#��which will simultaneously distract him from you; stop him from asking further questions; AND you can be numb”

[enjoytheglow]

Since Mae's gonna say it a lot, y'all who haven't seen Reefer Madness need to hear the way she says "Just fell, that's all!"

@emprean @legbite @crisisbabe @nothingtrivial @trailnapped @themeekwillinherit @vihilum

Edit: not sure why only some of the tags are working but anyway

[dorcas4meadowes]

Love on a high - Luke Castellan

Pairing: Luke Castellan x fem!Reader

Warning: weed and kisses

Summary: smoking alone when an un requited love (you���re also oblivious ml) joins you

W/c: 1.5k

Master list

∘✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧∘✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧∘✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

You were never fond of the high, but It was the quiet that you craved.

The serenity you yearned for at the end of a blunt rolled by a Demeter kid who owed you a favour. You were thankful to the small match box container – which held a few joints – it kept you at ease when you brother was at prominent distress or when you best friend was blissfully oblivious to your every advance to flaunt your affection towards him.

Your eyes fell shut as you took a long drag, holding the smoke in your chest until you could feel the soft buzz drift to your head, making everything appear blurred and sharp simultaneously.

You surveyed the water under your feet, each melt of the waves making your eyes follow new curvatures that were being generated.

The fish and the plants contently dancing to the rhythm of the tides pull.

You did not notice when the weed created a dim haze around you, but when the wind proceeded to whisper and the moon mumbled back, you became numb in its presence and within a few moments you were completely and utterly stoned.

"You shouldn't be out here".

You shouldn't be with me while I'm so amiable.

His voice was a mere breath against your skin. His tone lethargic in contrast to the melody which mused from your headphones. You were unaware of truth that his voice brought you, but when your gaze dimly caught his and you smiled.

"I doubt you should be lecturing me, you are out here too Luke". Your voice was soft, it routinely was with him.

"I have duties".

"And I have a recreational hobby".

He paused for a moment. "Which requires you to be outside this late?" he asked, his eyes lingering on your stained fingers.

"I enjoy the placidity", you quietly said, bringing the joint up to your lips to further dull your surroundings.

"I thought you stopped?"

"I tried". You were ashamed of your habit, mainly because Luke didn't indulge in it.

"Let me then". The enthusiasm in his tone confused you, your eyes following his every move as he perched close beside you, his prying fingers nearing yours. He had never once expressed his want for the flower, he were not interested in your soother, so his question caught you by surprise.

"Luke" you muttered, momentarily  forgetting his question.

"Yes".

"Oh Luke".

Your leer on him softened as you admired him, his features becoming a blur of endearment and simplicity. You had always known he was handsome, but in the dim shading of the moon and rippled reflections from the dark water you couldn't help, but study him, concentrate every lasting thought on him.

Your squinted a little, light playing through your lids as you appreciated the way your surroundings painted him, encapsulating him into nothing that could be defined other than pure charm.

He thawed against the blue around him gently, his eyes searching for something you could not quite answer, because all you were fascinated by was the pull of his brow, the line of his jaw and the way he adjusted against your indigo so tranquilly.

You were so intent on smoothing the ridge above his lip that when his hand brushed against your you startled, before sympathising to his original demand, passing the blunt to him. You observed him tug the joint towards his lips and almost instantly convulse as swiftly as his inhale were. 

A hum left you throat, "it takes time Luke, most good things do".

"How long did it take you?".

"Demeter's flowerings are always more - potent than usual and contributing a dejected childhood to the process and a prior tolerance, a few months".

He placed the joint in the small gap between you then spoke, "so how long till I start seeing leprechaun?"

"You have to hold your stuff, before anything happens", you said, distracted by chatter.

"And then after that?"

"It sort of just happens, like the moments before you fall aslee-", before you could continue your sentence you became preoccupied by a lull from the sky.

 "Hear the stars Luke?".

"Should i?" he asked, his voice filled with amusement, "what are they saying?”

You sat in a dropped silence, attempting to decipher their whispers, too conspicuous for you to repeat.

Your fates are spiralling Y/n, like a spider's web, too delicate to tear apart, one hushed.

Child of the sea, live up to your lineage, find the tide in his storm, another prodded.

We know how you feel, you feel too deeply to keep it to yourself, you're being selfish, tell him.

Further mutters echoed in your ears, sending thoughts through your stoned mind. You closed your eyes for privacy, but even then you could see him, you could trace his every fibre with your memory let alone, every contemplation consisting of him.

"They are being stupid" you finally replied, turning your head away from constellations.

"How so?" he questioned.

"They are saying - things".

"Can I know?"

You smiled and shook your head, "you can listen". You took the blunt between your fingers and relit the ends with a light.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, not dismissing your sudden notion.

"Can I show you?" you queried, the high in your body blinding you from reality.

When he tried to reply his voice caught in his throat, but three words escaped, three words which solidified you next move.

"I trust you".

You took a drag of the blunt and allowed the smoke to linger behind your closed mouth, attempting to retain it from traveling down your throat. He watched you every so intently, pondering your next move as you pressed your fingers into his jaw turning his face, so he had no other option than to meet your intrigued gaze.

Then you leant closer - nearer than you ever consciously allowed yourself to - his reflexes shattering as he too drifted closer to your warmth allowing your lips to brush against his ever so slightly as your diffused the bitter smoke into his mouth. You wouldn't have noticed the refined press if you weren't so vigilant, so when you when the smoke dispersed, you were unaware of what to do? Where to go? You couldn't ponder your decisions a mere few centimetres away from Luke's face, so you spoke.

"Better?"

He responded instantly, "do you trust me?", his words swift.

"What – I always what's the-".

You could not finish your sentence before a soft kiss was pressed to your lips, everything changing in a matter of moments. The sour tastes of weed stirred between both your parted mouths - which you invited pleasantly - allowing his hands to kneed the soft skin of you hip as yours found his curls.

Any form of life coming to a pause in declaration of this action.

His lips were as soft as they appeared, so when you separated you couldn't help but drag your thumb across his them, a small laugh falling from your mouth. You took a short breath and blinked, watching him reach out heedlessly to discover your hands - which he clasped in his own - bringing them upwards to brush his lips over your knuckles.

You allowed him to be close with no aversions - bathing in his presence - dazed a little at your distance since he had never made an effort to prove his fondness to you, it all felt surreal.

"I can hear the stars" he stated.

"Oh really?" you questioned, planting a mindless kiss to his lips.

"Mhm, they're saying you should meet me by the woods tomorrow at midnight".

"Hm, mine are saying we should take this back to your cabin".

"As much as I would love to do so, I would rather remember whatever would happen and besides the new kids sleep like a new borns". You rolled your eyes, "come on, let me walk you back to your cabin".

You accepted his help and stood, and knocked your blunt and lighter into the water -whispering a few words of flattery to which the tide would keep your belongings safe – and out of Percy's reach – placing a reassuring kiss onto Luke's cheek before lacing your fingers together once against to walk back to the warm sheets of your bed.

To an impercipient eye you were the epitome of adolescent affection, but amongst the brawny vegetation – across from where you sat - lay an observant spectator, one who often doted of Luke and yours growing devotion to one another and watched with poise, waiting for the inevitable misfortune.

"In the realm of profound sentiment, the pinnacle of love is its culmination to embrace tragedy".

Aphrodite uttered these words to her unbothered accomplice who sat at her side simply because the sun was far from its obligation to rise.

"Perhaps he may choose her" Apollo spoke, toying with his bow.                                           

"A boy cannot forsake a prophecy; the world will burn for her or it will blaze, because of her. Kronos has already whispered into the son of Hermes' ear, it is unescapable- his fate - but she, her's is undedicated".

"So you will watch their eventual decline?" Apollo asked.

"With decided scrutiny, where ever she proceeds allow her muse to inspire her steps".

"You're just glad amongst the uprising there's something cute to follow".

"Indeed and i will grant her every step with calamity".

∘✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧∘✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧∘✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Thanks for reading cuties <33

(In a Coriolanus and Luke chokehold rn)

[ipegchangbin]

— not jisung’s, but yours

sub!jisung x dom!reader | 2.7k words

🏷️ cnc to dubcon. boypussy!jisung. smut. some fluff. porn, no plot. petnames “baby” and “mommy,” vibrators, squirting, dacryphilia, overstimulation, pain play, casual to intense sex, pretty boypussy. 📝 this is for @meivida, my fellow boypussy enjoyer! full and explicit version of header art is available on twitter. mwa mwa enjoy it mei ;))

18+ only. minors do not interact.

there are two things that you need to use and can’t simply let go to waste: your lonely little vibrator and your boyfriend’s pretty cunt.

it’s a boring afternoon and you think of which one to use first.

the longer you stare at jisung, whose legs are daintily crossed over the other as he sits beside you on the couch, you think harder and harder about how cute he looks.

he looks comically small against the wide frame of the couch, huddled in a corner, fiddling with his phone.

your bullet vibrator is in the drawer next to him. you figure that it’s best to play with what’s in front of you first, that the device can wait for you later.

it would be so fun to play with his pussy, right then and there, no pressure. so, that’s what you suggest, letting the words roll off your tongue with a cadence of nonchalance that catches jisung off guard.

“what?!” jisung asks with wide eyes, shocked beyond belief. “you want to what?”

you simply nod. “you can just stay on your phone if you’re busy, no need to moan or anything. i just want to touch it. may i?”

an audible gulp leaves jisung and he looks extra cute this way: blushing, unsure, cheeks puffed up like a squirrel in front of headlights.

you wait patiently for the response and that’s when your boyfriend notices a glint in your eyes. it’s sharp and intimidating compared to your relaxed body and neutral tone. he’s not shy of his pussy, you two have fucked many times before, but he’s extra shy of you now.

all you’ll do is touch his pussy here and there. lick it and tease it. he doesn’t have to respond. it’s nothing sexually serious.

“fine,” jisung mutters, but you can hear the slight curiosity in it.

a wide grin graces your face and it’s simultaneously the prettiest and hottest thing jisung has ever seen. it isn’t long before you inch forward, holding his milky smooth legs apart by his knees.

the simple action already makes jisung’s heart race. he’s free to react, free to not react, do anything while his pretty partner goes to town with his pussy. fortunately for him, his partner is you, but unfortunately for his cunt, it quivers easily at the prospect of being touched by you.

when your fingers grace his pretty panties with the most casual touch, he instinctively clenches, allowing his naturally wet cunt to coat itself more.

jisung shuts his eyes for a second before refocusing on his phone as a distraction — even if your delicate touch distracts him.

you push the body of his underwear to the side, revealing the sight you’ve been craving to see: his cunt is glistening, days fresh from a shave, clit peeking slightly out of his outer skin as if it’d been shy yet stimulated enough.

jisung seems to sink further into the sofa. you have to giggle at how adorable your boyfriend is.

you lean down to kiss his clit lightly, making him wiggle in his seat at the action. he’s still typing away at a document on his phone, no noise escaping his pursed lips, but he’s blushing like crazy and his legs habitually buckle inwards at the knees.

it doesn’t stop you from planting featherlight pecks on his pussy. his clit protrudes more and more, stiffening slightly from the stimulation, while his hole clenches to keep his wetness in.

you pull your face away and jisung looks down on you curiously.

he looks as if he’s about to ask a question and you can hear it in his small voice all before it turns into a yelp — you pulled away to pull his panties down, hooking your fingers around the fabric and yanking it downwards in a swift motion that shocks him.

“sorry ji,” you neutrally say as your cheek leans on his inner thigh, admiring his completely bare pussy. your finger finds its way running up and down his folds, feeling his pretty plump skin quivering under your light touch. you continue petting it at a pace that you don’t bother to keep up with. after all, you just want to touch it.

there’s nothing too sexual about this until one of your fingers is inside him and jisung moans.

it’s sudden yet it immediately puts your boyfriend into that familiar inescapable trance. you stretch him open ever so slightly that the touch leaves him in an unbreakable spell of just nothing but neediness — yet it’s just not enough. he knows that you didn’t have that much intent behind your actions initially but he can’t help it. he loses himself and moans loudly, lolling his head back and abandoning his phone at the side of the couch.

“b-baby, please, i’m so sensitive,” he pants, “so good…”

you kiss his inner thigh while admiring his fascinating burst of sensitivity. “i’m not doing anything though.”

“y-your finger’s inside, baby…you said you’d just touch.”

“can’t i touch you inside too?” you look up at him as you respond, and that’s when something dark hits you.

the only other sight that you find as pretty as his cunt is his blissed-out face, his slightly toned tummy and chest rising and falling from breathing heavily. he’s writhing slightly, hands settling on covering his face. his legs want to buckle in but he has to stop since you’re in between them, and you think it’s cute.

it’s adorable and it also touches something deep down in your dark mind. the intimidating glint in your eyes from earlier turns into a sinister gaze that pierces through jisung in the same way another finger penetrates his tight cunt.

“baby!” he moans again, this time sounding more like a cry, and it sparks something within you.

within the dark and greedy thoughts circle and come to a point, only illuminated by a lightbulb of an idea that pops in your head as jisung moans for you.

you could use your boyfriend’s cunt and your lonely little vibrator at the same time.

you curl your fingers against his sweet spot, locking him where he is as he shakes underneath you. his glazed eyes follow your free hand as it quickly pulls the drawer, skillfully finding the device as if it were force of habit.

a still-fully-charged vibrator in your hand was the least of your boyfriend’s expectations.

