#mischievousmoony

You’re roused by someone kneeling between your legs. His long cock, slick with his own spit, prods at your entrance. Slowly sinking into your warm and welcoming hole.

A low whine stirs in your throat, and you’re not quite awake enough yet to open your eyes. You’re disoriented, lost in a dream-drunk haze, making it ever so hard to make sense of the warm sensation between your legs. All you know is that it’s divine.

“Shh, darling,” he whispers, pressing sweet, soothing kisses to your lips. He stills his hips, allowing you a moment to adjust both to his size and the morning light.

“Rem,” you moan, recognizing him by the feeling of his lips on yours, and how deeply his cock spears you. Your voice is hoarse with sleep, which he finds adorable, his heart swelling with affection.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting Remus’s warm brown irises and even warmer smile. Messy strands of his mousy hair fall over his forehead as he leans over you, half concealing the faint crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

“G’morning,” he murmurs, beginning to slowly rock in and out of you. Heat rushes to your core, and you start to breathe in pants as the delicious grind of his hard cock against your gummy walls fully drags you out from your slumber.

Remus supports his weight with his forearm pressed into the mattress by your head, his hand lovingly cradling your face. His other arm snakes beneath you. With his palm flat against your lower back, he presses your naked body firmly into his. Your arms wrap around his middle, too, your nails lightly scratching at his skin.

Remus grunts, slowly picking up the pace of his thrusts. He drops his head to your shoulder to nip at your collarbone. Over his head, you see James watching from the bathroom doorway as he brushes his teeth. When his hazel eyes meet yours, he winks. Shortly after, he disappears into the bathroom to rinse his mouth.

Later, Remus finishes inside you as your walls clench around him, pulsing from your first—and definitely not your last—release of the day.

Remus cradles you against his chest, whispering sweet praise and inviting you to go back to sleep. But he’s woken you up now, and you can hear the shower running. The warm water calls to you, so you leave Remus with a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Jamie?” you murmur as you stumble into the steamy bathroom. He’s already on you by the time the first syllable slips past your lips, tugging you by the wrist under the spray of the shower with him.

“Hi, love,” he says, grinning. He hugs you tightly from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. You lean your head back to look at him, and he plants a minty kiss on your lips. “Moony didn’t wake you too early, did he?”

“No, ‘m fine,” you sigh, content. The warm water feels wonderful on your skin, and so do James’s hands as they skate across it, tracing arbitrary patterns.

“I bet you are,” James hums teasingly. One of his hands slowly drifts south. You gasp as his fingers part your folds. Remus’s cum is still warm inside of you, and James groans as he spreads it around, his fingers brushing over your clit with every pass.

Whiny, helpless little noises slip past your lips as James teases you. You’re still sensitive from when Remus fucked you mere minutes ago, which James considers, but ultimately it only makes him want you more.

He spins you around to face him, and he walks you back until your skin comes into contact with the shower tiles. You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth because the smooth tiles are unexpectedly cold, but James quickly distracts you from it.

He hikes one of your legs around his hip and continues playing with your clit with his thumb.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, eyes raking over your bare body, mesmerized. Water droplets glisten on your skin as he watches the heavy rise and fall of your chest.

He guides his cock between your folds, circling the head around the sensitive bud before burying himself in your sweet pussy. You moan his name as he begins pounding into you, and you’re glad Remus had you first. Remus is long, but James is thicker, and having him first made it easier for your walls to accommodate James’s girth now, especially with how ruthless James is in his movements.

James has you in the shower until the water runs cold, your fingers have shriveled up like raisins, and the noises you make are nothing but whiny babbles. He has a hand pressed against your pelvis, and his thumb is rubbing tight circles on your clit. It’s already made you cum for him once, and he’s yet to stop. It’s a little overwhelming, enough to make your legs shake.

You bury your hands in his wet mop of hair as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucking greedily. The combined sensations draw out another orgasm from you.

“Gonna fill you up, love,” he grunts, hips stuttering as he nears his own release.

A broken “please” falls from your lips, and with one final, powerful thrust, his hips stall, and you feel his warm release coat your inner walls.

“Fuck,” he groans, lifting his head to press a kiss to your temple. “So good.”

He helps you clean up under the water afterward. It’s slightly uncomfortable since it’s no longer warm, which is why he works quickly, but gently, so that he can wrap you in a fluffy towel and warm you back up with fast strokes of his hands over your goosebump riddled arms.

James continues to take care of you. Applying your morning skincare while you sit on the sink, styling your hair while shooting you occasional warm smiles in the mirror, and even dressing you. He picks out a flowy little dress for you to wear, and that’s it. Wearing short dresses around your home, with nothing underneath, is something you’ve grown accustomed to. It stirs up a certain warmth in your tummy, and your boys love it. Easy access, and all that.

“Beautiful,” James murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before leading you to the kitchen. He sits you down on one of the stools while he starts preparing breakfast for the four of you. Remus is in the kitchen too, brewing James’s coffee and putting a kettle on for himself.

You squeal when a pair of arms suddenly wrap around your waist. Sirius tucks his face into the crook of your neck, attacking you with kisses.

“Good morning, baby,” Sirius says, his voice muffled by your neck.

You giggle, the vibrations from his words against your skin tickling you.

Sirius lifts you from your stool, planting your feet flat on the ground next to it. His hands roam your body, running up and down your sides, massaging your shoulders a bit, sharply smacking your ass.

Your yelp prompts James to cast him a sideways glance. “Careful with her, Pads. She’s had quite the morning already.”

“Yeah. I heard,” Sirius smirks, and a heat to rushes to your cheeks. You’re sure overhearing Remus and James have their ways with you is what has Sirius so worked up—a little jealous, probably—as he pushes your dress up and over your hips. “Bend over for me, sweetheart,” he instructs, and you do as he says. Bracing yourself over the counter.

