts a finger in her and then a second, making her find her more wet than she would have liked.

Her language pronounces aloud the names of the Seven,to prevent herself from yelling at him to stop or to keep going forever.

«You want all this, you want me.»he reminds her,taking in all of her beauty.

«How could I?You're a horrible man.»

She spreads her legs wide and feels him rubbing the tip of his manhood erected against her opening without daring to enter yet,and she hates herself for how reflexively she pushes her pelvis against him,for how she widens her legs even more.

«Maybe you're horrible too.»

Y/n head was spinning and it was difficult to remember how that change had happened,how she had started crying at the betrayal of her family when shortly before she had found herself aching for him,for the man above her as the most unfortunate of disasters;nor how she had come to grasp with her lips a pasty and strong flavor, capable of awakening every sense,capable of awakening in her new desires and instilling new life in her.

When Daemon had walked her to a secret area on the beach of Dragonstone and eased her thirst with the most intense,tasteful wine of the known world she had found herself on her knees for him.Till a week before she used to lift her gowns and get down only to pray her gods,now she was doing for the man that her father had raised her to despise and she loved it more than the gods her mother had taught her to worship.

Then she had found herself laying on the cold and wet sand,Daemon on her like a beast on the pray.

Y/n followed with her tongue the route of a thick drop and found a small bump in her mouth.She enclosed it inside and sucked so as not to disperse any of the spicy notes of that purple liquid.The fingers that had played with his long moon hair tightened their grip in a tacit warning and she chased another trail finding herself flattening her tongue on solid muscles,provoking them with the tip to make them contract and relax to their liking.She sucked in other stylls and bit the skin she found underneath to memorize its texture and remember how even the salty of the sweat could turn into sugar.

She knew that the gift,which was dripping from that chest and which had been offered to her so generously, was not to be wasted and she would savor it greedily.

«Good princess.»Daemon had praised her,his eyes,of the same color of the wine,capturing her every movement.

Y/n blinked and the blurred view allowed her to admire the work of a skilled sculptor.The advent of the chest she was worshipping,stained with other droplets waiting for her passage,caused a wave of desire in her belly.Those paths she was entering would soon lead her to the place where she would finally find peace and a new pang of anticipation caught her unprepared.

She strove to bring back to mind how she ended up like this,on her knees for him.A man with the blood of the dragon in his veins,a man who was undoubtedly a deity:he had dazzled her with an estatic vision of immortal creatures singing and dancing,so colorful and lively that he enchanted and chained her to them.And that drink she had tasted first from his cup,then from his hands and, finally,from the rest of his limbs.

Y/n kneeling between the sea and the rocks, looked up at him eyes and,all of a sudden,she didn't care about anything anymore.Her pupils burned,foamed like the liquid she was collecting,and rested her soul.

Then she had found herself underneath him and somehow,she also founded the strength to pray for forgiveness.For the person she was about to become,for the person she was letting him create.

Maybe she was horrible too.

«I want to be.»she whimpered against his mouth«I want to be just like you.»she pleaded,scratching down his back,the rosary long forgotten on the cold sand.

Mother,Maiden,Crone.

Y/n turns to those names but without really praying to them:she thinks of the Mother,the one that she had lost,the one that she had watched her sister turn into and who is the only definition their father had imposed on both of them,of the Maiden who she is no longer,of the Crone who she does not want to be yet.

And never,never,never like right now she was just Y/n,a woman,as she feels the member of Daemon finally slip into her to its entire length.The intrusion snatches a cry of surprise from her,but even though it’s the first time she feels no pain and she is amazed.

Her lips opens immediately when Daemon one’s looks for hers,his tongue caressing hers slowly as his arms brings her impossible closer to him,almost as he wanted to be one with her.

«Tell me that you are mine,Y/n.Not your father,but mine.»Daemon sounded desperate,moving in and out of her at a languid pace to savor more of the gentle creature he was corrupting.

«I’m yours.»she immediately answered him with a little moan«And you are mine?»she still had that white innocence in her that made him fall in love with her.

«Soon we will be one under the blessing of the Seven.You are mine and i’m yours.»he promised her and she believes him,he’s her new god,one that was created only for her to worship just like he worship her.

Daemon enters and leaves her at an increasingly rapid pace,sinking more forcefully at the end of that provocation;it should be a punishment, perhaps,it is instead for Y/n is a relief.It’s not a torture,not when he fills her,but the emptiness he leaves when all of this will end.She hates how her body does not consider that as a shameful act,making love before being married on the beach,a humiliation,as,in spite of everything,even her mind recognizes that disgract on his virtue infinitely more pleasant than the honest marital duty that her sister had told her about.

Stranger.Stranger.Stranger.

There is no other god left,as she opens her eyes and feels lost in her own release that hits her like the waves that crush on the shore.Daemon is not far behind her,his lilac eyes shining in hers as he empties himself in her.

Y/n surrenders to him,to the only true Stranger she knows,and thinks that after all she could also die in that moment,because she is dying less now than she died for all her life.Because being with Daemon couldn’t be worse than being with her father,because the unprecedented heat that explodes inside her suddenly can be nothing more than death itself.