“baby…what are you doing?” he tightened his hole around your digits. perhaps you were going to use it on yourself.

memories of a few wild nights ago flashed before his mind, the memory teasing him as he remembered how fucking great it was to watch you play with yourself while he was restrained. you, his baby—no, his mommy, looked too good with the vibrator. seeing it again has him whining and drooling lightly.

excitement riled him up, the familiar feeling spreading through his tummy, making him gush wetness on your fingers.

until you turned it on and stuck it to his clit instead.

“a-ah—baby! fuck, holy shit, b-baby—” jisung writhed and twitched under you, jolting from the sudden vibrations. “baby, stop, not on me—”

you curled your fingers deep inside his tight little cunt.

“what do you mean ‘baby?’ address me properly or i won’t let you cum.”

panicked, jisung shook his head. “n-no…”

“no? no? do you think you have a choice, dumb boy?”

as he was about to protest, you dug the vibrator up against the grooves of his sensitive little clit, stimulating each and every single nerve at once while the toy sat at its highest and most consistent drilling speed.

“baby stop! stop, stop, stop, b-baby!”

“told you to stop calling me your baby.” this is all too much for him, the sensations leaving him a wiggling mess, fighting against the couch for some relief. no matter how much he shook, the sharp pains of your fast fingering and the bullet vibrator sent him into overdrive.

delirious as he is, the least he could do was to commit the mistake of calling you his “baby” over and over again. broken mantras recited in between moans yet you grew more and more impatient, drilling your digits in and out of his now-gushing pussy as he couldn’t seem to call you his “mommy.”

opposite of his baby, you were mommy — the one he always masturbates to, the one he finds mean, the one who punishes him, the one who is senseless to him. “baby” is the term of endearment, “mommy” is the name that breaks his spine from the icy chills that it gives him.

you’re far from his baby now.

“answer me,” you said.

“but—f-fuck, stop! stop! it—ah, ‘s not supposed to b-be there! ‘s yours!”

lightning strikes throughout your nervous system at his words. the toy is yours, so is he. jisung has to accept that he’s your toy too, and you can play with both.

just because it was your tiny machine doesn’t mean it could be lonely. you bought it not just for your own use, but you thought of using it on your pathetic, anime girl-like boyfriend and his juicy little pussy.

“i said answer me.”

“baby—b-b…fuck, mommy!” your fingers slid up to his limit, all the way past his sweet spot, abusing him with an immense physical hurt that makes him cry in a concerning fashion.

but fuck, you’re so addicted to his noises, his compliance, his submission, you can’t help but do it again.

“mommy, mommy, m-mommy! i’m sorry! please, mommy, p-please stop…”

“i’m not stopping.”

press his buttons like they were made to be hurt.

“stop…please…” jisung can feel himself wearing out from writhing so much, his body growing sore from trying to spread his legs apart — it doesn’t help that you pushed his knees down with strong elbows — and his arms felt useless from failed attempts at pushing you away.

he’s in pain but it’s so fucking good to him. his pussy grips your fingers as they slide in and out of him at a merciless pace. his cunt’s lips are glistening from an incoming orgasm that somehow hurts so sharply each time it pulses and makes itself known.

“th-that’s yours, mommy, it’s not—ahn! ‘s not mine!” jisung cries, “not on me, n-not on me—mommy! stop!”

again, he’s right; the toy’s not his. again, he’s wrong; it belongs to his pussy.

severe aches pulsate through his cunt yet it doesn’t stop gushing wetness with each thrust and curl of your fingers. the vibrator makes a heat pool in his belly that makes him want to release as he loses self control by the second.

“gonna cum…don’t want mommy…i don’t want mommy…”

something breaks in your brain as he mutters that quietly.

“why won’t you want me? want your pretty little ‘baby?’ even after you won’t fucking listen to me, you selfish boy?” each word leaves your lips as if arrows shot precisely out of a quick-slinging bow.

pathetic little jisung is unable to dodge your threats. “b-but this is yours, baby’s toy! not mine! it’s yours—“

“whose toy?” at his mistake, you press the vibrator against the peak of his clit and it audibly stings.

“b—mhmph! it’s mommy’s!”

“correct. and since it’s mine, i use it the way i want to, yeah?” you almost laugh at yourself and at your boyfriend’s wide, teary eyes. he’s genuinely crying from the pain and yet you can see the hearts in his pupils. he’s addicted to a vice called you and he’s all yours to be dealt with.

whines escape his lips as he starts gushing even more of a clear, sweet wetness. “oh fuck…y-yes, mommy…”

“good. i’ll play with both my toys if i want to.”

“i-i’m…so close…baby—” jisung gulps thickly at his mistake. “m-mommy, gonna cum, gonna cum, please stop, s-stop!”

there’s a real fear in his eyes from being punished for wanting to cum. from calling you his baby. from asking to stop.

“why would i stop?”

“i’ll cum! ‘m gonna squirt! it’s too much!”

giggles leave your chest that are as dark as thick smoke. “there’s no such thing as too much, dumb boy. need you to squirt all over me.”

“but it hurts! hurts so much, can’t take it anymore!”

eyes meet between the both of you and jisung’s wet cunt clenches hard at the sight if your grin. the overstimulation hurts, the usually warm orgasm suddenly feeling too hot inside him. you only have two digits inside him yet he’s already so fucking tight and the small lonely vibrator feels like a death trap on his unfolded clit.

“where does it hurt?” you curl and unravel your fingers at an incredibly fast rhythm for a moment, your nails intentionally digging at his limit. “here?”

“fuck!” jisung shrieks from the pain. “fuck, no! please stop!”

you abuse his cunt in every single way, kissing and biting the inner parts of his thighs at the points where they are most sensitive.

cries get stuck in your boyfriend’s throat. “i’m begging, mommy, m-mommy…” he sobs this time, letting tears roll down his face as his hardened nipples jiggle from his heaving chest. “g-gonna—ah—gonna…cum…”

“then cum. squirt, boy.”

pressure builds quick and, as if on command or by pure blissful accident, jisung starts screaming and squirting loads.

waves of sweet gushing roll one after the other as he bucks his hips upwards and shakes. his head is rolled all the way to the back of the couch. quick and harsh throbs radiate through his clit as his sloppy cunt squirts. the pressure is intense and you feel it against your skin, but your fingers never leave his tight hole even as he’s screaming your name and wetting your entire arm.

one last gush of his pussy leaves after what seems to be a minute straight of him losing all his senses to a harsh orgasm. it’s only then that you turn the vibrator off and set it down on his wet mess. his hips fall down on the couch with a loud thud and his body seems to shut off.

you lick his pussy and his entire body rattles. the rapid shaking subsides when jisung musters up the last of his energy to look at you, satisfied, licking the cum on your lips and arm.

he’s so fucking sweet.

“did you like it, sungie?”

jisung pants, unable to catch his breath. it takes him far too many seconds to process what you asked, his mind still hazy and cloudy from the massive orgasm. he literally can’t think of anything but you.

he nods his head and drops it to his side from exhaustion. “thank you mommy,” he weakly mutters. “i love you…”

you prop yourself up and away from his legs and watch them finally close daintily as you cuddle next to him. he nuzzles his head directly onto your chest and rubs his nose against your chin as an instinctive yearning for comfort.

“mhmm. i love you too sungie. don’t worry, your baby’s here.” as twisted as it is, your sweet smile returns as if nothing had happened.

as if you weren’t being a monster on his clit.

“my baby…” a relieved sigh escapes him. “i’m…’m scared of mommy…”

you chuckle. you’re his baby now as much as he is yours. “but you like my toys, right?”

“y-yeah…but mommy’s so scary…” his cheeks puff up and he looks like the little squirrel boy that you fell in love with. “mommy’s a meanie. i like my baby more.”

his plump cheek plops on your chest and he reaches for your wet hand. the sight of his essence amazes him, but more so, every curve of your hand gives sparkles in his eyes.

“b-but i…” jisung clears his throat as it became scratchy from moaning endlessly. “i like every part of you. my baby, my m-mommy…you. you’re always so good to me.”

he licks his essence off your finger and his cheeks heat up at the taste. “i-i can’t stop loving you, baby.”

“can’t stop loving you either, ji. you’re my good boy.”

you lightly pet his pussy as a simple reassuring gesture, but instead, jisung’s entire lower half jolts. he lets out a dragged out whine as well.

maybe you forget how sensitive he is.

“sorry my sungie! couldn’t help it.”

jisung giggles lightly in response. “it’s okay, baby.”

playing with your two toys at once seemed worth it: your vibrator is a little less lonely now, and your boyfriend’s pretty cunt is well spent.

cleaning the wet couch is a worry for later.

taglist: @toastyseungmo @hobihearteu @biddes-enthusiast @snow-pegasus @subby-kpop @myrandomthoughtsandhobbies @eggielix @turnipfizzle @hanniecheesecake @hyunebunz @laylasbunbunny @ppiri-bahng @he-they-heathen @chriscentric @svintsandghosts @starryoong @bbyquokka @abiaswreck @suengmi @fun-fanfics @fairylouist + @compersian @fruitcakebin @jisvngc0re1

love u mei ^_^ again, explicit version of header art is now up on twt.

thank you for reading ! consider reblogging and leaving feedback if you loved my work 💗 artwork and writing © ipegchangbin. no reposts and translations.

[insomniasymphony]

Delico's Nursery And The Embrace Of Flames

Attention, this is a 9 chapter long story. This here is chapter 1. If you want to read the rest of this story, please consider bookmarking the story on AO3. Maybe leave Kudos there too!

Rating: For this Chapter: Teens and up audience. For the whole story: Explicit Warnings: This chapter - None ; This story - choose not to warn Pair: Dali x Gerhard!

.

.

Screams filled the streets. The carriage shook with loud neighing, stopped abruptly and while Angelico clutched the door with his small hands, whimpering, Gerhard pushed the other open with his foot – one hand on the hilt of his sword. He leapt out in a single movement, only hearing the dominant clacking of his boots on the stone floor in the background, and let his gaze wander.

Humans and vampires chased past him, throwing his senses into an unruly turmoil. Pressing his lips tightly together, Gerhard ventured a step forward – not too far from the carriage in which his son rested – and darted a glance at the coachman, whose wide-open eyes hung lifelessly on the horizon.

“Hey, what happened?” Still, Gerhard shouted over to his coachman as if there was a chance of an answer. A tingling sensation under his skin made his forehead sweat. Too much was happening between the panicked crowd and this motionless man.

Without further ado, he clicked his tongue. Then he took a step to the side and grabbed the first woman he passed by the upper arm. The shock travelling through her body reached into his bones as he asked, “What happened?”

He was probably too loud, too bossy, asking too much of a frightened figure who stared at him wide-eyed and wriggled, trying to escape his grip. She looked over her shoulder twice, then followed a few others with her eyes before tearing herself away from him. “Run, we all have to run away!”

“From what?!”

“There’s a monster,” she shouted back at him. “He’s murdered five ... humans or vampires ... I don’t know anymore!” Her sounds resembled the desperate screeching of an animal. “He’s going to kill us all!”

Before Gerhard could ask any more questions, she started moving again, following the other figures as they ran off, infecting other passers-by like a running fox. So he retreated to the carriage. Mouth twisted, he scrutinised each one as the picture in his head slowly came together.

If they were all running away, it had to be a vampire. In the end, his race was still stronger than humans with their fragile lives. They were faster, more merciless, more dangerous in every way – and yet, five victims remained remarkable.

For a moment, he associated the confusion with the TRUMP case; a daring attempt to draw attention in one direction to distract from something else. An absurd thought, considering the secretive movement of these maniacs under normal circumstances. What was going on here?

“You aristocrats are prettier up close.”

Whispers nestled against Gerhard’s ears, sending a shiver down his spine and spinning his body around almost automatically. Simultaneously, he swung his sword – almost blind to the overwhelming feeling of surging panic – and plunged the blade into the body of a crookedly grinning man. Sharp teeth dug into the stranger’s lower lip, blood trickled down his chin. The rest was covered by a black hood pulled down low.

For a second, not another muscle in Gerhard moved. Only the stranger’s grin burnt itself into his senses, blocking out the world. He realised too late when the stranger raised his hand, took a breath and in the next blink of an eye blew a handful of powder into his face with his bloody breath.

Surprised, Gerhard gasped for air, constricted by the sudden scratching of his throat. A cough overcame him, stabbing through his body. Meanwhile, the blade slipped out of the stranger’s waist, leaving nothing but billowing blackness – an ugly construct of viscous black water that refused to splash to the ground. His fingers trembled, detaching themselves from the handle. The steel thundered to the ground. Saliva collected and ran down his chin. Gerhard tried to swallow several times, but failed due to the tightness of his throat. In a flash, he put his hands to his neck, searching for stability, while a slightly bitter flavour spread across his tongue. Behind it was a strangely stale flavour combined with a gentle sweetness. A kind of sugar he thought he could smell.

He breathed through his open mouth for a few seconds until he thought he could swallow again. Then he ran the back of his hand over his mouth. Saliva seeped through the white gloves, leaving dark stains he stared down for a second. His head was spinning. Every thought he tried to grasp ran through his mind like sand, and when he raised his eyes, the stranger was gone. The panic of the crowd slowly subsided in the background.

“Father...?”

The tearful question reaching him tore at his mind. Far too frantically, Gerhard jerked his head towards the carriage. Angelico stood at the door, ready to jump out or stumble back inside. The stranger had disappeared. Part of him wanted to hug that little blond mop of hair tightly to him. The rest took a stance and a deep breath.