Remus keeps his eyes on you the entire time Sirius fucks you, casually sipping his morning tea as if he’s not rock hard in his trousers. You try your best to hold that eye contact, even with your cheek smooshed against the granite by Sirius’s hand in your hair.

Sirius angles his hips so that the thick head of his cock bumps into that sensitive, spongy spot with every thrust. Your legs shake violently, and if it weren’t for the counter and Sirius’s bruising hold on your hips, you’re not sure you’d still be standing.

An arm circles your waist. Sirius’s fingers dip between your folds, and you cry out in pleasure as he circles your clit.

“Gonna cum for me?” Sirius asks in that heady voice that makes you feel dizzy.

James is finished cooking breakfast by then. He passes by with plates of food, placing them on the wooden table in the corner of the room. On his way back, he stops at your side, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. When he straightens back out, Sirius grabs him by his shirt and tugs him into a sloppy kiss. James threads his fingers through Sirius’s dark hair, pulling on it sharply. Sirius promptly cums inside of you, and your orgasm follows shortly after.

James has a smug little smirk on his lips as he finishes setting the table, but Sirius is only focused on watching his cum leak down your thighs.

With two fingers, he collects the creamy liquid and stuffs it back in your poor, overused hole.

A broken whine parts your lips, and Remus, still watching, frowns. Sirius’s fingers brush across your oversensitive clit, and your whole body shudders violently.

Sirius chuckles, but Remus takes pity on you.

“Enough teasing her,” he says, putting down his mug.

“She’s still eager for it, the way she’s squeezing my fingers,” Sirius responds, pumping them inside you again.

Remus sighs. “Come here, lovely,” he says in a gentle command, opening his arms.

Sirius is quick to let you go, knowing it’s a command for him as much as it is for you. You melt into Remus’s embrace, his long arms enveloping you in his warmth.

Remus presses his lips to the crown of your head. “That true?” he murmurs. “Still want more after we’ve all fucked you?”

You hide your face in his chest, embarrassed. A low chuckle rumbles through him.

Remus guides you to the table to enjoy the delicious breakfast James made for everyone, and to sit you down on his cock, hard still from watching you take Sirius’s.

As you sit pretty on Remus’s length, your boys dote on you. Remus rubs any tension from your shoulders, peppering little kisses on the back of your neck as he does. Sirius whispers sweet nothings to you as he massages your scalp. The sensation is so delightful, you have to fight your eyes from rolling back so you can focus on the breakfast James feeds you. And the syrupy kisses he gives you between bites of pancake.

It’s pure bliss, and whether or not you’ve always been a morning person, you sure are now.

every reblog and comment means the world <3 i’d love to hear your thoughts

Sirius can hardly believe a pretty thing like you has gone so long without ever having a boyfriend. His brain short-circuited when you told him he’d be your first, and he felt his heart clench with a fierce need to take care of you. To be the best boyfriend you could ask for. The best first everything—and hopefully the last.

He’s been taking things slow with you, as hard as it’s been. He finds himself clenching his fists, fingernails biting his palms, to control the burning desire churning low in his gut. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’d let him, he’d have bent you over every surface in your flat by now. He’d have ruined you, put you back together, and ruined you all over again. And again, and again.

Sometimes, he does let himself get carried away. Kisses you until your lips are swollen. Whispers dirty things in your ear to pull sweet, nervous squeaks from your mouth and make your cheeks heat up a few degrees.

After a night out with you in a short little dress, teasing him without even realizing it, he can’t resist. He has you pressed against the wall in your room right now, hands roaming wherever he pleases, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. He nips at your earlobe.

“Do you ever get needy? Do you ever make yourself feel good when you’re all alone?” he whispers.

He doesn’t expect you to respond, but he gets a little nod from you that has all the blood in his brain rushing to his groin. He lifts his head so he can look in your eyes, his own gray like moonlight, his stare pinning you in place more than his hands ever could.

“Yeah? How?” he rasps.

You whisper the answer so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear it. But he does.

“You use your pillow?” Sirius asks, choking back a groan at the mental image that’s painted in his head. Vivid daydreams of you on your bed, a pillow between your thighs as you rock your hips into it, rutting your desperate cunt into the plush cushion.

He doesn’t have much volition over his knee, which slowly creeps between your legs, spreading your thighs for him. He aches to see you like that in person.

“How do you use your pillow, sweetheart?” His voice is hoarse, and the thought of whatever words could leave your mouth in response has his grip on your waist tightening, probably leaving bruises, your bunched-up dress the only cushion between you and his fingertips.

You stammer, your wide, innocent gaze darting nervously from his face to anywhere but. To have never been touched or spoken to like this before must make it all so overwhelming. He would do anything to ease those nerves.

Sirius pulls you away from the wall, a little closer to him, his head dipping to press sweet kisses to your temple and trailing down until his lips hover over your ear.

“Can you show me?” he asks, his voice a low whisper as he pushes you down on his thigh. Your shaky breaths match up as you come down on him. His heart pounds harder against his ribcage when he feels the heat of your body through the layers of clothes.

Your head tilts back to meet his eyes. Gentle and reassuring, they give you the courage to move.

He groans softly. You slowly rocking your hips against his jeans is a much more heavenly sight than anything his brain was able to concoct.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says, and your grip on his shoulders tightens, the movement of your hips getting a little more desperate.

Sirius moves his leg against you, pressing into you more. The whimper that tumbles from your mouth is the most beautiful noise he’s ever heard, and he wants to hear it again.

He takes control over your movements, guiding your hips with his hands, occasionally bouncing his leg to elicit a delicious gasp from your lips.

“So good,” he coos as your arms snake around the back of his neck, holding on for dear life. “This is what you do to your pillow when you’re alone? Alone and needy for a release?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out, your voice high-pitched with desperation, “But this—it feels better like this.”

The admission pulls a growl from his throat. “Yeah?” Sirius asks, his lips moving against your forehead. It takes all his willpower not to rip your clothes off and take you right then and there.