She opens her lips and Daemon is the only name she outrageously prays as she opens her hands to hold him now to herself,to draw him closer instead of pushing him back,while he sinks for one last time.

The rosary breaks and the beads fall to the sand,like the gods it represent.

«I’m sorry.»he says.

«Everything is alright.»she says back.

Daemon lays on her and begins to caress her with an unexpected and inconsistent sweetness,like that remorse to which she gives voice,but which she understands after all.He would not have been able to ask for all this without offering her father to marry his daughter,because,in any case,if he had only asked for a fun night together she would have said no.

But now of her rabid cruelty nothing remains but a painful fragility;he is a god who falls too,a god who bows to her.It's ironic how she almost feels obliged to console him,to thank him for taking her away from her father hands.

«Thank you,my prince.»Y/n whispered.

Deamon closed his eyes,laying on her bare chest and enjoying the warmth of her skin«You're the only beautiful thing I will ever have,Y/n.I will make you a happy wife.»and he sounded sincere,she believed him.

Father,Smith,Warrior,Mother,Maiden,Crone,Stranger.

She no longer worships the gods now,because they are cruel,those who brand such a sweet pleasure as a sin.

She doesn't think about the gods anymore,Y/n, because now she knows what it means to be human.

There is no longer any god,not after the Hour of the owl,when Daemon gives unconditional whispers,love and mercy.Because he no longer needs blackmail as a pretext and Y/n no longer has religious images to hide behind.It was only them now,to believe in and to love.

«I love you.»he says

«I love you too.»she says back.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd spoilers #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon spoilers #dance of the dragons #alicent hightower #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen smut #daemon smut #daemon targaryen #hotd imagine #hotd smut #house of the dragon smut #smut #love #otto hightower #religion #house of the dragon season 2. game of thrones #house of the dragon season 2 #x reader #hotd x y/n #x y/n #daemon x y/n

[jayssluttywife]

Love Game | p.js

pairing: meangirl!reader x playboy!jay

!READ THE WARNINGS, NAUGHTY KIDS! >:(

(MDNI!)

warnings: swearing, fighting?, kissing, make-outs, dirty talk, dry humping, switch sub!jay and reader, y/n is mean, Jay isn't reallyy a playboy, written video included, hand/blow job, unprotected sex(wrap your bait, before you mate!), students to lovers, childish and cringe to me. There's Chloe and Cleo. :) jay is a cute part-time, man-whore.

WC: 5.78k

♫ ♪inspired by mean girls and love game by lady gaga♫ ♪

You were once again face to face with your enemy, Chloe. About five people were holding her back as she raged, with bloodshot eyes like she hadn't slept in days. Meanwhile, you stood there calmly, crossing your arms and leaning on one of your Dior heels, smirking at her exasperated expression.

You leaned down to her level, but your short skirt rode up a little too high, revealing what you were wearing under. Narrowing your eyes and slapping her face to the side, the noise echoed throughout the cafeteria, causing everyone, including Chloe, to gasp and fall silent.

Whispering in her ear just enough for everyone around you guys to hear. "Touch my man again, and bitch, ill rip. you. up" you said, grabbing a fist full of her hair for her to look at you through her gritted teeth. You laughed a little "m'k?", not looking for an answer, you walked away.

"Go y/n!" Heeseung cheered, grabbing onto your handbag." You notice Jay's intense gaze on you as you walk by. As you turned to meet his eyes, you caught him biting his lip, and with a playful wink, you continued on your way. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked away, but you didn't turn back.

You knew that he was watching you.

You looked once more over your shoulder, you saw him turn to his friends with a smirk, and you couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

"Fuck that was hot... and she's not even my girlfriend". Sunghoon looked at him. "You mean the part where you could practically see her underwear or the actual 'fight,' " he quoted with his hands. Jay gave him a look before exiting the hall, walking with his hands in his pockets.

When he was outside the hall, he stopped in his tracks, not even knowing what it was that made him like you. "y/n". He said to himself, "Something is different about her". You and Jay had grown up together, thanks to your parents and their long-standing friendship. But now, he noticed how much you had grown up since the last time he had seen you.

You weren't the little girl he knew anymore. All grown up, smart pretty, and most obviously sexy.

How could he not like you?

❁at home❁

y/n: shit did you see the way Jay looked at meee!

Cleo: yeah girl 

Cleo: he defo likes you 

y/n: you think? 

Cleo: come to the party on Friday and you'll see

You were eagerly anticipating Cleo's upcoming party. You had been looking forward to it for weeks, and with no school tomorrow, you could hardly contain your excitement as you drifted off to sleep.

You set down your phone, which had been buzzing all night with messages from your friends and snuggled under the covers, feeling content and happy. You drifted off to sleep with a smile on your face, eager to see what tomorrow would bring.

wakey wakey

You woke up at around 7 in the morning and headed to the shower to wash the sleep away. After finishing your hair and makeup, you wore a short skirt that you had specifically chosen for a certain person.