“Get back in the carriage!” It was too dangerous to let his son out in this confusion – in the middle of an incident lying before him, both, finalised and unconquered.

There was nothing he could do.

Still, he dragged himself to the carriage door to close it before walking up to the coachman and grabbing him by the arm. With one pull, he tore the man from his seat, caught him, and set him down on the ground. The coldness of his skin, the lack of life in his eyes – he didn’t need to check to be sure of his death.

He carefully dragged the body over to the wall of a house – contrary to every honourable act of a nobleman. Bile bubbled up his throat. If he went to Dali now and sent word from there, someone else would take care of this body. Someone would take care of this forfeited life. Someone other than him.

Swaying, Gerhard heaved himself onto the coach seat. The reins lay light as a feather in his hands, a little like his sword, which he could no longer feel on his hip and whose relevance diminished with every breath he took. Immediately afterwards, he chased the horses ahead at a fast gallop along the road. The clatter of hooves thundered in his ears, reminiscent of thunderstorms and pouring rain – and somewhere in between, Gerhard thought he could taste drowsiness. A draining feeling that forced his soul out of his body, ready to fuel unknown pleasures.

He clung tighter to the leather straps, his gaze fixed on the brown stallions. For almost an eternity, the muscular movements of the animals burned themselves into his mind. Then the nausea spilled over. His stomach turned, the high died down, and clarity settled in. Lips tight, Gerhard swallowed the bile until the Delico estate came into view and the nausea faded as he passed through the heavy double gates.

However, progress didn’t get any easier. Gerhard’s legs wobbled as he dismounted and stumbled to the carriage door to let Angelico out. His son’s whimpering had still not subsided, and it didn’t stop even when he harshly urged him to follow and not dawdle. Meanwhile, the servants who hurriedly came to meet him gazed in silent astonishment, and it was only within Delico’s four walls that a hint of relief settled over Gerhard’s shoulders.

Weakness swept over him, paralysing the muscles in his body and casting reality in a new light. His breath rolled heavily over his lips as he bumped his shoulder against the wall. Sweat stood on his forehead, making him swallow drily; and if he hadn’t known better, he would have returned home. But there was nothing wrong with him. The powder punished him with after-effects, combined with lingering shock and unwanted surprise. Sensations that would pass as soon as he could rest for a few minutes.

“Father...” Angelico’s small hands plucked at his black coat and although he wanted to answer, his throat felt too parched to make a sound.

He had to swallow a few times before he found his voice again. “Bring Angelico to the others. I assume Dali is in the library?”

He always was, ever since they’d started looking into the TRUMP-related mission. He usually did the research there when Dino reviewed files and documents from past cases.

“But Father ... what about you?”

His gaze briefly wandered to Angelico. “I have work to do and now leave.”

It was strange. His voice always sounded too brash when he reprimanded Angelico, and yet in those seconds, it almost seemed as if he had added a gentle undertone. Even though he wasn’t allowed to show any weakness towards his son. He had to set an example of how a proud man of nobility should behave. Courageous and strong and determined, so that Angelico would one day be a boy who wouldn’t bring dishonour to the House of Fra.

“Master Delico is, as you mentioned, in the library, sir. Would you like someone to accompany you?”

Gerhard waved it off in a flash. “I’ll find the way.”

Since they had made this house their headquarters for this case, he knew almost every goddamn corridor by heart. That made the walk up to the heavy double swings almost short, and as Gerhard pushed powerlessly against the wood, it almost refused to open. It took nearly two breaths to get inside and discover Dali at first glance.

“Goldilocks! You’re ... late?” Dali’s humour turned to mischievous seriousness far too quickly. “What happened? Had a rough ride?”

Gerhard dragged his heavy feet to the red upholstered armchair, where he sat down with a gasp.

“I ran into a mass panic on the way here.” He ran a hand over his face, barely noticing.

“They said someone had killed five victims – of uncertain origin, probably vampires – and in a careless moment, someone blew a powder in my face.”

“A powder? Poison?”

He shook his head. “No poison. No big deal. It seems to have been a drug that makes its victims dizzy.”

“And the attacker?”

“I hit him with my sword. Then he disappeared.”

“That’s why it’s not in its sheath.”

A brief tension dug into the pit of Gerhard’s stomach before he glanced at his belt, where the sword and sheath usually hung. He must have left it there.

“Damn...” His fingertips ran over the empty leather. “Besides, my coachman is dead.”

“Then maybe you should pass this news on to the agency before any more panic breaks out.” Dali’s brows lifted. “You probably left him lying around, too.”

“I took care of it properly!” Gerhard countered sharply. “Shouldn’t you be wondering whether the whole thing is connected to the TRUMP case?”

“Ah, yes, certainly.” He lifted the book in his hands. “History lesson for today. I was actually going to get Henrique to do it, but his love of history is so immense he chose to play with the twins.” He sighed dramatically. “In the meantime, Dino’s files are growing over his head. So when you’re ready, you’re welcome to make yourself useful.”

Snorting, Gerhard averted his eyes. Dali didn’t bother to show any kind of tact. For him, gimmicks were at least as meaningless as extravagant words and useless game pieces. Sometimes Gerhard wanted to believe that he was a friend. But the murder of Dali’s wife – his blade in the body of this near stranger who was nothing more than a victim of circumstance – probably made him a pawn as well.

All too slowly, his gaze fixed once more on Dali – on the slender figure of a man whose pitch-black hair had a strange lustre. It seemed disorganised, a little jumbled, strangely wayward, and yet he could hardly imagine Dali any other way; different from all the years they had worked together. Gerhard swallowed. It had been years in which he had appreciated this man. His skill, his intelligence, his ability to overcome every obstacle as if it didn’t exist. Just like then – just like the day when Frieda had left with a smile on her lips and Gerhard had hoped to experience ridicule and hatred in order to smother the blossoming affection under the veil of a broken, even fickle friendship.

His gaze slid carefully over Dali’s bare forearms, over the slender fingers that were skilfully leafing through one book. Then, all at once, up to his thin lips, which had curled into a half-smile – deeply immersed in the writings of historical memories.

He had looked at Dali like this before. Two years ago, somewhere between doors and hinges of another mission that had made Dali laugh. Gerhard remembered how much he had shouted at him that day to take something seriously for once. But Dali had never given a damn about his opinion or his excessive temperament. Without further ado, Gerhard lowered his eyelids. He wasn’t quick-tempered. He just took things much more seriously than Dali would ever see them. And perhaps that was the reason, at some point, why he had begun to prefer being near his friend to his own home. Or even his wife.

He licked his lips gently before tearing himself away from Dali. Dwelling on past events wasn’t the answer. It shouldn’t matter. In the end, they had both walked down the aisle at some point – with women – and had brought children into the world. The Delicos and the Fras had gone their separate ways, hadn’t mixed or mingled, because there had been no way to turn rivals into a true unit. That also meant he was done with it. With his feelings, with that warmth in his chest whenever he saw Dali, and also with the thought of ever getting closer to those unknown lips.

Still, his hands clenched into fists. The hazy confusion in his head was gone, his body felt better, and he saw things clearly – undistorted and sharp, as he always did. And when he looked at Dali again, the former warmth of that time settled under his skin like a sea of flames.

Longing flared up, joined with the heat of the day when he had tried to confront Dali; when he had tried to find out whether Dali hated him for Frieda’s murder. It connected with the hunger he had suppressed for years and danced with the tingling of seconds gone by which he believed he had finally smothered. Somewhere between the sheets, his wife’s legs, and the damn paperwork of his missions. It seemed as if all those boundaries, all those temptations, would evaporate in a single breath. What remained was desire.

Everything in Gerhard wanted to get up and embrace Dali. His black hair would probably glide through his fingers like silk and his body would replace the shallow coldness of his skin with barely perceptible warmth after a few minutes. His breath would flit over Gerhard’s lips and perhaps they would kiss. The only thing he had to do was reach out and grab the white fabric on his body. He just had to-

“Gerhard?”

Blinking several times, Gerhard’s gaze fell on his gloved fingers, which had stretched out in Dali’s direction. The armchair was a few steps behind him and Dali’s proximity was no longer just an idea in the middle of confused thoughts.

“Is everything all right?” Raising his brows, Dali tilted his head.

“If you’re feeling better, you could take over here. Ul will surely wake up in a minute and-“

A rumble coursed through the shelf as Gerhard slammed his hand against the wood, trapping Dali between himself and the writings of days gone by. His friend’s eyes widened. His delicate mouth opened, but there were no words. Only a disorganised silence forced its way between them – so oppressive that Gerhard heard himself swallow.

“I want you.” A simple statement. Not a question. Almost a command.

“Are you sure you’re all right? Or have you taken to making poor jokes lately?” Restrained laughter overcame Dali, emanating from his body like a sweet hum that, for the first time in all these years, didn’t drive Gerhard mad. Not directly.

Instead, he grabbed the book in the other man’s hands, removed the leather cover from his grip and threw it over his shoulder straight onto the round table, on which at least another twenty books were piled. Then he pressed his other hand against the shelf next to Dali’s head and leant down slightly towards him. Those few centimetres separating them seemed like the last hurdle between affection and forbidden touches.

Meanwhile, Dali’s eyelids drooped slightly, making his dark eyes appear even darker. “Gerhard, stop that.”

Was there a gentle tremor in his voice, a sound of pleasure that lured Gerhard without making it clear? He didn’t know. His body automatically took a stance, ready to let Dali go. For just a moment, his arms lowered and his friend threatened to disappear. Dali’s narrow sideways glance, a demanding, light-coloured expression, however, conveyed something else. Just at shoulder height, resistance twitched through Gerhard’s body. In a flash, he grabbed Dali by the arm, pushed him back against the shelf – books thundered to the floor – and leant forward.

The sweet smell of blood entered Gerhard’s nose, played around his senses, swept them clean, inviting him to savour it, so he opened his mouth. In the background, he heard Dali’s protest, his hands against his chest, but not enough force to push him away. But Gerhard let go, put his head back far enough to look at Dali and drowned in the other man’s grey-black eyes.

“It’s against the rules to bite someone,” Dali hissed. “You know that. Unless you’re planning to control me. Since when are you a rule-breaker? Usually, you’re practically the ultimate lapdog of your superiors.”

An amused snort escaped Gerhard’s lips. In the next blink, he brought a hand to his mouth, gently bit into a corner of the fabric, and pulled off the glove. He gave up. For once, he wanted to give up, surrender to the warmth and fulfil his desire. Maybe then it would stop burning. Maybe then he could finally breathe more freely without having to worry every other time he met Dali about what might have been if he had found the courage to break the rules long before they had both walked down the aisle.

As he placed a hand on Dali’s chest and carefully ran it along the fabric, Gerhard thought he was losing himself for the first time. “It’s a single rule. A single law that forbids me to be close to a man.” He leaned forward again, burying his nose in Dali’s black hair and inhaling the smell of warm milk and caramel.

“A law to keep our race alive because we have become mortal and weak.”

Dali’s chest rose and fell under Gerhard’s hand; a life that coloured this moment strangely real, so he lowered his head, the dark strands down to Dali’s neck.

“Gerhard!” This time Dali twitched noticeably, pushing so hard against Gerhard’s chest that his breath squeezed forcedly over his lips. “You’re no longer free!”

One second.

A single moment in which Gerhard grabbed him by the wrists and squeezed the soft flesh to the bone. A gasp came over the other; pleasure in Gerhard’s ears. He pressed him harder against the shelf, his mouth wide open.

In the next breath, he tasted blood. He even thought he could taste it long before he had penetrated Dali’s skin. A metallic sweetness spread across his tongue, eliciting a choked sound from his partner. Perhaps it was pleasure; a hint of understanding causing Dali’s resistance to collapse.

Without further ado, Gerhard removed his teeth from Dali’s flesh and licked over the injury, leaving a trail of saliva that he ran up to his ear. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re no longer free either.”

The answer was silence. Calm in which Gerhard rested his forehead against the wood of the shelf and closed his eyes. “Only until this mission is over. After that ... I’ll let you go.”

“What’s got into you? It can’t be reason...”

Soundless laughter rolled off Gerhard’s tongue, unheard, lost in the skirmish between them. Dali was right. What had come over him? Why was he overcome by everything he had buried so fiercely? Why today? Why at all?

Why?

“I ... want to know what it’s like.” His hand slid down Dali’s chest until it rested on his hip.

“Ever since then, I’ve wanted-“

“I was told to bring this here.”

With a leap, Gerhard put distance between himself and Dali – his friend’s flushed cheeks conveying shame, perhaps even favour between stress and distress – before whirling around. Theodore stood in the doorway, one door barely open. His gaze was fixed on them. A bit as if he’d been there all along.

“Documents that will help us on our mission?” Slowly, Dali pushed himself off the shelf.

Theodore nodded. “Father said there’s a consistent pattern here of vampires suddenly losing their minds after coming into contact with someone strange.” He placed the files on the table, not giving Gerhard a glance. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Dali. “Do you want me to give him a message?”

A gentle shake of the head on Dali’s part ended the conversation between them and yet he accompanied Theodore out of the door, leading him into the corridor like a small child. He would probably devote himself to his own children now – he would feed Ul and give Raphael his attention. In between, he would forget about Gerhard. Probably.