“It feels better with me helping you?” he asks, pushing you to move faster against him.

“Y-yeah,” your voice shakes, eyes screwing shut from the pleasure the friction brings.

His body aches for more, and with every sweet little sound you make, he loses more and more control. He needs to feel you, to touch you.

Sirius looks into your eyes, wanting to see all of the emotions in them as he asks, “Want me to make you feel even better, sweetheart?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and he gives his words a second to soak in before he continues.

“Will you let me touch you?” His voice is low and raspy with want. His fingertips ghost over your inner thigh. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

“I… okay,” you decide.

“Yeah?”

You nod, taking a deep breath to ease your nerves. “I trust you,” you murmur, and his heart skips a beat at your admission. The words hit somewhere deep because he loves being that for you—someone you can trust. And because no one else ever has you like this. The thought makes his pulse quicken.

Sirius keeps his eyes on your face, checking for any hint of discomfort, as his hand dips beneath the hem of your dress. He touches you softly over your panties. The cotton is damp, and he groans. His head tips forward to rest against yours.

Your breath comes out in quick pants as his hand dips beneath the fabric, his fingers running over your mound reverently. He hisses as your nails dig into the skin of his neck.

You whimper when he dips a finger between your folds, gently rubbing your clit. He doesn’t stay there for long, too eager. He teases your hole for a few seconds, allowing you time to brace yourself before he pushes his digit into you for the first time.

“Oh, Sirius,” you moan.

He slowly increases the pace, curling his finger until the only sound in the room is a symphony of your moans and lewd wet noises from where his finger pumps into you.

He feels you clenching around him, close. But he intends to draw this out, so he slows down. He kisses your cheek.

“That’s it. Let me take care of you.”

But you just had to pick up the extra hours. When you could’ve passed on the extra cash and found an alternative way to save up some money. Couldn’t you have skipped out on grocery shopping this week? Gotten by on cup noodles and anything edible you could swipe from work? You do have exceptionally tasty mozzarella sticks at Fennel Fields, and a slightly off-putting line cook who’d be willing to look the other way for you. Not that your boyfriend slash coworker—who has made it his mission to protect you from any creepy customer or sleazy staff members—would be too fond of that plan.

The rest of the staff at Fennel Fields couldn’t believe it when you gave Adrian a chance. “Him, really?” they all asked. Dorky, socially inept, thickheaded Adrian? The one who still lives with his mother?

Despite what they all might think, you wouldn’t change a thing about him. Adrian drew you in with his sparkling positivity and ability to make you laugh. Not to mention, with a face like that and a physique so solid, he’s pretty easy on the eyes too. But what really stands out above it all, is how special he makes you feel. Adrian doesn’t seem to like a lot of people—doesn’t even seem to care about them at all. But you? Somehow, you’ve become his exception. And not just that, you’ve become the single most important thing in his life. He’d move mountains if you asked him to. He’d paint the sky with a billion new stars if it would make you happy. He’d watch the world burn as long as he could keep you safe from the flames.

So yes, he might be a little goofy, and as awkward as he is blunt, but no one has ever loved you as fiercely as he has. And you love him too, with your whole heart.

If Adrian had it his way, he’d have had you home hours ago. He would have been your ride, with your shift originally set to end around the same time as his. When you told him that it wouldn’t be necessary anymore, he didn’t seem too happy about it.

You slid up next to him as he was bussing down a booth, his flexing biceps briefly drawing your eye as he scrubbed extra hard at some sticky mess left behind by the previous guest’s toddler. You tapped his shoulder twice, smiling sweetly as he dropped the rag to grant you his full attention.

“Hi, babe!” he said, bright and chipper as ever. That many hours into a shift, you didn’t know how he managed to stay so joyful.

“Heyyy,” you replied, stretching the word awkwardly as if to soften the news. As if that ever works, particularly on him of all people.

Adrian did manage to pick up on something, though, even if he wasn’t sure what. And it wasn’t because he read your tone or noticed the slight grimace on your face. But because he’s made it a point to memorize some of your quirks. An active effort on his part to understand you better, maybe even be a better boyfriend because of it.

He noticed that you were rocking back and forth on your heels. Which meant you were about to say something hard or awkward or unpleasant or serious—he hasn’t quite nailed down the specifics. But he knew it was something.

“What is it?” he asked, tilting his head.

“A couple of people, uh, called out tonight. So I picked up the closing shift.”

Adrian frowned. “But we were supposed to go to your apartment and fool around ‘cause your roommate won’t be home.”

A surprised squeak slipped past your lips, and you glanced around to make sure no one was listening.

“I told you that you could come over and watch something on Netflix!” you corrected sharply, your cheeks heating up. The relevance of your roommate’s presence was simply to say you wouldn’t be bothered if you watched TV in the living room.

Although… you weren’t not planning on, well, fooling around with him, as he put it.

“Yeah,” Adrian said with a shrug, as if you just said the same thing as him. “My good friend Chris told me when a girl says ‘watch Netflix’, she never means ‘watch Netflix’, she means fucking.”

“Adrian, what did I tell you about talking about sex at work?” you asked exasperatedly.

“That I shouldn’t do it,” he answered, seemingly proud that he remembered, but his pride was short-lived. His eyebrows shot up, and his lips curved into an O shape as he realized he had just broken that very rule.

You shook your head at him, equally fed up with his antics as you are enamored by how adorably dumb he can be sometimes.

“Anyway,” you stressed, trying to steer the conversation away from such a very personal topic. “I just wanted to let you know there’s been a change of plans. It’ll be late, but maybe we can hang out after I close.”

Adrian turned very stiff, and his signature grin was wiped off his face. “I can’t,” he deadpans, with no other explanation.

Oh. Right.

There was one thing that bothered you about Adrian—his secrets.