Jay

You learned from Heeseung that Jay has a weakness for short denim skirts. So you decided to wear one, paired with a crop top and a puffer jacket. After one last look at yourself in the mirror, you check the time on your phone, 9:30 am

perfect.

You left your house and headed to a small café where your friends wanted to meet up. The fresh air outside was refreshing and you felt excited to catch up with your friends.

As you walked into the shop, you couldn't help but notice Chloe who was sitting at your table with your friends. While you were happy to see your friends.

In an attempt to maintain your composure, you calmly uttered the words "Get off our table" to her. Despite feeling irritated and frustrated, you chose to keep your tone level, hoping to diffuse the situation without making it worse.

"Why?" she asked, making you scoff. You couldn't believe that she was asking such a ridiculous question. "On Wednesdays we wear pink, and you didn't," you said. "So that's against the rules, and you can't sit with us" You gave her one of your fake smiles, watching her as she walked away.

♫ ♪ a love game, a love game♫ ♪

"Guyss she can't sit with uss!" you complained, seeing her leave the café. You sat down at the table. As you sat down, you placed a bottle in the middle of the table making your friends cheered a little, sitting up for the upcoming game. You had a mischievous grin on your face.

"Let's play a game," you suggested, eager to get the fun started. Your friends nodded in agreement. They watched as you placed the bottle in the middle of the table, getting back onto your seat.

After five minutes of playing dares, the bottle finally slows down and points towards you. Cleo claps her hands together in excitement. "Finally!" she exclaims. You feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness as you await the dare that Cleo will assign to you. She looks at you with a sly grin on her face, her eyes gleaming mischievously. She rummaged through her handbag and pulled out a stunning bag packaging.

The bag had your name written on it in glittery gems as a border. You felt a little excited as you wondered what could be inside. Eagerly taking the bag from her, you opened it up to reveal a super short black dress, a slit at the bottom with ruffled ends.

"I dare you to wear this dress to my party y/n."You were taken aback by her request. The dress was beautiful, but it was also quite daring with its plunging neckline and high slit. However, you couldn't resist a good dare, especially from Cleo.

You turned your head up to look at her, a wink capturing her eyes, "Let's do it girls!" They cheered once again as you accepted the dare, carefully packing the dress again and placing it in your handbag.

"Bye girls, me and Cleo are going to the Frats House!" you bid your goodbyes to your other friends before linking arms with Cleo and heading to the house that was owned by the most popular boy group in your year. It was Jay's group.

Cleo knocked on the door, being invited in by a welcoming Jake beckoning for you both to come in "Hey guys" he said before calling the rest of the men to greet you both.

You hugged everyone present in the room and finally stopped in front of Jay. You looked up to meet his gaze and could hear the others saying some cheesy things. However, when you saw Chloe, who had the familiar blonde hair and shoes, stepping through the door, you hugged Jay.

As you felt his hands gently wrap around your waist, you felt butterflies in your stomach. "Jayyy, I missed you," you whispered as you pulled out of the hug, taking a moment to look around at the others in the room.

"Soo... where were we?

♫ ♪I'm on a mission, and it involves some heavy touching, yeah♫ ♪ 

"Guys, I'm bored," Cleo complained, letting out a deep sigh. Everyone else seemed to be feeling the same way. "Let's go outside then," suggested one of her friends. The group quickly agreed, and everyone stood up, ready to head out.

Everyone, that is, except for you. You were left behind, still sitting in your chair, absorbed in taking pictures of yourself.

You suddenly felt a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, as if someone was watching you. You slowly turned around, and to your surprise, it was Jay.

He sat next to you, ruffling his blonde, messy hair. "What happened before at the cafeteria?" he only received a small mesmerized look in return. You quickly snapped out of it, cheeks turning rosy red in embarrassment.

"U-uhm I don't know" you stuttered causing his lips to perk up a little, revealing one of his cute little dimples. "Y/nnn" he placed one hand on your thigh, he asked, "Do you... like me?" you couldn't help but feel a little caught off guard. You widened your eyes a little and shook your head, denying the thought of liking him.

But it seemed like he could see right through your act. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you looked away, trying to hide your embarrassment. You couldn't believe he had asked you that question, and you didn't know how to respond. You wondered if he had noticed the way you looked at him or the way your heart skipped a beat every time he walked into the room. You tried your best to play it cool, but it seemed like he already knew the answer to his question.

"Come, let's go somewhere more private" he took your hand, taking you up to your special room in their house, your name tag at the top of the door. You both sat down facing each other, his hand going straight back to your soft plushy thigh.

"I like your skirt." As soon as he said that, your mind changed. You moved his hand off your thigh and instead put one on his "Aww, thank you Jayy, I wore it just for you" you said in your sweet voice.

You looked at him with pouty eyes, "Do you like me?" he looked a bit shocked, murmuring a small 'no' which had you smirking at his flushed cheeks. "Oh really?" you tilted your head to the side, moving your hand to his slowly hardening dick.

You pouted your lips, bending over a little to expose your chest, his gaze slowly shifting down to the new view. "I really thought you did". You could feel his length getting wetter under your grip.