Clenching his teeth, he savoured the taste of blood on his tongue a little longer before swallowing and balling his hands into fists.

Dali wouldn’t forget him. He would replay the seconds he had experienced constantly in his head and remember where the gentle pain in his neck had come from. After all, he had enjoyed it despite all the resistance.

Gerhard wasn’t imagining any of this.

He surely wasn’t.

[saintsir4n]

GIVE ME WHAT I WANT

Adrienne wants a pet and makes sure Klaus can’t say no. Takes place in the 21st century.

MODERN DAY ADRIENNE LUMIÉRE X NIKLAUS MIKAELSON

FLUFF

___

“I want a bunny rabbit.”

Klaus reeled back in confusion and irritation at his wife’s request. They had been kissing and cuddling for half an hour, him on top of her, smothering each other with their lips and affection. They knew it wasn’t going to go any further than this because she was currently on her monthly and despite how many times he insisted he didn’t care she wasn’t ready for that level of intimacy. Her hands gripped and tugged on his hair and his were constantly moving from her sides to her behind sending shivers down her spine.

“You’re thinking about rodents whilst I’m kissing you?”

“Bunnies not rodents.”

“One has more hair -- don't distract me from the fact you have had them on your mind whilst I’ve been on top of you my love.”

Rolling her eyes she moved to sit up, simultaneously pushing him away from her flustered state. She didn’t want to get distracted from his toned body.

“Trust me I’ve been thinking about getting one for a while,” she reached over and grabbed her phone and started showing him all the variations of rabbits which he just made a face at, “they’re cute.”

“So is our child, we have a hard time looking after him, a pet will be a bloody nightmare,” he grimaced when he was shown another picture, “the baby is not even a year old.”

“And you’re always saying you want more-“

“A rabbit isn’t a child,” he couldn’t believe it had to be said to begin with. He sighed and reached for his shirt and threw it on, “Needless to say, I shan’t be humouring this idea any longer.”

She rushed out of bed and trailed after him, “It’s not an idea.”

“Forgive me, a delusion.”

“Rude,” she whined and shut their bathroom door after they entered it. “Please.”

“No Ria,” he searched the marbled room in confusion because he’s forgotten why he had entered it in the first place. Ah, he strolled over to the bathtub and started running the water, At times like this she could rile him up in seconds and he had no way to stop it, so he needed to cool down and not even showers helped matters, “drop it.”

“Why?”

“We have a child and you want a pet.” He seemed more disgusted as he spoke.

“Our baby, would love a pet, don’t you think? Besides you want more children with me right?”

Klaus blinked at her, “are you implying that you won’t have more children with me because I won’t allow you to have a rodent running rampant.”

“Yes.”

“Adrienne.”

“Niklaus.”

“Drop it,” he tried pulling her closer, but she moved away to find her phone, “what now?”

She didn’t respond, instead, searched through her contacts as Klaus huffed.

She smugly smiled after placing her phone to her ear, waiting for a certain person to pick it up. After the 2nd ring, they did.

“Stef,” Klaus scoffed at his name, she and his confidant grew closer over the years, he believe: it was to get back at him for his past transgressions.

“Oh hey Adri, how are you?” Stefan asked, hearing bickering and the sound of water running in the background.

“Not bad, just quick question, if I got a pet bunny you wouldn’t try and eat them would you?” Klaus shook his head, despite being amused at her question.

Stefan paused before answering, “…no, why?”

Adrienne grinned at her husband, “No worries, bye.”

“Bye.”

She wiggled her brows, “See he’s nothing to worry about, now get a pet.”

Tossing his head back, Klaus sighed, not wanting to talk about the subject for a moment longer “Fine.”

She rushed over and peppered him with kisses.

“I love you.”

He didn’t say anything, just stripped off his clothes and submerged in the bath, noticing her wandering eyes as he motioned for her to do the same.

“Get in, Hadeon has our heir and is doing god knows what, we have the night to ourselves and I refuse to waste time on discussing pets.”

Playfully rolling her eyes, Adrienne did what he said.

“Whatever you say Mr Mikaelson,” she teased, getting rid of her clothes.

Klaus finally grinned.

a/n:

[i-just-like-goats]

Ranpo x Reader Fluff

Summary: a gift always finds its way on your desk.

Warnings: none that I can think of. idk Ranpo’s a bit ooc but I’d like to think he’s a bit clueless when it comes to his own love life

WC: 0.8k

Main Masterlist

You stared at the singular mochi on your desk. It was the fifth sweet this week. Without fail, something sweet would find itself on your desk every morning.

“Morning.” A tired Atsushi walked into the office with a yawn.

“Tired?”

“Extremely,”

“Coffee’s on your desk,”

“You’re a lifesaver,”

You nodded at him as others walked into the office. The mochi sat in your desk drawer to be consumed later in the day. 

“Hey Ranpo. Mind if I sit with you for lunch?”

“Not at all, go ahead,”

Truth be told, you just wanted to spend some time with the man you admired. With such a smart head, charming personality and kind spirit, how could you not fall for his many attractions? You sat down next to him with a smile but frowned once you saw his lunch.

“Sweets and snacks for lunch? Really?”

“It’s not often, I do eat proper food for lunch normally. It’s just, I was too distracted to make myself lunch,”

Ranpo may have omitted the fact that he didn’t have time in the morning to make lunch because he was too busy contemplating what sweet to get you. It was a hard decision too. Mochi or dango? Both were very excellent treats, it was too hard to choose.

“Just make sure you bring a proper lunch tomorrow. For today, you’re lucky that I have a spare,”

You may have omitted the fact that you purposely made an extra lunch to give to him. Lucky for you, he didn’t have one, which allowed you to escape any awkwardness. A perfect opportunity presented itself and you took advantage of it.

“Thank you,” he said with a grateful smile.

The two of you continued to eat in a comfortable silence. You took the mochi out of your pocket and looked at it with a small smile.

“Would you like to split it with me?” You offered.

“Oh, thank you for the offer, but I have plenty.” Ranpo held up a box of the same mochi you were holding in your hand.

“Alright,”

You opened the packet ready to eat it but stopped. You looked at Ranpo. He turned his head to look back at you with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Is the mochi from you?”

The sudden question made Ranpo’s eyes widen and a few droplets of sweat formed on his face.

“Yes.” He hung his head in shame as though he were admitting his guilt to a heinous crime.

“Oh, thank you,”

To Ranpo’s surprise, you happily took a bite out of the mochi.

“It’s delicious,” you praised.

“How?”

“I don’t know. You bought it,”

“No, I mean, how do you not have any questions for me? You’re just going to accept it?”

“You looked nervous when I asked about it, so I decided to not go further. Besides, I would feel guilty and end up revealing something else in return,”

“Thank you,”

“It’s no problem,”

The following day, another sweet found its way on your desk. You smiled. 

That same day, a full lunch box found its way on Ranpo’s desk. He smiled.

“Thank you!” You shouted across the office simultaneously.

And the same happened over the next few days. It became a routine for the both of you. Today was slightly different, Ranpo was sitting at your desk.

“I hope I’m not intruding,”

“Not at all,”

You sat next to him and both of you ate.

“You’re a really good cook,”

“Thank you. I really enjoy seeing and eating the sweet treats you leave for me,”

“It’s no problem,”

The two of you settled back into the comforting silence that you were both accustomed to.

“You know, I didn’t ‘accidentally’ make another lunch that day,”

Ranpo tilted his head.

“I made it because I wanted to give something to you. I admire you so much as a colleague,”

“Is that it?”

Ranpo’s confused face turned into one of panic when you looked taken aback.

“Sorry sorry. I was just expecting something more, but that’s just me being hopeful. The reason that I give only you sweet things every morning is because I admire you too. Just. In a different way,”

“Oh thank goodness. I didn’t want to insinuate anything without knowing your feelings. That makes this slightly easier. Ranpo, I like you romantically,”

“I like you in a romantic way as well. Would you like to go on a date tonight?”

“I would love to. Let’s take a break from my cooking shall we?”

“Yes. Wait no, I love your cooking, but you should take a break,”

You giggled as he fumbled over his words. Being bold, you pecked his cheek and continued eating as though nothing happened. Ranpo’s heart beat faster and his ears were redder than before. He did nothing but smile happily at his food. You were in the same state as him. Just two happy fools with feelings that would turn into love.

[monsterkisserlove]

The Mirror Image: Chapter Two

What will you do with your massive crush on maybe the kindest Orc you’ve ever met and your scheming best friend…

TW/CW: Drinking, animal neglect

Pairing: M Orc/F reader

a/n: SFW but will become NSFW as the chapters go on, those chapters will be well marked though. However, under 18s DNI! This blog and these fics ain’t for you.

Chapter 1

“Who’s not your anything?” A deep voice rumbled gently from next to you, a large, familiar shadow falling across the table.  

Oh perfect.  

Khureg heard that.

“Oh-, um, nothing! Just a joke?” You forced a smile, trying to ignore the way your voice wavered. Ren clearly did notice by the patronising face they were giving you.  

“Oookay...,” Khureg trailed off, sliding into the seat next to you despite how much more room was on Ren's side, he just must prefer this seat you told yourself, “So how was your day at work? I hope it wasn’t too cold on the walk over here for you.” The Orc asked with a sweet smile.

“Hi Khureg, nice to see you.” Ren interjected, a sly smile curling their mouth, turning to look at you with one sharp eyebrow raised.  

Blush on green skin was so beautiful, you thought, paying no mind to your friend’s interactions. “Oh, yeah, hi Ren. How are you doing?”  

As the pair were talking about their respective days you started to become incredibly distracted. Honestly a war party could have been raging through the bar and you wouldn’t have noticed as you were so transfixed on the dark freckles over Khureg’s nose and neck. At this point you could probably tell him how many freckles the Orc had and what different constellations they formed.

Gods, you had it bad.

A clicking in front of your face brought you back down to earth, shaking your head out of reverie you turned to the impatient Naga, seemingly they’d just asked you a question.

“Sorry, I wasn’t here for a minute, what did you say?” You replied apologetically, missing the way that Khureg’s eyes darted to your pinkening cheeks before staring at his hands, as if worried that he’d be caught.  

“I have asked you thrice now, what would you like to drink? I’m going to the bar.” Ren snarked at you, but you didn’t take it to heart. While the Naga was impatient, they were also your best friend, snarking was just who they were. You could ask them anything and while they might gently roast you, they’d sort it for you.  

“Umm, can I just have a glass of wine? I need to be up early tomorrow to work on my portfolio.” Ren nodded, his slit eyes darting back and forth between you and Khureg.

Slithering out of their seat, Ren made his way to the bar but not before quipping over his shoulder. “Not a problem, but talking about hair stuff, don’t you have a question for big and handsome there?”  

Ren’s smirk was so big you could practically feel it melting your face off.  

Maybe you needed a new damn best friend.  

“A question for me?” Khureg rumbled, turning to face you. Well, more like looking down to face you considering the remarkable height differences. When standing you only came up to his chest, which just distracted you further as all you could think about was if you ever shared a bed with him, you could literally sleep on top of his chest.  

Gods, Ren really was simultaneously the best and the worst.

“Well, yeah, you’re always so helpful and good and generous with your time and I just wanted to ask you if you could help me with one more thing? Ren told me about a brand that I haven’t tried yet for Naga’s and Ren can’t help because of shedding, you know Naga’s and their sensitive skin! And I know that braids are a delicate thing to do for Orcs but well it’s not an Orcish braid and I would really appreciate if I could practice on you and-,”  

Khureg stopped you before you started going blue in the face from your never ending ramble by putting one of his massive and surprisingly soft hands on your shoulder.  

Finally, you remembered to take a breath, smiling nervously up at the Orc.

Why were you even nervous!?  

It’s not the first time you’ve asked for help!  

But it felt different now, maybe because he was sat so much closer to you than usual.

Maybe it was the way his golden eyes almost sparkled in the low light of the bar.

Chuckling, Khureg squeezed your shoulder gently. “That’s absolutely fine, you know I don’t mind you playing with-, styling my hair. For your job, of course.” The Orc corrected himself quickly.

Gods, Khureg was amazing, you thought, your face lighting up and you did something unexpected. You launched forward, wrapping your arms around the Orcs considerable chest, your hands couldn’t even touch, you thought gleefully.  

A small oomph left his chest but he rumbled quietly, the sound vibrating all the way through to your spine and further down...  

Large, strong arms encompassed you back, pressing you right into his shirt.

Oh, he even smelled amazing.  

It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d hugged Khureg! You’d known the Orc for a year now, you were close friends.  

But this time felt different.

It made your heart flutter just like every other time you’d been close to him but this felt like comfort.  

Like being under a blanket on a rainy day.  

Like the first hot drink on a winter morning.

It felt like home.

Maybe it was the way he held you just a little tighter than normal, maybe it was the dark lighting and the privacy of the booth. You didn’t know, but you weren’t complaining.

Soon Ren returned with your drinks and you detangled yourself from Khureg’s warm embrace. The rest of the night went well, drinks flowed in moderation and before you knew it your thigh was pressed against the Orc’s. You’d arranged a night in the week for Khureg to come over, you also invited Ren but unfortunately, they were busy. With what, they didn’t say but you weren’t about to pry and lose any alone time with Khureg.  

It seemed, however, that both you and Khureg, had missed the sly looks that the devious Naga had been shooting you both all night.  

Ren did sometimes wonder how either of you managed to get through this life being this damn oblivious.