He couldn’t come over after your shift because he had the ever mysterious “stuff” to do later. Or did he have a “thing” planned? Maybe it was another undisclosed “errand” he needed to run. Whatever it was, it’s not something you got to know about. Last time you pressed, he bluntly explained that “it wouldn’t be a secret if I told you” with an amused lilt in his voice as if you just asked the silliest question. As if keeping secrets from your girlfriend was perfectly normal.

You decided to drop the topic altogether, or else you’d spend the rest of your now very long shift in a sour mood because of it.

“We’ll see each other tomorrow, or something, then. We’ll talk about it later,” you muttered, pressing your lips into a tight line as you tried to walk past him and go check on your tables.

“Wait,” he said, catching your wrist. “How are you getting home if you’re not leaving with me?” Adrian asked, but he continued rambling, not even giving you a chance to reply.

“It can get really dangerous around here, especially at night. It’s Friday, did you know that means the crime rate is higher than usual? In most places it’s Saturday, but in Evergreen it’s actually Friday. You’re not walking home, are you? It’d be really dangerous-”

“I remember, Adrian,” you finally cut in. He’s only told you the same thing a million times before. It’s sweet how protective he is—and maybe a little strange that he knows so much about local crime rates—but you’d like to think you could take care of yourself.

“So you have a ride home, right?” he asked, watching you closely and expectantly.

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “I do.”

It was a lie, but you were certain at the time that you could find one.

Unfortunately, Adrian took you at your word and began happily humming to himself as he continued wiping down that table, because you were wrong. You had asked every one of your coworkers and damn near every contact in your phone, but to no avail.

So, here you are. Working up the courage to head off into the night with Adrian’s words still ringing in your ears, reminding you how high the crime rate is on a Friday night like tonight.

You briefly consider calling your boyfriend, admitting to him with your tail between your legs that you lied, and asking him to come and get you. But, he’s busy with who knows what. And you don’t think you’re ready to find out if, when presented the choice, he’d choose you or the nondescript “thing” he always has to do.

With one final deep breath, you shake off your nerves, and you head out. Away from Fennel Fields and towards the direction of your apartment.

It’s not a terribly long walk, you think, trying to convince yourself that you’ll be fine. But every sound makes you jump. And every hoot from some faraway owl makes you think of Adrian, stirring up a weird sense of guilt for lying, and because he’d probably be so mad if he knew about this.

You try to stop thinking about Adrian. He’s made you all paranoid. Over nothing! You’re halfway to your apartment now, and you’re doing just fine, aren’t you?

But just as you finally begin to let your guard down and start to think Adrian has you worked up for nothing, you hear a low whistle a few feet behind you.

Turning your head and looking over your shoulder at the two burly men is a mistake. You watch as their lips curve into matching sinister smirks. The one with the scraggly beard puffs out a cloud of cigarette smoke as he nudges his friend—equally ugly and severely more bald—and the pair step away from the bar they just emerged from to follow you.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, picking up speed as the men call out to you, making lewd comments. Their words about your body and attire are crude and punctuated by loud, obnoxious laughter that’s only growing closer. You speed up, nearly into a jog, which only seems to amuse them more.

“C’mon, doll, where ya runnin’ off to?” one of them calls after you, his voice gravely from years of smoking.

“Come here, sweetheart, we just wanna talk to ya,” his counterpart adds.

“Fuck off!” you shout impulsively, trying to make yourself sound as intimidating as possible, but your voice wavers, which only serves to goad them on.

“Feisty one, eh?” one of them laughs, and the hair on the back of your neck stands at how close the voice sounds.

“Yeah, pretty little thing, too. Bet we could have some fun. What do you say, doll?” the man with the cigarette murmurs, close enough for the reek of smoke to hit your nose. Unshed tears sting your eyes as fear bubbles up in your stomach at the realization that they’re right behind you. You really wish you had listened to Adrian. You really wish he were here.

You’re about to break into a run, but Cigarette Breath’s rough fingers close around your wrist, yanking you towards him. The two men put their hands on you like they’re entitled to it, despite your shriek and sharp protests. You feel a hand squeeze your hip, another tugs at your hair.

But, as you’re winding up to put up a fight, to punch and claw your way out of this, you’re suddenly set free. The bald man has stumbled away from you, hunched over and clutching his jaw, moaning in pain. And the other?

Locked in a chokehold by none other than the masked crime fighter Vigilante.

“Don’t touch her, motherfucker!”

You gasp, stumbling back and almost tripping over the curb. Despite the sheer size of the man in his grasp, Vigilante easily overpowers him. A sharp kick knocks him to his knees with an awful snap. Another lands square in his face, scattering his blood and teeth across the pavement.

You clap a hand over your mouth. The logical side of your brain screams at you to run. Most people would be running for their lives in fear at the mere sight of violence like this. But with the ghost of the man’s unwanted touch still on your skin, you only feel your fear dissipate when he goes down.

Vigilante turns his head at the sharp snick of a switchblade opening. The other man holds it up defensively, and Vigilante waits. Bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he’s excited to see what the man does. The man lunges. Vigilante blocks and dodges, as if the moves are second nature. He grabs the arm with the knife, twists until something breaks, and the man lets out a strangled cry. Vigilante snatches the knife and drives it forward without hesitation, slamming the man against the brick wall that lines the sidewalk, driving the blade deeper.

The man gurgles, trying to speak as blood spills down his chin.

“What was that, Baldy? You want me to stop? Ohhh, so you do know what no means? Too late!” Vigilante says, twisting the knife before letting him slide to the ground into a heap.

“Oh fuck!” you cry out, finally realizing what you’re bearing witness to as you look into the man’s lifeless eyes. You turn around so that you don’t have to see any more of it.

Vigilante doesn’t seem to notice your panic, humming as he removes the blade from the man’s body and wipes it clean on the leg of his suit before pocketing it. Switchblades are illegal in this state after all! It’s imperative that he keep it from falling into the wrong hands.