"I guess I'll just have to go to Sunghoon" he hissed as you squeezed his length. "Or heeseung" You slowly pulled his boxers and trousers down in one go. "Or Jake".

His dick popped out like a loose spring, precum spilling down. You wrapped your hands around his length, slowly stroking it. "So what were you saying park?".

He moaned a little, trying to thrust up into your hands, but you quickly stopped him, placing a hand on his abdomen. "S-shit" he swore. "I was s-saying that I d-don't like- shit,"

"Faster, faster y/n please!" he whined but earned a tut in return "Uh uh park, c'mon speak up," you said softly.

"I... don't like" you increased your speed." Pulling out your phone with your other hand, you searched through your albums, stopping at one named 'Drunk Jay' and clicking on the first video, putting the phone between both of you and hitting play.

It was Jay, man spread on the same bed you were on, jerking himself off so quickly his hands were blurry, slowly muttering your name. You chuckled "Oh how much I love this video". You looked at him "Where did you get it from?" the moans in the video getting louder.

Moving the hair off his face, you straddled his lap "You sent it to me silly!" you laughed. You started stroking his dick quicker, his moans somehow sounding better than the video. He was about to say something but you cut him off.

"Look this is my favourite part!" you watched the screen and his head leaned back, cum spilling onto the bed sheets as he moaned your name so loud, you felt like it was in real life. You looked at him once more.

"Soo... do you?" you started stroking him again, feeling his dick twitch between your grasp. He nodded slowly, making you smirk. "Well... I can't tell you yet if I like you... you'll just have to wait and see Jay."

You watched his cum leak out of his hole, slowly pecking his lips, and kneeling to drink all his cum. You stood up again, smiling so innocently at him.

"C'mon Jay, everyone's gonna get worried" you pouted. He stood up, pulled up both layers in one go, and walked out of the room with you, you could barely tell from his face, but oh god he loved what just happened.

He came almost every night to your room doing the same thing in the video, but your hands felt so much better. You both went down the stairs next to each other, laughing and whispering in each other's ears as if nothing happened.

You both reached the living room where everyone was back into, Sunghoon laughed "What happened, did you guys have fun by yourself?". You winked at him and looked at Jay "Bye Jayy, I'll miss you". You hugged him once more before leaving with Cleo.

As you stepped out of their house, a strange sensation overtook you, causing your stomach to churn with discomfort. You started to walk home, accompanied by Cleo, but the funny feeling lingered, like a physical weight pressing down on you. You couldn't quite put your finger on what was causing this unease, but you knew it was because of Jay. You... like him?

Shit.

You can't believe you did that to Jay, the scene replayed in your head, making another gush of wetness enter your underwear. Cleo frowned at you as you were walking.

"Did something happen between you and Jay?" she questioned. You quickly denied it before switching the topic, hoping she wouldn't notice your heartbeat increasing.

As soon as you arrived at your home, you hung up your coat and headed straight to the bathroom to take a refreshing shower. After you had finished, you dried yourself off and slipped into your comfortable pyjamas. As you sank into your soft bed, you found yourself unable to resist the urge to call Jay.

"Hey Jay," you said as he picked up the call "Hey y/n" his voice was so deep but sweet that it accidentally made you moan, you quickly slapped your hand on your mouth you could sense him smiling through the phone.

"sorry I stubbed my toe" he laughed "Mhm, okay y/n" he said sarcastically. His laugh sends another nerve to your throbbing cunt. You couldn't help it anymore as Jay was telling you about how Sunghoon was annoying him. His voice was just so nice.

Your hands trailed towards your pyjama shorts. Slowly, rubbing light circles on your clit- 'Oh y/n this is so wrong' you thought, but you couldn't stop. Your breaths got heavier every time, silent moans leaving your mouth.

Jay stopped speaking about two minutes ago, listening to your whimpers, but how would you know, it felt too good. "Y/n?" he called, making your eyes open. "Yeah?" you breathed out. You could hear Jay biting his lips if it was possible.

"I'm going to sleep now y/n" he teased "See you at the party tomorrow". "Wait Jay" you called, you couldn't have him stop talking now, not when you were so close to your orgasm. "Tell me something- more, anything" he chuckled. "Did you forget you have a video of me jerking off love, no need to use my voice" you hear him blow you kisses before hanging up the call.

Oh. My. God

"Did he just say that? He knows what you were doing this whole time. Even though you couldn't be more obvious, how will you be able to face him tomorrow? If he's not embarrassed by the video you have of him, you shouldn't be embarrassed either. You tried your best to fall asleep, and after 15 minutes of twisting and turning, you finally managed to catch some sleep."

...

You've been hiding from Jay the whole day, at break, you said in the library, hoping he wouldn't come looking for you. At lunch, you sat at the back of the cafeteria because it was 'too loud'. But your luck ran out, at the last lesson it must have slipped out of your mind as you sat next to Jay.