The following week stretched on, going both far too quickly and all at once way too slowly. It was a painful week just because of that. Work and study went on as usual, nothing at all exciting or even disastrous that may distract you from daydreaming about Khureg spending some quality time with you.  

Ren had sent you the picture of the braid they’d described however, it was a little strange. Not the braid of course! That was utterly beautiful, and you couldn’t wait to practice it. Just, in the images that Ren usually sent you got multiple references which included different views of the style so that you knew whether your version was sitting right or not.

Whereas this single picture looked cropped, it was only the braid and nothing more. You had no idea who it was on, or even if it was actually a Naga?

Oh well, you wouldn’t complain, Ren had been such a help with everything that you really didn’t mind too much.  

And, this was another opportunity to be close to Khureg.

Gosh, you missed playing with-, styling his hair.

It had been well over a month since you’d last used him as a hair model for pictures and practice.  

Suddenly, Wednesday night was upon you, and you’d spent all day tidying your flat irregardless of that fact that not only had Khureg already been there before but it was also already spotless. You’d stocked your fridge with his favourite beer and had placed the usual order with your mutually favourite pizza parlour when the door rang.

Jumping up off your worn sofa, you wrenched the stiff door open to reveal Khureg wearing a tight henley shirt, the first three buttons undone, sleeves pushed up to the elbows revealing strong, thick forearms and a pair of grey sweat pants that lined his legs indecently.  

“Hi!” You managed to squeak out, “Please, come on in.” Stepping back from the door, you let him stoop through the entrance and you fanned your face behind his hulking figure.  

“How’s your day been?” You asked, plopping yourself on the sofa next to him.

Khureg sighed, stretching his arms. “Not so bad, but where it’s coming up to Yuletide the practice is getting ready for the pets that will be given as presents just being dumped because families can't handle them. It’s just stressful really as we’re doing so much work for something that we know is going to happen but it’s completely preventable! It just makes me so mad; you know?” The Orc vented to you as you nodded in agreement.

Being this passionate about animal welfare was just another thing you loved about him, as if he couldn't get any more perfect. You could just listen to him all day, and to be fair you nearly have before, when he had excitedly rambled about a new vaccination clinic that the practice had implemented under his leadership around three months ago. When Khureg had realised that he had been talking without interruption for a long time he faltered and apologised profusely.

At that moment you could’ve screamed, you were on cloud nine just listening to him.  

Conversation was flowing, most likely due to the beer you’d bought and nothing at all to do with that fact that you're similar people with similar interests, one of which being each other but no, it wouldn’t be that of course.  

When the doorbell rang to announce the pizza, Khureg was up and across the room before you’d even registered the sound of the door, his soft movement just another thing that you admired. After paying and tipping the delivery guy, you both got to work devouring the pizza.  

“Oh, let you give you my half of the bill-,” Khureg waved you off. “Don’t worry about it, my treat.” That smile he gave you melted your heart.  

“By the way, your door is sticking, I can fix that for you?” He offered as he ate half a slice in one go.

“That’s okay, you don’t need to do that for me.” You shrugged it off, you were fine with your door despite how annoying it could be.  

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to,” Khureg smiled, his eyes drifting down to your lips, “you’ve got a little something there.” The Orc gestured to the corner of your mouth and when you went the wrong way to wipe it off, Khureg smiled and took a napkin, gently cleaning the sauce from your face. Thick thumb tracing your full, bottom lip for the briefest moment that you thought you imagined it.  

Your faces were closer than you realised, your tongue darting out to ghost over where he had touched.  

The tension was broken however when your phone slipped from your pocket, the thump bringing you both back to reality and you sprung apart from one another.  

Khureg and you shared a nervous laugh, him rubbing the back of his neck as you quickly fetched your phone from the floor.

“Well, should we get started before I get too tired to focus?” You asked and when he agreed, you stood and grabbed your case of hair tools and products while he made himself comfortable at your dining table.  

Standing behind him, you carefully removed the tie that kept his hair folded in a messy bun and his long, glossy hair cascaded over his broad back and over your fingers. You started as you always did, running your fingers through his locks from the top of his head, to the nape of his neck all the way down to the ends.  

Music was playing softly in the background, just loud enough that you missed his sigh of euphoria as you caressed his skin and hair.  

Neither of you spoke during the process, just enjoying the proximity of each other and the simple joy of touching another and being touched.

Humming gently, you propped up your phone with the reference picture displayed and began studiously copying the image, twisting, pining and plaiting his hair until it represented the desired style perfectly.  

Moments like this really did make everything feel better, just you and Khureg in this space with no one else and no other issues to be thinking of.

Just the peace of being happy, safe and cared for.

After an hour or so you were happy with the result and ushered Khureg into the bathroom to look in the mirror as you held a smaller mirror behind him so he could see all of it.

“So what do you think? I did a pretty good job, huh?” You grinned, really rather proud of this braid. Hopefully Khureg would acquiesce to you taking a picture for your portfolio.  

Khureg was silent.

The Orcs cheeks burning a deep green, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, unable to get any words out.

“Is everything okay?” You enquired, your smile slipping slightly. Did he not like it?  

“No-, I mean yes! Of course, I’d love to start courting you!” Khureg exclaimed, wrapping you in an embrace so tight that your feet left the ground, your face pressed into his shirt before you could ask him what was going on!?

Chapter 3 

[lostysworld]

Only if I could - Kaz Brekker x reader (Part II)

@acupnoodle

Masterlist

Part I

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: everything is in the request) When you leave the Crows, the heist goes wrong. Kaz decides to do something with it.

A/N: yes, I'm finally back!!!

Everything goes wrong.

Every detail of the scheme Kaz came up with early in the morning after your departure goes not like he planned it. He screws up completely.

He split Y/N's part of the job between Jesper and Inej, who didn't even ask a single question about the girl's absence. Maybe because she's already told them. Jesper, for sure. Kaz's face darkens because of this thought. The feeling that he could do something for you and didn't do that starts chasing him more with every second.

When all of the Crows have already finished with the heist, or it seemed like that, they heard voices from someone who should have been guards. And now if they don't run away right now, they will end up in the hands of the guard, or worse. Dead.

Muttering under his breath Jesper is running to the entrance, suddenly noticing one exact detail. Kas is not wearing his gloves. How can he not see it before, in the beginning of the heist?

The amount of questions is increasing in the boy's head, but he has no time to get distracted. Maybe if Y/N was here, they won't be in the situation like that. She always knows how to escape. Y/N would come up with ideas.

– Kaz, wait! - Jesper is breathing heavily, trying to catch up with others. Inej is nowhere to be seen, but Kaz isn't worried about her. This girl always finds her way to escape safely.

When they seem to leave the guard behind, Brekker stops near the wall of a building, helping Fahey to catch his breath. His own leg is throbbing with pain, sending hot waves up and down his body.

– I told you-

– Not now, Jesper!

Kaz is mad. At Jesper for his witty comments, at guard, who was trying to catch and kill them. And at himself for not predicting this course of events. Even at Y/N, but what for, he doesn't get to think of.

But then distant sounds of gun shots reach men's hearing, which means, that they are not in the safe place yet.

Suddenly one of the bullets sings right above Kaz's head, and Jesper immediately pulls him aside, down the narrow dark street. Heavy steps are still heard behind their backs.

When they literally run out of strength to go on further, and Kaz's leg refuses to serve properly, someone tugs them to the deserted gateway.

– Where are you two running? Straight to your death?!

This voice, that Brekker craved to hear, finally rings in loud whisper. Y/N is standing right in front of them with the face expression, that even he would hesitate to argue with. Jesper only smiles to her. By Kaz's count, she should be far away by now.

– I bet, we end up in more welcoming hands, - Kaz almost flinches at that blink, that Fahey gives to the girl. – But we need to-

– Kaz!

With that she moves fast in front of Brekker like a flash, covering him with her body. Behind them one of the guards are standing with a gun in his hands, and Jesper instantly shoots his revolver back. Two shots ring simultaneously right next to their heads.

The man falls dead with a hole between his eyes, and the boy turns to his friends to say about saving them, but his glance bumps into the girl, who is hanging on to Kaz's shoulders. One of her palms is pressed to her left side.

– Y/N, hey!

Jesper is not stupid. He rushes to her, grabbing her waist and throwing one of her arms across his shoulder, helping her to stand.

– Got you, princess. Hold on.

He sees Brekker's wide eyes, but doesn't know what from. Is it Y/N's touch, that concerns him, or her wound?

– Jes, hey, easy! - she winces from pain and shifts her weight a bit. Seeing her predicament, Jesper lifts her up, holding her tight and preventing all unnecessary movements. When the girl relaxes a bit, he goes on straight to the Slat.

Kaz follows them without a word. He can hardly say something to his own and Jesper's surprise. Y/N saved his life, jeopardized her own and what for. Only to save him. The Bastard of the Barrel, the bastard that ruined everything in his life with his own hands.

Brekker saw this panic in her eyes in the last seconds before she got shot. How both of them, he and Fahey, failed to notice a man behind them?

And then these long moments of her clinging to him, waiting for him to help her and hold her body after getting the wound. What did he do instead? Nothing. As usual. He should be at Jesper's place, holding her body carefully, taking her to safety. Now he only has to follow his people like a stray dog.

Kaz squeezes his fists in boiling anger. Anger with himself and his inactivity, insecurity and whatever it can be. It is the second time in a row, when he finds himself not able to do what he really wants.

But it's time to finally do anything with it.

Kaz spends forty eight hours sitting without a motion at your bed side, all this time his eyes are scanning yours features, trying to notice even the slightest change. Or it's better to say, absence of this change.

The wound was not that serious, but the significant amount of blood that you've lost played its role in your healing process. Nina has done everything she could, and even during that Brekker didn't leave your side, watching the heartrender carefully.

The scene of you getting shot is still in front of his eyes, the way Jesper carried your weak body carefully. In that moment Kaz was cursing his touch aversion with all his heart. Yes, he wanted to be on Fahey's place even when they get to the Slat, touch your hair to soothe you to sleep in your fever, to smooth the wrinkle between your brows, to take your hand in his own in the end.

And when you finally move on sheets, you realize you are not in your bedroom. Leaning your head slightly to your shoulder you notice way too familiar piercing glance.

– Don't move. You can rip your sutures.

The same demanding voice. Something never changes.

– Wasn't even thinking about it, - nevertheless you somehow try to move your arm at least. Two days of lying has its cons. – For how long-

– Long enough, - Kaz's features harden and he moves closer, sitting on your bed from his chair. – What were you thinking about, Y/N?!

Not that death threat changes something in you, but now you found out that you can joke freely with Brekker.

– Don't know...maybe saving your life?

– You could be dead by now, if it's not for Nina.

– But I'm not dead, - you take a breather and raise your eyes at him, catching his glittering gaze. – Seems, to your greatest disappointment.

Kaz opens his mouth to argue, but suddenly realizes, that you are right. You have quite twisted impression about him and some of his reactions. And it's all to his inappropriate behavior and acting with you.

But if he decided to do something to fix it, he should do it right now and tell you how he feels, but not wait until you are on your deathbed or gone.

– Y/N-

– I don't like this face expression of you, Kaz, - your light smirk eases the tension in him.

– I feel like I should apologize.

– It's not your fault-

– No, not your wound, - the man is clearly struggling with words. – But this too. I should have watched my back carefully.

You are watching Brekker's words literally stuck in his throat, and lay your hand on top of his. That's the moment, when you realize, that he doesn't wear his gloves.

You immediately take your hand back, as if his skin can accidentally burn you, but Kaz catches your wrist placing it between his palms. Today is surely the day of surprises, but you wouldn't change a thing.

– Kaz-, - you want to start telling him, that he shouldn't do that, if it's uncomfortable for him. But that fire in his eyes doesn't let you go on.

– I should have done this long before you told me about your departue, Y/N.

The man sees you lying in front of him, pale and so fragile, that his heart clenches. Now the two of you have plenty of time to talk everything through, but then the door slowly opens with squeaking.

You see Jesper looking out of the corridor and smile weakly to him. With your smile warm around your hand vanishes. You throw a panicked glance at Brekker, but his face becomes a cold mask again.

– How are you feeling, Y/N?

Fahey steps into the room, his tone is light, but wary. You try to sit down when Kaz helps you to lean on soft pillows. With that he stands up, intending to walk out of the room.

This sudden change in the man's behavior doesn't go unnoticed for you and you turn to Jesper.

– Could you come here later, Jes? I have a big talk with Kaz, okay?

Both of men halts instantly looking at you with a kind of confusion, then Jesper shruggs his shoulders and leaves. Brekker, in turn, is still standing in the middle of the room.

– What was it for? - you notice the tense wrinkle between his brows as he takes a step closer to you. – I don't want to-

– What's going on, Kaz?

– What do you mean?

You scan his whole figure and pat the edge of the bed for him to sit near. Hesitating for a secong, the man follows your silent order.

– I didn't want you to leave, Kaz. It's just Jesper, he would ask about my well-being and leave.

– I simply didn't want to ruin your moment, - you frown in confusion.

– What's the moment you are talk- Oh...

– What?

– I know! - you close your mouth with your hand. The sudden realization hits your head like a burglar in the middle of the street. – Kaz, Saints.

He keeps pretending that he doesn't know what you are talking about, but it is pretty clear for both him and you.

– Just don't deny it, Brekker.

– Deny what? I can't deny anything if I-

– You've thought, that I am with Jesper.