“Hey-” Vigilante starts, approaching you, but a groan from the bearded man catches his attention as he makes a pathetic attempt at crawling away. Vigilante pulls out a knife of his own, throwing it with perfect precision to put an end to any further interruptions. The sound of the blade piercing flesh makes you flinch.

“Hey,” he tries again, placing a gloved hand on your shoulder.

You jump what feels like several feet into the air, scrambling to put some distance between you and him.

“What the fuck. They- they’re…” You run your hands down your face, holding them in front of your mouth as you grapple with what just happened, shaking your head.

Vigilante tilts his head, perplexed by your reaction. “Wait, why are you still freaking out? They’re gone?” he asks, as if he truly doesn’t understand why killing someone—someone bad—in cold blood would stir this kind of reaction.

“Gone?” you repeat, gaping at his nonchalance towards the brutal deed. “You killed them!”

Vigilante scoffs, crossing his arms like a scolding parent. “Well, if you didn’t want to see murder, maybe you shouldn’t have been walking around by yourself on a Friday night.”

You stare at him—really looking at him for the first time. Vigilante is infamous in this town, the star of every breaking story on the news each night, but you’ve never seen him in person before. Let alone this close. You can just barely make out a pair of eyes scowling at you behind his red visor.

“What?!” you finally shout. Is this guy serious?

“I’m just saying! It’s dangerous, hasn’t anyone ever told you that!” he responds in clipped syllables dripping with barely restrained irritation.

Your fingers press at your temples, trying to stave off the headache building from this unbelievable conversation and scarring event. “Why are you mad at me?!” you ask, flabbergasted. Did he forget that you’re the victim here?!

“I’m not mad!” he shouts, poorly concealed anger evident in his tone, balling his hands into fists as his sides like only someone who’s mad would do. “I’m just sure there are people out there who care about your safety who wouldn’t want you walking around by yourself at night!” He points at you accusingly, “Maybe they’ve told you that before. Maybe you should’ve thought about them before you came out here!”

Something about his voice makes you freeze. You squint at the masked man, trying to get a better look at the sliver of his face that's only partially obscured by his visor. That familiar cadence, his petulant stance, the stubborn refusal to admit that he’s angry when it’s so obvious that he is. He’s acting a lot like…

“Adrian?” you ask, your voice trembling with the weight of the accusation.

Vigilante stiffens, standing tall like every muscle in his body was just strung taut at the sound of that name.

“Who-? Who’s Adrian? I don’t know any Adrian, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, because that would jeopardize my secret identity,” he rambles, and every word only convinces you of it more.

“I think I’d recognize my own boyfriend’s voice, Adrian Chase!” you raise your voice.

“Shhh! Fuck—stop! Don’t say that so loudly!” he pleads, stepping towards you with his palms raised in front of him, urging you to stop.

You pace back and forth, each breath labored, pressing your palm to your forehead as you try to keep yourself from absolutely losing it.

“I don’t understand why you’re still freaking out! Okay, yes, I know I’ve been lying, and I feel really bad about that, but-”

You come to an abrupt stop. “It’s not about that, Ad—Fuck. You kill people!”

You can’t believe the words that are coming out of your mouth. Or how easily they do. This situation has stress pressing down on your chest, mingling with your shock and a spark of anger. But your fear? Conspicuously absent.

Why aren’t you afraid?

“Bad people!” he defends himself.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, pacing again as you grapple with the fact that your boyfriend’s moral compass is seriously fucked.

A petulant, grumbly little sound rumbles from Adrian’s chest because he thought you’d be more cool about this if you ever found out.

“Last week, when I was on the news for busting that drug ring and killing all those guys, you said the world was probably better off without them, though,” he says, trying to reason that you’re more okay with this than you’re letting on.

“Yes, but I- fuck, that wasn’t real. I don’t know if I meant it!” you shout, heart hammering. “It was some story on the fucking television, so far removed from my reality.”

“It actually didn’t happen that far from your apartment,” he can’t help but correct, not quite grasping that you’re not talking about literal distance. His voice softens, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. You don’t really live in the best area. Have you considered moving?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you shout.

“Okay! We’ll talk about it later,” he mutters in the same snappy way he might speak during any ordinary argument.

“Oh my god,” you whine, burying your face in your hands, wondering how you could possibly process this life-altering revelation while your boyfriend acts like this argument is as trivial as whose turn it is to wash the dishes (answer: always Adrian’s).

Adrian frowns. Seeing you upset makes his stomach twist. It pulls at his heartstrings like nothing else ever could. Literally.

A moment later, his gloved hands wrap around your wrists, and you don’t flinch or pull away this time. Even if you are freaked out, you’re still not afraid. Because it’s not just the brutal Vigilante standing before you. It’s Adrian. Your Adrian. And you’ve always felt safe with him.

You suck in a breath when that’s who you see after you let him tug your hands away from your face. Not a dangerous man hidden behind a black and teal mask, but the face you’ve fallen in love with, with his mask off and wedged between his arm and his body.

“Adrian,” you murmur, the sound almost a helpless whimper, as your gaze bounces back and forth between his familiar green irises.

“They were going to hurt you,” he says quietly, features twisted in grief, the mere thought of harm coming your way hitting him deeply.

You start to turn your head, to look at the culprits, but his fingers catch your chin before you can look. The last thing you need to see is the broken, bloodied mess he left those men in.

“Hey, don’t look at that,” he says in a surprisingly gentle, surprisingly calm voice. “I’m sorry you had to see it, but I would do it again. They were bad men. They’ve probably hurt other people before. But I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

You swallow hard, letting Adrian’s words sink in. If you’re honest with yourself, maybe you do believe the world is a better place without men like that.

And Adrian? Well, he just wanted to protect you, didn’t he? It’s sort of like last week when Adrian scooped up a little spider and carefully released it outside because you were scared of it. Except that instead of the spider, it was two men who would have done a lot more than just scare you. And for that, maybe they did deserve the higher punishment he dealt them.