Oh my-

He was sitting on his chair, and when you sat next to him, he spread his legs, causing it to hit yours. "Hey y/n," he said, just like on the call. "Hi Jay," you said quietly. "What happened?" He watched as you turned your head away from him. "C'mon, where's the naughty girl who was getting off to my voice yesterday?" He whispered in your ear, causing you to shiver.

A hand on your thigh slowly trailing up to your underwear gave him easy access. You were only wearing a skirt, making you freeze when he placed two fingers flat on your material. "Shit you're not even wearing shorts", he chuckles as your skin shivers under his touch.

He pushes your underwear to the side, the cold air hitting your cunt. Slowly rubbing up your folds, you yelped as he slapped your cunt. The teacher looked at you in worry, asking you if you were ok. You nodded your head, seeing Jay smirk at the corner of your eye.

Shit. Shit. Shit

Jay was still massaging your clit, his hands quadrupled in speed. He was telling you how his day went and boy did he sound sexy. Doing a purposely deep voice causes another gush of arousal to exit. "So how was your day y/n?" he smiled at you.

You knew if you didn't answer you wouldn't get what you wanted, and he would stop all the movements of his hands. So you took a deep breath "My day was good- so, so good" he placed one elbow on the desk so casually, as if he wasn't doing the opposite under it whilst the others were talking about work.

"I was hiding from someone", you exposed. "Was in the library... and some guy asked me out- oh shit Jay" he increased his speed, going so fast you couldn't control your eyes rolling to the back of your head. "Mhm? "he signalled for you to carry on. "I said no cuz I like someone else" he lifted a brow "I wonder who that is".

You couldn't even hear him, so close to your release, his hand came to a halting stop. "Time to pack up y/n". He gave you a toothy grin, ignoring the needy expression on your face. "I'll see you later". And with that, he left, leaving you like a lost puppy.

...

You have showered, done your makeup, and put on the dress that Cleo had got you. It wrapped the curves of your body like it was tailored just for you. It was around 9 pm and it was pitch black outside. Waiting for your taxi to come out, you quickly put on your heels and entered the car.

Reaching the destination, and thanking the driver, you stepped out into a dark nightclub. Men and women were dancing together or alone, swaying their hips or singing along to the familiar song.

You performed the model work you had dedicated your life to as all eyes turned to you. After scanning the room, you finally spot Cleo waving from an elegant corner.

You passed by the V.I.P. room - a dark space with a separate bartender and dancefloor. Your gaze connected with Jay's. He bit his lip at you, looking down at your outfit and practically eye-fucking you as you sat down.

♫ ♪Lets have some fun this beat is sick, I wanna take a ride on your disco stick♫ ♪

It was your turn to ask, and you turned to Chloe, sitting across you. "Truth or dare Chloe?" you asked. She put a finger on her chin, pretending to think, which annoyed you even more. Finally, she gave a smirk and said, "Truth. "You thought for a moment, trying to come up with a question that would make her squirm. And then it came to you. "Are you a slut?" you asked her, you squinted your eyes.

Chloe was taken aback by your question and choked on her saliva. "Excuse me?" she asked, clearly surprised by your blunt question. But you didn't let up. "You are one, aren't you?" you said, smirking as you raised a brow. Chloe looked away in embarrassment, hearing your distant chuckle.

"Truth or dare y/n," Cleo said trying to remove the tension. "Dare!" She giggled, talking to your other friends and planning your dare. "Go sit on your crush's lap." She winked at you. You stood up slowly, looking around the room as if you didn't see Jay immediately.

His legs were spread open as if inviting you to come sit with him. You slowly approached him, sitting in the space he had opened for you. You sit down slowly, purposely rubbing your ass on his dick; as soon as you place your legs on his, he wraps his hands around your waist.

You got comfortable by gently leaning your chest against his. While others played, you two sat in silence and started conversing.

"This is fun, isn't it?" You joked as you started playing with his hair. Chloe watched enviously from across the table, so you stepped your game up. You slowly begin rubbing yourself against his growing dick, his small grunts filling your ears.

He looked at you, and you looked at him. He started talking about how short your dress was as it had rode up. You looked down at his lips, and then back at his eyes. You used your thumb to stroke his bottom lip, you knew she was watching you.

It's been about 15 minutes, and everyone is dancing and separated, except for you and Jay. You stood on the dance floor with his hands, supporting your weight around your waist. You didn't even know how many drinks you had, but it was enough to get you tipsy and off your feet.

You pressed your body onto his, wrapping your waist around his neck. "So you do like me", he grinned. You smirked, slowly running your hand below his chest and onto his erection. "Want me to show how much I like you?". You grabbed his hand as he gave you a small "go ahead", dragging him to the closest private room.

You slammed the door, your back hitting the frame. "Want me to show you instead?", he grinned, pushing your head to the side, planting open kisses down your neck.

"Yeah?" you moaned. He slowly pulled off you, smirking again. "Yeah," he reassures before diving again for your body. You roll your head back onto the wall, letting out small breaths. You try to find his belt holding his finely shaped jeans as he starts to remove your small dress.

"Don't even think I need to take the dress off" he whispers. "So small and scandalous" he finishes. He pulled down the strip, practically undressing you fully as you were barely wearing anything under.