He looks at you with a mix of his omnipresent arrogance and confusion, that looks well on him. The fact, that he was worrying about you and your possible relationships, makes your heart beat faster. But it also gives you a topic to think about. He and Inej.

– And you want to tell me that you are not?

He raises a brow, and you can't hold back a short laughter. Even if it means the sudden flash of pain hits your ribs.

It makes you caugh and Kaz helps you to sit fully. He is still holding your hand though. You can be as slow as Brekker sometimes, but he, touching your bake skin with his, gives you enough proof, that everything between him and Inej was your game of imagination.

You gather your inner strength and glance at him not daring to brake eye contact.

– It's you, Kaz. It's always been you, - his fingers twitch slightly on your skin. – Not even death can ever change it.

Kaz keeps his eyes on you, seems, something happens, if he looks away. A sorrowful smirk crosses his face, and the man leans his head.

– You are a better person than I, Y/N.

– I don't think, it's wise to rate it.

You try to support him with a warm smile, and it even seems to work somehow. Then you suddenly remember:

– I will come back to my room-

– No way, - Brekker squeezes your palm, you even wonder how he manages to touch you for this long. – You will stay here, where I can look after you.

He stands up heading somewhere, and after a couple of seconds Kaz returns with bandages for your wound. While he is trying to untangle it, you notice his hands trembling slightly.

Your hand reaches for his and softly covers his fingers. You have never seen him this nervous before. But except for care about you, Brekker has his reputation to uphold.

– I will still be with you. But I could sleep in my own room, so it will not be that obvious. I don't need to-

– No, - his strict glance meets yours confused one. – The Dregs will not care. And others can tell everything they like. I will still be the Bastard of the Barrel.

– Your reputation can be spoiled by this.

He shakes his head.

– Then it is already spoiled. They are fools, if they let my glory rise or fall on this.

Kaz raises his glance and this strange expression makes you forget what you are about to ask. You can only watch him back.

– What? - he just shakes head once again, hesitating to speak.

– I was more than a fool when I let you leave us-

– Leave you.

The corners of your lips go a bit up. His expression reflects yours.

– Leave me, yes. I won't make the same mistake again, though.

– So won't I.

His looks you over in one swift second and furrows.

– What do you mean? - you remember all this nonsense you got to think about him and Inej and only smile.

– Nothing, Kaz, - your thumb is slowly brushing circles on the back of his palm. – It's nothing.

[lady-literature]

Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet… 

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion. 

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time).  She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day. 

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

[weasleylangs]

opposites attract - f.w.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Hufflepuff Fem!Reader Summary: The quiet, Hufflepuff bookworm has captured the heart of the mischievous Gryffindor.  Warnings: none! Word Count: 2k

A/N: For the anon that asked for Fred with a Hufflepuff reader who he’s uncharacteristically sweet for! I’m sorry it took so long, I hope you (and everyone else who reads it) enjoys it!! 

P.S let me know if you’d like to be added to a tag list!

---------------------

Y/N sits in charms, completely zoned out. Charms was always her best subject and she was luckily one of those ‘never study, always pass’ students. The same could not be said about her boyfriend, however, who was sitting across the room trying to tickle his best friend with his quill and distract him.

Y/N and Fred were an unusual couple, and no one understood how the shy Hufflepuff girl managed to catch the mischievous Gryffindor’s attention. Fred’s idea of a good time was turning the corridor into a swamp or roughhousing during quidditch practise whilst Y/N’s was curled up in front of a fire, a nice book in her hand. But no one questioned it, because somehow they made it work.

Fred caught her eye and winked. They’ve been dating for six months now and he never gets tired from the shy look on her face when he looks at her. She shakes her head, hiding behind her hair and turning her attention back to Flitwick as he drones on about their assignment. 

When the bell rings, signalling next period, Fred’s across the room in no time. Y/N has her head down, grabbing her notebook and quill when Fred snatched them out of her hand whilst simultaneously grabbing her bag from the floor. “I’ll carry them for you, love,” he said, smiling.

This wasn’t unusual behaviour. Before the couple got together, everyone always thought Fred was a flirt and was hooking up with different people every weekend, and whilst they were right at the time, Fred is absolutely whipped for his badger girlfriend and hasn’t even looked at another girl since their first date. He’s always wanting to carry her books or he’s slinging an arm around her shoulder.

She has him wrapped around her finger and he couldn’t care less.

“You don’t have to do that, Freddie. You know my bag is heavy,” she says trying to grab the bag from him. Fred only takes three classes, considering the three O.W.L’s he received in their fifth year, meaning sometimes he only has one class a day. However, Y/N managed to receive ten, only failing History of Magic (‘Who fucking cares?’ was everyone’s response), resulting in her having multiple classes a day and therefore a very heavy bag. 

Fred, of course, shrugs it off, “I’m a beater, darling. Nice and strong. I can barely tell that you have five textbooks in here,” he says as he winks and causes Y/N’s face to heat up as she swats him on the chest. “I’m just saying you don’t have too, I can carry my own bag,” she pouts. While she knows Fred is more than happy to lug her bag around, she hates the idea that he’s only doing it out of obligation to be a ‘good boyfriend’. 

These insecurities aren’t new. She hears what people say about them and it doesn’t bother her for the most part. Just there’s only so many times she can handle people she’s not even friends with talking about how ‘Y/N isn’t right for Fred’. 

“You have potions now, yes?” Fred asks, pulling Y/N out of her worries as she follows Fred through the corridors. That’s another thing she never expected, Fred learnt her timetable when they started dating so he could always walk her to class. “I do, Freddie. You have a free right, are you spending it with George and Lee?” 

Fred nods, “I sure am, we’re meeting in the One-Eyed Witch passage to pop down to Honeydukes too, you need anything?” Y/N frowns at this. “Freddie, that passage is on the third floor on the other side of the school. You don’t have to walk me to potions,” she tries to grab her bag from him again and he shakes his head.

“Darling, what part of ‘I want to do this’ do you not understand?” While his tone is sharp, he’s not angry. Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever seen Fred this serious, a glint of cheekiness is always present in his eyes but right now, he looks about as serious as Snape when talking about proper cauldron care. 

“I just don’t want to keep you from the boys,” she whispers, tugging at the sleeves of her robes. They stop walking, and Fred drags her body into a hug. “The boys are fine waiting, now do you want anything from Honeydukes.” 

She falters for a second, just enjoying being in his presence. Despite the short amount of time they’ve been dating, Y/N knows what she feels for him is love and she can only hope the tall ginger boy feels the same way in return. His embrace can only be described as comfort, all Y/N’s worries rushing away as his familiar scent of firewood and cinnamon fills her senses.

“Some sugar quills, please,” she mumbles into his robes. “Anything for you,” he replies, pulling away and grabbing her hand. “C’mon, you’re going to be late for potions.” 

-

It’s after dinner by the time Y/N catches Fred again. She’s walking out of the Great Hall when she feels her robes get tugged on and she almost falls over. 

“Hi,” Fred says, “some sugar quills for my sugar quill.” 

Y/N cringes at the cheesy nickname as she thanks him, popping the sweets into her robe pockets, “What are your plans for tonight?” Fred shrugs, more quiet than usual as he plays with Y/N’s fingers. “Nothing, I was… I was wondering if I can come and hang in the Hufflepuff common room with you?” 

He’s shy and Y/N almost coos at it. Fred ‘no filter when he speaks’ Weasley is blushing as he asks his girlfriend to spend some time with her in her house common room, this is a once in a lifetime happening. 

“Of course, Freddie. Any reason why?” It’s not that she doesn’t want him spending time with her. But Fred’s never expressed an interest in spending the night in, rather opting to terrorise Filch or another teacher after dinner.

“You like spending your evenings reading in front of the fire. I feel like I’ve barely seen you today,” he whispers. At this, she decides not to torture the poor boy any further and grabs his hand. “C’mon,” 

They arrive at the common room in no time, no one batting an eye at the Gryffindor waltzing into the common room where he doesn’t belong. In fact, he gets quite a few “Hi Fred’s!” from people in their year. He’s always been popular and well known, so of course, the house of kindness is happy to have him.

“I’m going to run up to my dorm and change, are you sure you’re okay?” Fred nods, sitting himself down on the soft yellow chair in front of the fire. It’s Y/N’s favourite chair to read in and Fred knows it. “Sure am, hurry back before I freeze to death.”

Y/N speed changes, switching out her uniform for some sweatpants, one of Fred’s old jumpers and her favourite fuzzy sock. While she’s up there, she grabs a spare sweater she’s stolen from Fred for him to change into and her copy of ‘Frankenstein’ from her nightstand and rushes back downstairs and straight into Fred’s lap. “Hi,” she whispers, kissing him on the cheek. 

Fred hums a hello as he settles into the soft pillows of the couch. Y/N perches herself next to him, slinging her legs across his lap with her back against the arm rest. “What’s it about?” Fred asks, gesturing to the book she’s just opened. He knows Y/N’s love for muggle books and he loves hearing her talk about them, even though he never understands. “A scientist who creates a ‘monster’ through experiments… It’s one of my favourites.” 

She waves the book in Fred’s face and sure enough, the sticky notes and the plastic tabs are sticking out, referencing all her favourite parts. “It sounds cool, can I read it after you?” 

Y/N is shy about this. Books are very important to her and she feels her sticky notes and writing in the margins are her deepest thoughts, a peep into her soul. But the boy in front of her owns her heart, every single part of it, and she decided then and there, she wants to share every part of herself with him. “Sure, but you have to promise to not judge my notes.” 

He could never, the Hufflepuff girl in his lap turns his heart to mush no matter how much he tries to hide it and he can’t even imagine hurting her. He holds his pinky out, “I promise,” he says as she hooks her own with his and he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

They sit in silence for a while. Fred starts conversing with members of the Hufflepuff quidditch team (“We’re going to crush you next week, Kirke” she hears Fred say at one point and she has to nudge him with her knee to not start a brawl in the common room) while Y/N reads. At one point, her hand ends up in Fred’s hair, playing with the short strands at the nape of his neck. 

When she does this, Fred leans into her touch and his eyes flicker shut for only a second. She thinks she’s finally found a way to quiet him down and she makes a mental note to play with his hair next time she wants to get some reading done. 

The time starts to near 10pm as Y/N starts yawning, and as much as Fred would love to stay, he knows he’ll have enough trouble getting back to Gryffindor tower without George, Lee and their trusty Mauraders Map. “I should probably get going, darling,” Fred mutters after a while and when he looks at his girlfriend, she’s pouting.

“I wish you could stay,” she says and when Fred cocks his eyebrow she laughs, “not like that, you git!” 

She quickly stands, pulling Fred’s gangly body up from the couch and into her arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, we have double Defence,” Fred says laughing and she feels his chest rumble with laughter. “Too long,” she mumbles in reply. When Y/N gets tired, she gets clingy which was one of the earliest things Fred ever learnt about her. It’s always one of the cutest things about her.

He walks to the portrait hole, his small girlfriend clinging to his body and he presses a soft kiss to her hairline before detaching her. “Darling, I have to go.”

He feels terrible. He knows she isn’t being clingy to make him feel bad, she genuinely just wants to spend time with him. She yawns again, eyes scrunched closed as she stretches her arms that somehow end up wrapped back around his waist. 

“Okay, you can go,” she gives him one final squeeze before letting him go and looking up at him and before Fred can stop himself the words are slipping out.

“I love you.” 

This wakes her up immediately and her eyes are wide as she looks at him, “R-really?” 

Fred was going to pretend he never said it, worried it was both too early and that she didn’t feel the same way. But the way she’s looking at him, glints of happiness in her eyes and the biggest smile he’s ever seen on her face he knows now is the right time.

“I do, I love you.” 

She jumps on him again, pressing her lips to his. Her lips are soft against his, they always are and the kiss is filled with love and adoration. Neither of them is aware of how long they stand there, embraced in each other’s arms until they’re barely kissing anymore, their smiles too wide. 

“I love you too, Freddie. I love you more,” she says, full seriousness in her face. “Oh love, you won’t win this argument.” He presses a kiss to her lips again before slinking out of the portrait hole, leaving Y/N standing with her fingers pressed to her lips smiling. 

[queenshelby]

Pleasure & Pain

50 Shades of Murphy – Part Three

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: SMUT, Dom/Sub, BDSM, Edging, Impact Play, Nipple Clamps, Wax Play, Unprotected Intercourse

Words: 5,246

Over the past week, you had signed Cillian’s agreement and had arranged for all of your medical check-ups and, as expected, everything was in order.

You’ve had the implant for about a year already and pregnancy wasn’t a concern.

Cillian, in turn, did the same and it wasn’t until Saturday that you caught up again after Cillian had spent the week in London with his brother.

When you arrived at Cillian’s house, you were rather surprised to see that he had cooked dinner for you and everything started off almost like a regular date.

You got along well and never ran out of interesting conversation material. Nonetheless, that particular evening, you were nervous and a little bit worried about what was to come.

‘You know you can still change your mind’ Cillian said as he poured you a glass of wine, which you finished rather quickly despite the fact that Cillian made clear to you that he wouldn’t give you more than one glass until after your session in his basement.

‘I know, but I won’t. I want see what this is all about. I have been reading up on it and I am not quite so sure why people find joy in inflicting and receiving pain this way’ you said, trying to ascertain what exactly it was that he would do to you.

‘It’s not about the pain. It is about pleasure’ Cillian explained and you nervously bit your lip, unsure how to respond to his statement.