The line between the masked crime fighter on the news and your sweet, loving boyfriend starts to blur. Leaving you with one man who’s fiercely protective and driven by justice. And is that really such a bad thing to be?

You step a little closer, and he tentatively slides his fingers from your chin to your cheek, cupping your face. You lean into his touch.

You’re not really sure yet how you feel about your boyfriend being Vigilante and running around, murdering criminals. But in this world, there are certainly worse things to be.

You think about the men he killed tonight. The men he saved you from. That icy feeling of fear finally creeps back in, prickling up your arms and settling in your chest over your pounding heart. It’s not what Adrian did that scares you, but rather what could have happened if he didn’t.

You might even consider yourself grateful that he was here to save you.

Slowly, you snake your arms around his middle, inching forward until you’re close enough to tuck your head under his chin.

Adrian lets out a big sigh of relief, wrapping the arm that isn’t holding his mask around you, too.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently, wondering two things. Whether you sustained any physical injuries before he got to you (he might have to figure out how to kill those guys a second time if you did). And if you’re going to accept this part of him. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you don’t.

“Yeah,” you exhale, and then so does he once he realizes he was holding his breath. “It’ll all be okay,” you say, more a reassurance to yourself than anything else. “Can you take me home?” you murmur into the hard shell of his suit, wishing it wasn’t in the way. All you want now is to climb into bed with him, curl into his side, and find comfort in his warm skin pressed against yours—a closeness he allows only with you.

Adrian’s usual cheeriness is already bubbling to the surface. “Yeah,” he says happily, more than ready to get you off the streets as he untangles your bodies from each other.

He puts his mask back on, hiding his identity again before leading you away with a firm hand pressed to your back.

He leaves the bodies there. This street is poorly lit and lacks surveillance. This won’t come back to him, except maybe as idle speculation. More importantly, it won’t be traced to you either.

A silence settles between you as you walk, and in true Adrian fashion, he can’t resist breaking it.

“Can we circle back to you moving into a safer neighborhood?”

“Sirius,” you whimper softly, desperately rocking your hips, seeking more friction to drive you to your impending orgasm.

You’re right on the edge of release when your aforementioned roommate suddenly barges into your bedroom, completely unannounced. You didn’t even know he was home.

You yelp, fingers fumbling to switch off the vibrator between your legs, dropping it onto the mattress with a small thump.

Heat blooms in your cheeks as you scramble into an upright position, thankful for the thin sheet already draped over your bare legs, which you tug closer, hugging it to your chest with one hand and adjusting your bunched-up t-shirt with the other.

“Have you seen my…”

The words die in Sirius’s throat as he comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of your room, eyes scanning over your frame. He takes in your disheveled appearance. Your flushed cheeks, forehead slicked with sweat, and the rapid rise and fall of your chest all pique his interest.

“Sirius!” you shriek, fist tightening its grip on the sheet. “Don’t you knock?! I- I locked the door?!”

“I never knock and no you didn’t—what were you doing?” he asks, tracing the outline of your legs with his eyes as the sheet settles, molding perfectly to your body.

“Nothing,” you answer far too quickly, bending your knees. Tenting the fabric to better conceal what’s underneath. “Sleeping,” you utter idiotically, your hasty backpedaling only incriminating you further.

Sirius raises his eyebrows, shoulders squared, his smoldering gaze daring you to try another flimsy excuse.

“Can- can you just leave?” you sputter, caught between exasperation and embarrassment.

Sirius’s tongue swipes over his lips, thinking.

“No,” he answers firmly, slowly approaching you. You swallow thickly as his fingertips brush over your knee, gliding over the sheet as his touch crawls up your thigh. He stands at the side of your bed, towering over you, and you shrink into your plush pillows.

“What were you doing?” he repeats in a low voice edged with authority. Commanding an answer from you.

Your tongue feels dry as you open your mouth to answer, your lips forming the shape of syllables that are never heard.

“Are you wearing anything under there?” he teases, his lips curling into a devilish smirk.

“Sirius!” you squawk, scandalized by the whole situation as he sits down next to you. Your heart hammers against your chest, and your stomach twists—whether from mortification or the heat deep in your gut, you’re not sure.

Sirius chuckles darkly at your reaction. “Is that a no?” he asks, hooking a finger under the sheet.

You say his name again in a whine, and he honestly can’t tell if you’re begging him to stop or continue. If he were to ask, you’re not sure if you’d know the answer either. Your embarrassment at being caught like this makes you want to shut him out and look for a new place to live, but you can’t deny that you’re pulsing with arousal at the thought of him touching you.

He clicks his tongue. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, caressing your face with his knuckles, then hooking a finger under your chin. Tilting your head up. “Getting off all alone, no one to help you.”

A small squeak sounds from your throat, and Sirius sees the desire swimming in your eyes. He caresses the underside of your jaw, his grey eyes piercing into yours, and you find yourself getting lost in them.

The thin sheet is suddenly ripped from your hands, off your body, exposing your bare lower half and the vibrator waiting between your thighs.

“Sirius!” you shriek, clamping your legs shut, heart pounding against your chest.

Sirius hums in wonder as he drinks in the sight. “It’s okay, pretty,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna take care of you. Do you want that?” he asks, his free hand curling over your knee.

You gulp. Then, you start to nod. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question.

“Yes, please,” you answer softly.

He smirks. “Good girl,” he hums, slowly pulling your legs apart again, exposing your glistening cunt to his hungry eyes. “Even more beautiful than I imagined,” he says in a husky voice.

His eyes lock on the little pink vibrator, still covered in your juices.

“Cute,” he muses, picking it up. You make a small, whiny noise as he slowly runs it up and down your folds.

“Where were you using this, hm? Here?” he asks, teasing your hole with the vibrator, pressing it just barely inside. He slowly drags it up to your clit, rubbing small circles there with the tip of the toy. “Or here?”

“Th-there,” you confirm, hips twitching as he teases you.