You manage to pull down his jeans and boxers all the way down at once. "Shit Jay," you fall onto the big bed, "you're huge". You look up at him purposely battering your lashes at him.

He pushes your back flat onto the bed, his hips falling in between your legs as he comes for a hungry kiss. His lips rub onto yours as he grinds his hips on yours. He remove your soaking panties, already ruined by all your liquid on it.

"You've been hiding this small cunt for a while, baby" You could feel his breath on your pussy as it throbs. You just want his touch. He looks up at you, "Safe word, or are we going wild today."

You were so needy, just needing a touch for you to thrive. "Please Jay" you let out a small voice. He licks a stripe, slow and long. You are so needy it is painful, trying to get the pain out.

He pushes his tongue into your fold causing your back to arch. He starts flicking his tongue, diving in for more. He never knew you could taste this good. Your legs tremble, trying to close around his head but he opens them with his big hands.

"J-jay!" You call out, earning a hum that vibrates in your cunt. He looks up at you, and you moan at his face, covered in a shiny layer. "You can't cum yet" he coos, standing from between your legs.

"Flip over for me." You slowly turn around, balancing your legs and hand to be on all fours. He chuckles "What a good girl, didn't even have tell you". Your legs tremble, already soaking again.

He takes off his boxers, hiding behind you so you cant see whats hes doing. "Hurry up, please" you whisper. He lightly laughs "okay baby", he places his knees on the bed, his hands wrapping around your waist to get a good grip of your body.

His hands roam around your ass for a while, going higher to your waist. Without any warning, he pushes half of his dick in, but you want it all.

"More" you call out repeatedly as he sinks into you. He starts a slow pace, the pain leaving his red tip as he enters you fully. "You're tighter than I imagined- shit" he starts speeding up, wanting to feel your small cunt in ages.

Now that he had you wrapped around him, he couldn't stop, thrusting. Your pussy felt way better than his veiny sifts, or some other chicks.

You felt like it was made for him.

The room got filled with your moans, and his. Jay was never this loud, but with you oh it was so different. He faintly slapped your arse, your sensitive body arching as he did.

"Waited so long for this y/n" He pulls your hair, lifting your body up for a heated kiss. His thrusts never slowed down, he kept a speedy space which was enough to have your legs trembling.

He bites your lower lip lightly, forcing your lips to part for his tongue to enter. He explores your mouth like he wasn't just kissing you a while ago.

You start to move yourself onto him, your bodies slamming against each other in sync as he lets go of your hair. You get back into your position, your ass bouncing onto him as he becomes rougher.

You moan again as his finger snakes around your clit, adding another painful but pleasurable feeling. "Too much Jay" you whisper, you remember that he gave you a safe word, but you just couldn't say it.

This felt so good, you would finally have Jay all to yourself. Could tell your friends that you finally got laid, and could ask him to fuck you anytime. And best of all...

Chloe could fuck off.

"More!" you begged, and you heard a low chuckle behind you. More of a scoff to be honest.

You could feel a knot building up in your belly, same as Jay. He just needed one thing from you. "I'm- so close!"

You huffed, earning a hum in return. You got cut off by your own words, more drunk in sex than the many drinks you had this night.

With one more thrust, your orgasm struck you. You moan out the name of the man behind you, thriving him into his own. "Fuck!" you moan out. He slowly thrust, longing out the orgasm before pulling out.

You rest your head on the bed. Legs twitching as Jay watched his seed leak out of you and onto your thighs. "You're so hot" He spoke, grabbing onto your waist.

You flinch, so sensitive as he flips your body to lay you flat on your back. "That felt good right baby?" his distant voice peaks. You nod your head, but he can't hear you, bringing a handkerchief to wipe you up.

"I can't hear you sweetheart" He coos. You roll your eyes, turning your head to face him. "Yes Jay, it felt really good".

He places back your underwear, slowly dressing you up with the lately discarded clothes. "So..." you sit up from the bed, watching him pull up his trousers.

He raises a brow "So?". You slightly tilt your head to the side in disappointment. Eyes widen as you stare into his eyes. After he finishes dressing, back into his original outfit. He grabs your hands, making you stand up.

Because of the height difference, you look up at him, and he looks down at you. He squints his eyes with a glint of cheekiness. A smirk appears on his face.

"Kim y/n, will you be my girlfriend?" You put your hand in front of your mouth, as if in shock.

"Yes Jay!" you jump childishly, hugging him. You peck his lips, directing him out the door with your small hands. You walked outside the room, jumping as you saw your friends distanced away.

They all turned to you and Jay as you walked out of the room. "Soo... what happened?" Cleo asked. You looked at Jay, a sneaky grin appearing on your face.

"We are together now," He says as he wraps your hand around your waist. Your friends cheer, jumping in a circle, more happier than you.

"Love birds!" Heeseung screams as you two walk closer. He faces your body towards him, "I really love you" Your nose crumples up cutely by his affection.

"Me too Jay"

There, in front of everyone, even Chloe, he kisses you.