‘So, you think I will enjoy this, being whipped and god knows what else you will do to me’ you said.

‘I am certain that you will. Despite, it’s not just that. You will see’ Cillian said somewhat reassuringly before asking you to get up, get ready and meet him downstairs.

‘So, what do you want me to wear then sir?’ you joked.

‘Nothing at all’ Cillian responded firmly.

‘Nothing? No lingerie?’ you asked surprised and a little disappointed as you bought three sets of sexy lacy underwear with you for him to choose from.

‘Lingerie is overrated. I want you to wait for me on the bed, naked with your hair tight up’ Cillian instructed before giving you a passionate kiss.

‘Yes sir’ you simply said with a wink as your lips drifted apart, knowing very well that you didn’t have to address him like this until you entered the play room.

***

You looked up from where you sat on the bed, completely naked, just as Cillian had instructed, when Cillian entered the room.

He made you wait for at least 15 minutes but you hadn't wanted to explore the room without him. You were simultaneously excited, aroused and fearful of what you might find amongst everything else you saw during your first visit to his house.

Cillian looked gorgeous as he stood in the doorway watching you, wearing nothing but tight black Calvin Klein briefs.

‘I am ready sir’ you said quietly as you watched Cillian walk towards the other end of the room, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

‘No rope tonight?’ you then asked as he returned silently with four leather cuffs, two smaller and two larger ones.

‘Not tonight’ Cillian said and you willingly held out your wrists for him.

‘Not yet. Lie down’ he instructed and you complied, lying down and allowing him to encircle your wrists with each of the cuff before securing them to a leather string which was attached to the bedhead above you.

Whilst the string allowed you to wiggle, it also allowed Cillian to turn you around without undoing the cuffs.

Without words, his eyes followed his fingers as they trailed down your cheek and over your shoulder to your breast where his fingers found your nipple, pinching it gently between his thumb and forefinger and rolling the swollen nub.

Then, Cillian grabbed the other larger cuffs which he placed around your ankles before retrieving a metal bar and attaching it in between the cuffs, keeping your legs spread wide.

‘Fuck, you look so sexy like this, all helpless and at my mercy’ he murmured from where he was sitting.

You smiled and looked up at him, moving your shoulders slightly, trying to wiggle around to get more comfortable.

‘It's adorable watching you try to retain some sense of control in here with me’ Cillian then said before he placed his hands on your shoulders to stop your movements.

‘The moment you signed that contract you surrendered all control of what happens here to me’ he then reminded you as he moved away from you and you watched him as he seemed to be slowing himself down with the distraction of retrieving equipment rather than rebuking your actions.

You said nothing as you watched him take out two candles before placing them on a waist-high shelf beside the bed and lighting them. Almost immediately the room began to fill with a subtle sweet smell. You continued to watch him as he went to a different panel and took several items from the cupboard before approaching you again.

‘You said you would take it easy on me the first time we do this’ you said nervously as you observed him carrying a leather strap towards the bed.

‘If you are a good girl and behave for me, then I will’ Cillian smirked.

‘Hmm, alright, I will be good’ you said somewhat nervously and Cillian could see that you were slightly worried.

‘Do you remember your safe words?’ Cillian then asked and you nodded.

‘Good. How are you feeling, now?’ he asked.

‘Green’ you said with a smile.

‘Good, now close your eyes and keep them closed’ Cillian ordered, wanting you to trust him without him having to blindfold you.

‘Why?’ you asked before you could stop yourself and felt the sting of the strap catch your breast.

‘Because I told you to, and in here we play by my rules’ he said in a low dark voice. ‘Close your eyes and keep them closed’ he repeated his command.

His tone and forcefulness sent a shiver down your spine, and without thinking about it any further, you closed your eyes.

Cillian took a few moments to gaze down on you, still not quite believing that you were here in this room with him and allowing him to use you in this way. He ran his hands over your breasts, playing with your hard-pointed nipples and listening to the small moans of pleasure you emitted.

You took a deep breath a moment before you felt his lips on yours while his hands massaged down your body starting from your shoulders and lingering over your breasts before moving lower across your tummy and then the area of skin just above your mound. You heard him groan deeply as if the slower pace he was moving at was torturing him, and you allowed yourself a small smile that you affected him in the same way his actions were affecting you.

‘Roll’ Cillian almost barked as he took hold of your body and helped you roll over on to your stomach.

The leather strip attached to your cuffs was now twisted tighter towards the bedhead and your legs were still held wide apart by the spreader.

‘Keep your eyes closed’ he instructed and the bed sagged as you felt Cillian's weight beside you on the mattress. He moved further to straddle your thighs, and you felt his hands touch lightly on your shoulders and you tensed as if expecting the strap to land rather than the continued soft touch of his hands.

‘Relax, Y/N. It's important to relax’ he whispered into your ear, his hot breath caressing your neck. ‘Where are we on the scale?’ he then asked softly.

‘Green’ you whispered softly.

‘Good’ he said softly as his hands glided over your ass.

You felt a small thrill flutter inside you as you began to surrender to him while he continued to gently touch and caress your body for at least ten minutes or so.

The feeling was amazing and you began to fantasise as you felt his hands skate around your thighs to just touch at the inner sides, mere centimetres away from your mound.  You felt his hands creep slowly closer but withdraw again, making you whimper at the denial.

Cillian very carefully avoided any contact with your already soaking pussy and, instead, began working his hands around to your outer thighs. You groaned in disappointment and you heard his faint chuckle.

You took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the movement of his big strong hands again and sighed as you let the breath out.

‘Did you just sigh at me?’ Cillian asked cheekily as, suddenly, he smacked your ass.

‘I am sorry sir’ you squeaked and felt the cool air once again caress your pussy, making you realise just how wet and wanting you were from all of his teasing.

The pull on your ass cheeks stopped and you heard him groan before the mattress moved and you realised he had moved from the bed. You groaned in frustrated need as he stood there gazing down at you for long minutes.

But then, unexpectedly, there was a blow. The blow, when it came, was light and not at all painful, but made you squeak and your head come up in surprise as you registered what had happened.

‘Too light?’ Cillian questioned almost to himself.

The next blow You felt immediately as it landed over the first and made you hiss between closed teeth and lips and became clear to you that it was the leather strip that was coming down on your ass.

‘How do you feel?’ Cillian asked.

‘Green’ you whispered breathily, the heat from the blow starting to warm your ass. Three more blows came on the other cheek, seeming to hit in the same spot and stinging you with their heat.

‘Y/N?’ he questioned.

‘Green’ you said in a whimpering moan.

‘This is going to be more fun than I imagined then’ he taunted your and let loose a barrage of blows across your ass and upper thighs, making you moan loudly.

‘That’s a good girl’ Cillian praised the louder moan that had escaped your lips. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked as he paused.

‘Green’ you moaned in a purring way as you settled into the heat and subtle pain of your ass and thighs.

‘Ready?’ he asked, adoring the way you had answered him and enjoying the moment more than he could ever remember in the past. He saw your body tremble in anticipation and raised the strap again.

The first few strikes across the cheeks of your ass seemed lighter to you, as if just reheating the marks already imprinted on your skin. The warmth and sensations they caused were more than manageable, and you never thought to warn him by changing your colour of answer when he asked again. As he continued the increasing intensity of the strikes against your skin, they began to overwhelm you a little more as he worked the strap back down your thighs, giving your ass a small reprieve.

Your head spun, and a deep, intense rush of adrenaline shot through you, firing your brain and numbing the burning hot sting of your ass. You barely heard the words as he demanded to know how you were feeling, and you groaned out green again, feeling your body react not only to the strikes of his strap but also his commanding voice.

Cillian paused and ran his hands over your now burning skin, feeling the heat radiating from it and hearing your soft whimpering as he squeezed the fiery cheeks of your ass.

‘Unbelievable’ Cillian groaned and started to massage the colourful flesh of your ass again, revelling in your ability to take so much from him.

‘Finally, you relax’ he chuckled as he rewarded you by sliding a finger through your slick lips to tease you for a minute.

‘And you are so fucking wet too’ he then observed as he watched your hips buck almost involuntarily as he finally touched your pussy. You felt the teasing finger travel through your folds and playfully teasing at your clit, making your let out a purring moan of appreciation and test the bonds that held your arms above your head.

‘You are something else Y/N’ Cillian murmured in a pleased light tone, and began to insert a finger into you, marvelling at how tight you felt like this and feeling your muscles clutch at his finger as if wanting to draw it deeper. The tension soon became to much for you and you tried to grind yourself against his hand.

‘No! Don’t move’ Cillian scolded, withdrawing his finger and smacking your ass again. ‘Remember who is in control?’ he murmured darkly. ‘Let's try this again, shall we? Cillian then asked as he reinserted his finger and curled it down, seeking out the rough area of skin within your that would push your over the edge.

You whimpered in high purring moans, and when he added a second finger to the first massaging your g-spot with force, you couldn't control the rock of your hips as you built up to what promised to be an earth-shattering climax. Once again Cillian withdrew his fingers and smacked your ass even harder than before, making you cry out even louder.

‘Think carefully before you move!’ Cillian growled. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, and watched your take a shaky breath as you thought about what was happening.

‘Green’ you whimpered again.

‘Good’ Cillian said as he moved back down your body to kneel on the end of the bed again and grasped your hips in both hands, raising them and encouraging you to pull your knees below you to hold the position while your ankles were still spread apart.

On your knees, you felt the muscles in your thighs and ass stretch and pull at your damaged skin, and you whimpered softly as you knelt with your ass high and your head low against the mattress where your arms were chained forward and in place.

You concentrated on these feelings of discomfort as he once again pushed his fingers into you and continued to massage your g-spot, bringing you rapidly back to the point you had been only minutes before. You desperately tried not to grind back against his hand, realising your mistake now, but as the muscles in your thighs and ass continued to burn.

Cillian watched you carefully for all of the tell-tale signs that you were close to coming. You were panting heavily, and your body seemed to shudder as you tried to maintain your position for him. The sounds you made became increasingly higher pitched and, as he saw the muscles in your thighs trembling, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you on the edge of what would have been an amazing climax.

‘Remember to ask me for permission if you want to come?’ Cillian said in a low voice as you cried out, your body moving to seek the renewed contact, and he smacked you, pulling your legs from under your so that you landed heavily back onto the bed whimpering softly.

‘I was so close’ you whimpered piteously.’

‘Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it? In fact, you should really be punished for trying to come without my permission’ Cillian then said.

‘Punished?’ you asked somewhat worried as you looked at him.

‘I had thought about spanking you and leaving it at that, but it seems you enjoyed that a lot more than I had considered you would’ Cillian grinned. ‘Which I am more than pleased about, believe me’ he added with an elvish smile before he hoovered back over you.

‘Hmm, what am I going to do to you?’ Cillian murmured, moving forward to whisper huskily close to your ear. The movement had his cock lightly dragging up your back and you could feel how hard he was despite of the fabric of the briefs separating your skin from his.

You tried desperately not to think about how much you wanted to feel him inside you right at that moment, and you closed your eyes, trying to relax, but the feel of his mostly naked body against you was almost too much to bear.

Again, you wiggled your body against him as he briefly ran his hand over your mound.

‘So wet and needy’ he commented as his hand skated down over the lips of your pussy. Inserting one finger in you, he murmured ‘and so tight.’

‘That is a result of all your teasing. Please just fuck me’ you purred, feeling your arousal build again as he slowly moved his finger in and out of your tight hole.

You then felt the finger withdraw from you again and his body lean over yours as Cillian unstrapped you from the bedhead and removed the metal bar in between your ankles, but leaving the cuffs in situ for later perusal.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Green’ you sighed and gave a small smile.

‘Good’ he then said before pulling you up into his arms.

Your heart began to race and you looked into his deep blue eyes seeing your own need and desire reflected back at you.

Cillian stood and helped you from the bed before he led you to a waist-high padded bench on the other side of the room, and once again Cillian pulled your arms back and joined your wrist cuffs together behind your back as you stood perfectly still. He went to a panel on the wall and retrieved another slightly shorter metal bar and bent to your ankles, attaching them to rings on the cuffs before lengthening the bar and pushing your feet widely apart.

‘Fuck, look at you’ he groaned, finally standing in front of you. His hands cupped your breasts and he lowered his head to one nipple, biting it without much force but enough to make you whimper. His fingers worked at the soft flesh as his mouth continued to tease both nipples to hard points.

‘Do you know what these are?’ he asked, tilting his head.

‘Clamps?’ you questioned in return and gave him a concerned stare.

‘Yes’ he said with a husky voice, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Then, he attached one to your nipple, and you found that, to your surprise, it was easily bearable.

You looked down as he attached the second clamp and let the chain swing freely between your breasts.

‘Hmm’ you moaned, biting your lip just as he tugged on the chain slightly until he saw your grimace.

‘How are you feeling? Cillian asked.

‘Still green, just’ you breathed, not wanting him to tighten them any further.

‘I was hoping for amber’ he smirked and gave the chain a small tug again, causing you to whimper and clench your teeth.

‘Do we have amber?’ he asked in a deep husky voice.

‘Yes fuck, oh god…amber’ you shouted out as Cillian watched you bite your lip.

‘Your nipples are sensitive’ he grinned before telling you again to stay still as he walked away from you momentarily.

‘Oh god, no’ you huffed out, breathing heavily as he returned with the candles, he had earlier lit and placed on one of the shelves.