Without warning, he presses the button and the vibrator comes alive. You don’t manage to bite back the loud moan that spills from your mouth. He clicks the button again and again, testing for different settings. There are three, and he settles on the highest, the sudden intensity making you writhe against your bed.

“Powerful little thing,” he says, amused, as he watches you fall apart. “Feel good? Look at you, a mess already. You were already close when I came in, hm?”

“Y-yes,” you moan. “Oh, please, I’m… Siri!” you cry out as he slides two of his fingers into your needy cunt, lazily pumping them in and out.

You cum with a sharp cry of his name, your cunt clenching around his fingers, holding them deep inside you where he massages your gummy walls with the rough pads of his fingers. He continues his ministrations with the vibrator, riding you through your orgasm. And… past it.

You whimper, eyebrows pinching together in confusion as you tap his arm repeatedly, but he keeps the toy firmly pressed against your swollen clit. He generously switches to the lowest intensity, though. For your first time together, he wants to be gentle. Somewhat.

“That was too quick, pretty. Gotta give me another one.”

James has one hand splayed across your thigh, keeping your legs spread wide open. With the other, he holds his phone, camera angled between your legs as he drags his thick cock in and out of you. He clicks on the screen to focus on the creamy ring that’s formed at the base of him.

His eyes dart between the image on his phone and the real thing constantly. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been at it, but his phone should surely be hot to the touch by now.

Something about capturing the deed on camera makes James insatiable—it turns him on like nothing else. The videos don’t end up anywhere but his hidden folder, for his and your eyes only. Rewatching the videos always makes for a good time, of course. They’re there anytime he’s apart from you, or when he can get you to sit between his legs, his free hand between your thighs, as you watch together. But it’s mostly the act of recording it that he gets a thrill from. Not to mention, he thinks that you’re the prettiest thing his camera has ever captured.

“You look so good, baby. Hold on—”

He momentarily puts the phone down on your stomach, and sure enough, it’s overheating. His plastic case is hot enough to make you wince.

James grabs a pillow from the top of the bed, wedging it under your hips before he picks the phone up again. He presses his free hand against your abdomen, thumb stretching down to play with your clit as he buries his dick back inside of you.

You let out a sharp cry of pleasure at the new angle, his dick hitting that sweet, spongy patch with every thrust. James moans too. Loudly. Never shy about being vocal for you, especially when the camera is out.

“Fuck, baby, I can feel myself,” he groans. He moves his hand out of the way, and he can see it now, too.

With every thrust, the outline of his cock pokes out from your tummy. It encourages him to piston his hips harder against yours, capturing the obvious bulge with the camera each time he sinks in. He holds his arm a little higher, angling the camera so that he gets your tits bouncing with every thrust in the frame.

You squeal every time, and it almost becomes too much, combined with his thumb still rubbing tight circles against your clit.

“James!” you scream when he pulls all the way out, only to slam back into you.

“Atta girl, show the camera how pretty you look when you cum,” he says, pressing harder with his thumb.

It’s beautiful, James thinks, when you arch your back, fists desperately closing around the sheet underneath you as you cum on his cock. The way you squeeze him nearly drives him over the edge, but he holds off to work you through it.

He pulls out when your muscles stop spasming, just in time to shoot his sticky seed all over your stomach and tits, pumping himself and moaning your name as he cums.

James’s hand leaves his cock to cup one of your tits, tweaking at your nipple and smearing some cum around with his thumb. You make eye contact with him, eyelashes fluttering and lips parted as you pant. He groans at how fucked out and perfect you look.

He lifts his hand higher, cupping your jaw and tugging gently at your lip with his sticky thumb, sliding it into your warm mouth for you to suck clean. He lifts the camera just enough to capture your pretty lips working on his finger.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. A vision,” James sighs dreamily, his cock already hard for you again.

He slowly moves his hips, dragging the head of his cock through your folds until it hooks on your aching hole.

“One more f’me, baby, yeah?”

The room is quiet. The only sounds to hit your ears are the scratch of quills and your own beating heart. The students hurriedly scribble their final words on their parchments as the minutes tick by, and the exam period nears its end. You’re sitting in the back of the classroom. Supposedly, your job as the teaching assistant is to watch them. To make sure no one’s cheating. But the only thing you seem to have your eyes on is the professor.

You’ve been Professor Lupin’s teaching assistant for three months, and you’ve been secretly seeing him for two. The first agonizing month was full of shameless flirting and wandering eyes from you, and an adamance to keep things professional from him. You wouldn’t say you wore him down in the end, more so that he could no longer resist.

Remus tries not to look at you, even though he can feel the heat of your gaze from across the room. He has to look up from his grading periodically, though, to check on the class, and he can’t resist the pull of your bedroom eyes. You smirk when his brown eyes meet yours and shoot him a little wink.

Finally, the hour is up, and Remus stands from his chair.

“Time is up. Please, put down your quills,” Remus announces, and tells the class you’ll be around to collect their exams as you stand from your own chair.

Some students listen and drop their quills with a sigh. Others start writing even faster. Out of the kindness of your heart, you make your way around the room slowly as Remus discusses plans for next week.

“A quick reminder before you go. There will be no class on Monday, as I will be away on business. And don’t forget to record your observations of Sunday night’s blood moon. It won’t stay in the sky long—just about an hour or so. So don’t miss your chance! You’ll need your observations for our discussion on some of the dark rituals that are said to draw energy from its light. That’s all for today.”

You’ve collected all of the exams by the time he’s finished. As the students gather their things, you round his desk and hand over the stack of parchments. His warm hand brushes yours as he takes it, and your breath hitches. Remus shoots you a curious look.

Dark rituals have historically been practiced under its light due to the belief that the full moon’s powers will be enhanced. With the blood moon two days away, you’re already discovering some of those enhancements firsthand, not that you know it. Namely, Remus is exuding far more of those intoxicating pre-moon pheromones than usual. But all you know is that you suddenly feel very warm all over, and Remus suddenly looks irresistible.