Not letting go and snaking his hands around your waist. Smiling into the kiss as you playfully hit his chest. He was the perfect guy, and you were the perfect girl.

What a love game.

#enha x reader #enhypen #enhyphen hard thoughts #enhyphen x reader #enhypen smut #jay smut #jongseong #jay x reader #jay enhypen #enhypen jay

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny's Grill Part 2

Special thanks to @mkarchin713 for letting me use their idea.

Tim's night had been hectic.

Not only have things at WE taken a turn for the worst due to some random influencer that decided Wayne Enterprises was the cause of global warming and convinced all his fans of the same- despite the fact they were the nation's leading company in green energy- sales have been down.

The board was breathing down his neck to fix the stocks while being no help at all to get the youth back on their side. He's already pulled twelve hours of overtime this week and it was only Wednesday.

He's been dealing with the PR nightmare while trying to get to the bottom of data theft across multiple big-name technology companies. Reports of scams and total funds lost were reported all through Gotham and only his city.

Tim suspects someone had been planting screen recording devices in one of Gotham's shipping factories before they left the buildings, stealing all the information from new buyers.

Since his theory is so hard to trace, he's been having difficulty pinpointing the base of operations, never mind having enough proof for his thesis. After Bruce's lost-in-time fiasco, Tim learns to have evidence before going to the family with anything.

So that means he's been trying to fight his way on his own, which usually isn't too much to handle, but stress and lack of sleep have really been slowing him down.

Thankfully, a specific food truck appears in his line of sight, and his mood improves drastically. He finds a safe roof to quickly change into his civilians, already fantasizing about what delicious food he would eat.

Dressed in his typical Alvin Draper disguise- black, almost second-skin tights and an oversized sweater- he all but skips to Danny's Grill.

"Night, Danny," He says, smiling at the back of the chef. He leans on the little extended table outside the truck's small window. He takes a sniff of the air, mouth watering at the scent.

Looks like tonight is cheeseburgers, as Danny carefully flips some patties. Danny whirls around with a smile of his own, only to drop the spatula in horror.

"Alvin! What happened!?" Danny shouts, nearly flinging himself through the tiny opening. The vigilante blinks in confusion before catching his reflection in the napkin dispenser.

In his haste to have some of Danny's food, he forgot to cover up a black eye, swollen right cheekbone, and busted lip from his last faulty lead. A goon had gotten him by surprise and had nearly rearranged his face before he was able to get his wits about him.

"Nothing, really; it comes with the job, you know?" Tim tries to play off, laughing nervously when Danny's expression crumbles into pure rage. "Look, it's no big deal-"

"How can it not be a big deal!? Half your face is swollen!"

That happens when someone hits you with a metal pipe in the face. He thinks hysterically. "I've had worse."

"That's not comforting!" Danny screams, throwing off his apron. "Let me close down, and I'll take you to a doctor-"

"No hospitals. They'll ask where I got this, and I can't answer that." Tim cuts in, voice hard. There is a tense moment where he thinks Danny will force him to go anyway, but after a moment the other man growls slamming his hands on the counter.

"Fine. Fine. No hospitals. At least let me ice it." It takes everything in Tim not to shrink back from the hateful tone. He barely has the mind to nod as Danny quickly unlocks the little door that leads into his truck, ushering the Bat inside with barely controlled rage.

He knows it's not aimed at him, but being around someone so upset makes his skin crawl. Tim has problems with offending people; his parents had been masters in drilling into him from a young age.

That's why Tim always sought the approval of everyone around him, even if he couldn't stand the person.

He has been working on it, but old habits died hard.

"Sorry." He mumbles as Danny quickly gets a zippy bag full of ice.

"Don't. Apologize." Danny bites before taking a large breath, clearly trying to calm down. He gently places the ice against Tim's cheek, staring at him with such tender worry Tim can't help but feel butterflies. "You don't have to apologize for getting roughed up. Never. Okay?"

Tim nods, shyly looking away as his stomach is rapidly overrun by even more butterflies. "Okay."

"Come home with me." Danny suddenly blurts as if the words were forced out of him. He looked just as surprised by them as Tim was.

"What?"

"Just for tonight. Just so I know you're safe." Danny all but pleas, and Tim- well, Tim has never been known to be strong enough to resist his impulses. Sure, the family might worry, but he can send them a message claiming to be undercover, and frankly- it's been so long since Tim's had a break.

He's always wanted to know more about Danny outside his food truck. He hadn't been able to find much on him. Tim is a detective by heart. He wants to know everything there is to know about Danny Fenton.

"I can leave when I want." He says, as Danny carefully places a warm hand on his other cheek. "And I sleep in my own space. No bed sharing. I also want to take a shower but I don't have anything to sleep in."

"You can borrow something of mine/ Whatever you need." The words are practically a warm hug, and Tim feels relaxed. Already the shitty week feels less terrible, and he finds himself growing bold enough to take an obvious sniff of the air.

"Can I have a burger?"

There is a hint of an amused smile, but it does not cover up the worry. "Of course you can."

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

The shower is running in Danny's house.