Although you don’t know every biomagical detail about it, you are very much aware of his condition. You’ve known since last year, when you were just another student in his class. One clever enough to figure out why he missed a class every month (and lovely enough to steal his heart a year later).

When the last student finally files out of the classroom, you spin on your heels and pull him in by his brown tie. The sudden kiss catches him off guard, but he easily melts into it. He walks you a step back, pressing you against his desk as his large hands find your waist.

“What was that for, darling?” he asks once he pulls away. His thumbs rub little circles against your hip bones.

“Remus,” is all you say, and he knows what that tone means.

He tugs you by the hips, trying to guide you towards the stairs, which lead to his office. But you don’t budge. Instead, you repeat his name in that needy tone.

“Darling…” he says in a low, but cautious, voice.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All throughout class,” you tell him, pulling him just a little closer, your hand still looped in his tie.

“Is that right?” he muses.

“Uh-huh.” Your other hand closes over his bicep. His tweed jacket is rough against your palm as you run your hand up and down his arm. “Could barely stand it. Sitting there. So far from you.”

“And what was it about me that you were thinking about?”

“How badly I wanted you,” you answer without hesitation, dropping your voice to a whisper. Remus has that glint in his eye that tells you that you’re pushing all the right buttons, so you keep pushing. “I was imagining what it’d be like to have you. Right here, on the desk.” You drop his tie to run a tantalizing finger along the edge of the wooden desk.

A low growl rumbles in Remus’s chest. He can’t believe how easily a single, foolish idea can undo him. The thought of taking you in his unlocked classroom in the middle of the day is absurd, impossible—but it lingers, because it came from you. Maybe that’s all it takes. And maybe giving way to your reckless nature makes him feel young again, despite the fifteen years he has on you.

It’s not just you, though. And he should know that. He’s well aware of the effects the moon has on him as it draws closer. He also knows that you haven’t quite grasped that yet—you truly don’t know how dangerous a game it is that you’re playing.

“Anyone could walk in,” he says, pretending to still have an ounce of restraint.

“I don’t care,” you say. “Please, Professor?”

That did it.

With a harsh tug, Remus spins you around. One large hand wraps around your wrists, pinning them behind your back, while the other catches the back of your neck, forcing you down against the hardwood. The desk creaks under you, and you gasp sharply. You swallow hard, feeling the wood grain imprint your cheek as he holds you firmly in place.

Wetness pools between your legs as you get what you want, and more. Remus isn’t usually so rough, and only now are you starting to put together that the moon may have something to do with it as your eye catches the write-up for next week’s essay on blood moon rituals on the desk next to you.

Remus gives your wrists a sharp squeeze—a silent command to keep them right there as he lets them go. You don’t dare disobey.

With his hand freed, he flips up your skirt, revealing your ass and the lacy little panties that barely conceal you. He makes a low, approving sound as he kicks your legs apart. “So pretty. And so good for me,” he says, rubbing circles over the curve of your ass. Remus raises his hand and brings it down on you hard, the resounding smack echoing through the classroom with your yelp. “Naughty too. Wanting me to take you in here. Daydreaming about it in a room full of your peers.”

He delivers another sharp smack to the same spot.

“Remus!” you complain, lip quivering as you look back at him.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it. I can smell you,” he snarls. He runs his fingers over your panties, feeling the wetness that he already knew would be there, and a pitiful little whimper slips past your lips.

Remus raises his hand again, your yelps cross with moans each time his palm comes down on you. When he’s finally satisfied with the pretty hand print on your ass, he touches you over your panties again, rubbing little circles over your most sensitive spot.

A moan catches in your throat. Your hips jerk, chasing his touch as he takes it away. “P-please. I need you,” you beg in a trembling voice.

“Do you, hm?”

“Yes! Please?”

A beat passes. You hear him fiddle with his belt, and the sound of clothing hitting the floor. Then, your panties are ripped clean off your body. Your gasp is cut short when a guttural noise rips through your chest as he spears you with his cock, plunging every inch he can fit into your drenched hole.

He gives you no time to adjust before he fucking into you hard, driving you into the desk with every thrust. It shakes beneath you, and the edge of the wood bullies bruises into your skin.

You don’t even think about muffling the noises that fall from your lips as he fucks you, too lost in the sensation. Remus folds his body over yours, wrapping an arm around you so that he can press his palm to your mouth, not wanting to risk the chance of someone hearing you and coming to investigate.

Your body practically buzzes in pleasure. You’re so surrounded by him, with his body so firmly pressed against yours, and his scent filling your lungs. It’s intoxicating.

With every thrust, Remus pulls all the way out, just to slam his cock back inside of you. Reaching so deep that the head of his cock kisses your cervix with every thrust.

His other hand dips between your legs, and his fingers find that sensitive little bundle of nerves. You cry out into his palm as your walls flutter around him, your orgasm drawing near.

You can tell he’s close too, hearing it in the way he pants in your ear. You try to speak, and he’s merciful enough to move his hand to allow you to.

“Please,” you whine. “I’m so close, please.”

“Come for me,” he growls into your ear, and as if on command, your climax tears through you. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes at the sheer force of it as a loud, uninhibited string of moans falls from your lips.

“That’s it, darling,” Remus croons, fucking you through it, chasing his own release. With one final snap of his hips, he finishes deep inside of you, coating your walls with his warm cum.

You lose track of how many minutes you stay like that, leaning against his desk with his cock still buried inside your cunt as you both catch your breath. When he does pull out, he keeps a hand pressed against your lower back, keeping you there so he can watch his release drip from your used hole, slowly spilling onto your plush thighs.

Satisfied, he helps you stand on your shaky legs, collecting you into his arms. He tells you how lovely you are, smoothing a hand over the back of your head.

He slowly guides you up to his office, to the leather sofa inside, already planning round two, this time behind a locked door.

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