It's a bit out of the way, about a forty-minute drive outside of Gotham limits, but it's spacious and private, just the way Danny liked it.

Ever since he inherited his title, he's found this house on the list of properties, and that was why he chose to take Gotham by storm in his little truck.

Danny isn't really sure what the story of the property was- the suspects the place was built around the same time Gotham got its curse; seeing as it was overseeing the city and had enough natural ectoplasm in the air, he would suspect the curse affecting the town lead to here. He never cared to check.

No, rather Danny had some ghosts remodel the old building to include wiring and functioning plumbing but asked that the general overall of the mansion stay the same.

He sort of like pretending to be a Lord of the Oldden days. If anyone asked if he walked around acting out old romances of the Victorian era, that was not else business but his own.

Alvin was undoubtedly impressed when they pulled up to his house. Maybe it shouldn't have felt so prideful to have the handsome man be impressed with his mansion given the circumstances.

He seemed to accept the excuse of having been willed the house by his late grandfather. He just hoped Alvin didn't think him the same as his wealthy clients.

Speaking of, he better make the call before Alvin finished.

Stepping to his balcony, he pulled out his burner phone and pressed the speed dial five. There are four rings before the call connects.

He gets no greeting, but he's not expecting one. Danny looks over his shoulder to ensure the bathroom door is connected to the master room- his bedroom, where Alvin will be staying, seeing as it has a bigger fireplace. He needs to have them install a heating system. Danny never bothered, what with his ice core and all- before he spoke.

"Hey, Red Hood, it's Danny. I'm calling in that favor."

There is a long pause before the other man grunts. "What is it?"

"My friend is a pro whose pimp or johns have been abusing lately. Can you help me....take care of the issue? I don't want to overstep in his life, but I'm pretty sure they broke his check bone tonight, and he claimed to have had worse before." Danny sighs, his stomach overturning at what that could mean. He hasn't gone out as Ghost King to show those assholes a thing or two because this isn't his haunt.

It's Red Hood's.

Danny had met the other man when a rouge attack had busted up all the main highways he usually worked in and had no choice but to try to sell in Crime Alley. He was right off the territory's edge, freaking out about entering without the main ghost's permission, until Red Hood confronted him.

Danny's frantic fretting had been suspicious enough that the main honcho had gone to find out why he was so nervous.

They worked a deal where Danny would sell his ware in peace, and as long as he let kids eat for free, Red Hood had no quarrels with him. He even got a favor from the crime lord after Danny provided free meals to some of his men's families struggling to get food a few months back.

He also allowed Hood to use his house as a safe house to hide a few people who needed to be out of the city. Is he part of Red Hood's gang? No.

Is he an alley? Yes.

Danny had been saving the favor for such an occasion.

There is silence on Hood's side, so Danny goes in for the kill. "My friend is seventeen; in a few months, he'll be eighteen, but he said he has been doing this since he was younger."

The silence is now laced with malice. If there was one thing they both agreed on it was that kids were never meant to be hurt by the scum of the city. "Give me his name and the area he usually works in."

"Alvin Draper. He changes per night, but I've often seen him on the east side of Crime Alley."

"I'll look into it. Is Alvin safe?"

"Yeah, he's going to be staying with me tonight. Don't come by until I convince him to extend his stay." Danny knows Hood will understand. This is one of many pros to see the Zone- his mansion's name- as a sanctuary.

"That's fine. Can you get me a picture of Alvin?"

"No, he's too skimmish."

Hood grunts again, his voice coming out tired despite the voice monitor. "Kids always are. I'll have my boys find Alvin's primp and johns. Ensure there aren't any other younglings before they make them swim with the fish."

Danny almost falls over in relief. "Thank you. Alvin...Alvin means a lot to me."

" Don't mention it. Stay well, Victorian."

Victorian is the code name Hood has given him to ensure Danny isn't tired of his gang. Yes, it's because his house is a Victorian mansion, but Danny also likes to think it's cause the other man appreciates the aesthetics of his house a little too much.

He once caught Hood admiring his Pride and Prejudice hardcover book displayed in his green sitting room.

"You too Hood. And thank you."

How would he convince Alvin that his house was a better place to call home than the orphanage and street corners without coming off as a wannabe savior or hopelessly in love creep?

Danny pauses at his own train of thought.

Hopelessly in love? He thinks in shock as the bathroom door swings open, and out comes Alvin, dressed in Danny's extra pajama set. He offers Danny a shy smile; even with the injuries, it is the loveliest sight he's ever seen, and- oh no, Danny is in love with him.

"You up for a late-night snack?" He asks, trying to not show the world-shattering realization on his face, and Alvin's smile grows wider.

"You're going to make me fat." The other laughs. Danny's heart skips a beat.

Danny Fenton loves Alvin Draper and will do everything he can to protect him. Even if Alvin will hate him for it.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Danny's grill #Prat 2 #Dead tired #misunderstanding #Danny thinks Tim is a protisute #secret identity #Jason is out for blood somewhere #Danny has a victorian mansion as ghost king #Tim is there for the lore and the vibes