You had read about this and knew that the hot wax would soon be covering part of your body.

After sharing a passionate kiss, you reluctantly nodded and Cillian captured your eyes with his own as he tilted the candle, slowly pouring hot wax over the skin of your breasts, making you gasp and whine in a long-drawn-out sound.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked once both sides of your breasts were covered with cooling white dots of wax, making the skin around the dots of wax change colour and feed his arousal.

‘Amber’ you looked at him with teary eyes.

Cillian knew that it was the clamps that were causing you the most discomfort, and realising this was your first experience with them decided not to leave them in place any longer. He pulled the chain with a quick tug, making the clamps dig deeply into you before finally sliding free and making your cry out and rock in your stance. He moved to support you, his head lowering to capture and soothe a nipple in his mouth as he fingers gently massaged the other back to life. He spent long minutes going from one to the other as you whimpered softly, and when he finally stepped back he groaned deeply.

There were tear tracks in your make-up, and, where the wax had peeled and flaked away, large splotches marked your skin. Cillian was beyond turned on by the mere sight of you. So much so that he had to consciously get control of himself and breathe deeply.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked softly, reaching out to run a finger over your breast, flicking away some of the larger spots of wax.

‘Green again, I think’ you huffed and you couldn’t believe that, by that point, you were dripping onto the floor. To your surprise, the pain and Cillian pushing your limits turned you on.

‘So sensitive’ Cillian smiled as he played with your nipples again before he lowered his head and dropped a kiss on each one, still trying to regain control of his need to stop the game and just fuck you.

‘Please fuck me Cillian’ you begged, and every other thought about gaining control of his desires fled from Cillian's mind. He picked you up, turning you around and pushed you down over the bench you stood beside. He stepped behind you and thrust into you with a deep groan, stilling his movements for several minutes before pulling back, leaving only the head of his cock embedded in you.

‘You were so eager to have me finger fuck you earlier that you couldn't control yourself from pushing onto my hand. Let's see how well you can hold still now’ Cillian said, groaning deeply as he was all the way inside you and started to drip more wax onto your lower back, making you lurch forward again and turn your head, straining to see him and the candle he now held.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Green’ you replied automatically and the wax thankfully cooled fast in the small trickle that had run over the top of your ass and down your thigh.

You were desperate for traction, but he gave you none. You felt his cock pulsate inside of you as he poured more wax onto you. You didn't pull away quite so much this time and, for your good behaviour, you were rewarded with several long and steady thrusts, causing you to moan loudly.

You caught on to his game fairly rapidly and, the next time the wax dripped onto your skin, you remained still so that he would continue to fuck you.

Cillian enjoyed your whimpers and jerky movements as he used the wax several more times before finally losing his battle against himself and pushing you forward and pumping into you hard and fast. Aware that he had denied you continually earlier, he used his fingers on your clit and felt you stiffen and arch your back against him.

‘Sir, may I come, please’ you groaned just before the first of your climaxes rolled through your body.

‘Yes princess. You did well’ he finally said and his free hand gripped one of your breasts and held you in the strange hard arch as he continued to fuck you remorselessly, and he felt you shudder and cry out as your orgasm ripped through you.

‘Oh god yes fuck’ you moaned and screamed as you climaxed in a way you never had before and Cillian was soon losing his own battle against his orgasm, but he continued on; one hand working your clit and the other mauling your breast as he pounded you as hard as he could.

Then, another climax rocked you physically, almost causing you to pass out.

By this point, Cillian couldn’t hold on much longer either and, with a loud groan and two more thrusts, he came as hard as you did, spilling his cum deep inside you.

‘Fuck’ Cillian cursed, and with unknown reserves he picked you up and staggered to the bed, freeing you from the bonds on your arms and legs. He felt your pulse and checked your breathing before climbing onto the bed beside you and cradling you in his arms.

‘How are you feeling?’ he then asked, kissing your neck gently as he did.

‘Fucking fantastic’ you murmured as you watched Cillian look all over your body, taking in the marks he had left.

‘I want to do this again…the orgasm after all this, it was out of this world’ you huffed out.

‘I told you it was about pleasure and not just pain’ Cillian said before he groaned deep in his chest as his arousal began to grow again. He didn't think he could ever tire of having you like this.

‘Oh my, eager are we sir?’ you giggled as your breathing had finally returned to normal after all this and you sat up, leaned down and kissed Cillian passionately.

Without giving him a chance to assert dominance over you again, you were quick to climb on top of him and lower yourself down onto his hard cock.

To your surprise, he didn’t protest as you began to fuck him and his warm hands soon found your breasts where he flicked his fingers over your nipples.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned as you rode him and felt the heat seep into your body and the tendrils of pain that radiated from your nipples spread out, helping you climb toward yet another huge climax.

Cillian dropped his hand and, taking careful aim, he spanked you, adding to the already bruised flesh of your ass. You whimpered and moaned, the combined sound once again coming out as a heated high-pitched purr as you rode him and ground down onto his cock. He alternated between the two areas, your breasts and your ass, and reached out to steady you as you arched hard, pushing down into him and shaking almost violently as you came again. The sight of you looking well used and trembling in ecstasy was enough for him to give into the milking muscles of your pussy. He came with you, coating your insides once more with his seed before pulling you down on top of him once your body had relaxed out of the hard arch, and he held you tightly, stroking your hair as you settled back down to earth along with him.

‘I never knew it could be this good’ you whispered as you stroked your hand over Cillian's chest and lay there listening to his racing heartbeat slow.

‘I must say, I never enjoyed it as much as I did tonight with you’ Cillian said gently before kissing you passionately once more.

‘How about we get some sleep, hmm?’ he then asked as he sat up and you momentarily thought that this is where you would be sleeping together.

To your surprise, Cillian was quick to pick you up and carry you upstairs to what clearly was his bedroom.

He then placed you onto the large bed, climbed in next to you and covered both your bodies with the large doona.

After spending aa good two hours together in the basement, you were exhausted and, after a few kisses it didn’t take you long to fall asleep in Cillian’s arm.

***

The following morning you both were woken up by the doorbell ringing at around 8 o’clock.

‘Are you expecting anyone?’ you asked still half asleep and Cillian shook his head before getting up and grabbing a t-shirt from his wardrobe.

‘Coming’ Cillian yelled out as the doorbell rang a second time and he was already on his way downstairs.

Unsure what was going on, you got dressed with whatever you found in Cillian’s cabinet and, when you heard the door for a second time after about ten minutes, you made your way downstairs thinking that, whoever came to visit, had now left.

To your surprise, this wasn’t the case when you saw two women stand in Cillian’s kitchen, making themselves a cup of coffee.

‘Oh hello there.... Cilly, you didn’t tell us you had company’ the blonde woman in her mid-sixties said with a wide a smile before introducing herself to you.

‘I am Leanne, Cillian’s mother’ she said as she quickly grabbed another cup from the cabinet for you.

‘I am Y/N, nice to meet you’ you said somewhat embarrassed before you recalled having seen the other woman who was standing in Cillian’s kitchen before. It was Cillian’s sister who he had dinner with at the restaurant that night he asked you out.

After Cillian introduced you to his sister, he mentioned to you that his mother likes to come and visit unannounced whenever she stays with his sister and the grandchildren.

‘Well darling, I just need to make sure my son is doing alright and has enough to eat’ she said with a wink as she unpacked a whole big rattan basket full of homemade scones, jam and some homemade bread.

‘I always told him that he needs a good woman in his life’ she then said as she walked over towards you and handed you one of the scones.

‘Scones for breakfast?’ Cillian chuckled as he watched his mother inspecting you.

‘Love, you have something stuck to your hair…may I?’ his mum then asked and you turned around which is when she pulled a bit of wax from the back of your neck and hair.

‘Looks like wax’ she then chuckled before putting the piece of candle wax on the kitchen bench.

Her actions caused you to flush with embarrassment and you hoped that she wouldn’t notice the marks on your legs and wrists from where the cuffs were affixed the evening before.

‘Well, Y/N does like candles’ Cillian smirked as he bit into his scone almost unbothered by his mother’s presence.

‘Oh Love, you should come to the farmers markets with us then. We are leaving at 10 o’clock. They have fantastic home-made candles for sale. Then you could come and have lunch with us. I always make a roast on Sundays’ Cillian’s mother suggested.

‘Mum’s roast is the best. Do you want to come? I might even come along to the markets, eh’ Cillian then said, catching you by surprise.

‘Yes, uhm…I would love to. Thank you’ you responded shyly.

      Tag List:

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  @stickyknightflowerbailiff @im-constantly-fangirling @goldensunflowe-r  @tellingyouastory  @captivatedbycillianmurphy​  @namelesslosers​  @littlewhiterose​  @ttzamara​  @ttzamara @cilleveryone  ​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy​  ​

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

[otonymous]

Glutton For Your Flavour (Obey Me: Beelzebub - NSFW)

Description: You’re about to become Beel’s next meal Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Spoilers for Lesson 5 of MS (hard).  Please note potential trigger warnings: dub-con (as an inadvertent result of somnambulism), cunnilingus in two flavours (soft and rough), squirting and overstimulation, slight size kink, very faint hints of tetraphilia, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it blasphemy, slight fear (monstrous descriptions) Word Count: ~2900 words (~14 mins of smut & shenanigans) Author’s Notes:  My very first fic for the Obey Me fandom!  I know I’m late to the party, but I’ve recently started playing this game and the story and its characters are so amusing I had to write about it.  This piece may not be to everyone’s taste, so please, please, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above and skip if it’s not your cup of tea.  That being said, hope you all enjoy the read! 💕😆

🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔

“Bad luck to be sharing a room with Beel, but what can ya do after he destroyed yours while destroying the kitchen, and all for a dumb custard!  Be careful — he might mistake you for a snack and eat ya in the middle of the night, hahaha!”

Mmm.

The scene fragments, Mammon’s face wavering as his voice grows faint, consciousness seeping into dark corners like sunlight cutting through fog.  And when you open your eyes, you can’t quite place where you are for a moment, straddling the line between dreamscape and reality.

Ahh…

You sigh.  There it was again, the sensation so pleasant it had roused you from the deepest slumber.

Further blinking off the haze of sleep, you take in your surroundings: a large bed lying empty across from yours in a room almost cavernous in size and just as dark save for a candle burning low on a desk, the glow of its flame orange like the hair that was currently brushing soft against your inner thighs—

“BEEL?!  WHAT THE HELL?!”  

“So tasty…not…enough…need more…want to…eat…zzz….”

Eyes still closed, the demon’s face is shiny even in the dark, slick from cheek to chin with what must’ve been a copious amount of his saliva and your arousal, you blush to realize.  And when he doesn’t budge even after a swift kick to the face, you are ashamed to find the Lord of Flies’ show of strength sending yet another throb to your already pulsing clit.

He does wake though, Beelzebub’s amethyst eyes opening wide before he falls backwards onto the cold stone floor to realize what he had inadvertently done in his sleep.  And as the always-famished sixth born looks from the shredded remnants of your panties to the pool of wetness on the sheets where his chin had rested, he becomes even more tongue-tied than usual.

“I…uh…I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to…I dreamt I smelled something delicious and I was so hungry…and somehow I’m here, on the floor…I don’t even know…I-I’m so sorry!”

His cheeks grow so flushed they remind you of the red spider sandwiches he packed away during dinner, stuffing them two by two into his mouth until Satan smacked his hand away for trying to take more from his plate.  The expression on his face is so full of remorse that even if you were angry, you’d be inclined to forgive the demon who was currently grovelling at the foot of your bed, swearing he would hand himself over to Lucifer and Diavolo first thing in the morning to be strung up and hung upside down for a fortnight, even (gulp) forgoing food for a day or two.

“Beelzebub…Beel…BEEL!”  You shout, interrupting his self-inflicted tirade.  “It’s okay, you didn’t mean it.  You were sleepwalking.  You don’t have to go to Lucifer and Diavolo about this.”

“No, I have to.  My behaviour was inexcusable—”

“BEEL!  Let’s…just…try to go back to sleep, okay?  We have our midterm in Devildom law tomorrow morning and I really don’t feel like failing just because I didn’t get enough shut eye.  So please, can we just pretend like this didn’t happen?”

Those orange brows are still furrowed when Beel finally lifts his head and nods.  But then his gaze is falling again on the wet sheets and the shiver than runs through that larger-than-life body seems to send another wave of anxiety through the demon.  He makes a mad dash for the door, murmuring something about getting a snack from the kitchen and “you can have the room tonight” before it slams shut behind him.

He doesn’t return for the rest of the night.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The exam was so disastrous even Mammon didn’t bother sneaking another peek at your paper after the first two questions.  And even if you had somehow managed to get back to sleep after last night’s ordeal, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that you were still distracted by the memory of Beel’s mouth on your pussy:

His long tongue, serpentine as it delved deep between swollen folds to taste you with gusto.  

The way he rolled your clit between those plush, soft lips before sucking it into his hot mouth, over and over again.  

The throbbing between your legs that refused to cease long after the Avatar of Gluttony had left the room you were temporarily sharing, sleep only forthcoming once you had succumbed and reached beneath the sheets to finish the job he had started, your moans licentious even to your ears as you pretended your fingers were his.

It was a pale imitation, of course.  That much you could see for yourself, stealing a glance at Beel seated two rows down — quill twirling between long, dexterous digits when he wasn’t putting ink to parchment.

But those gigantic hands were just a small part of what made Beel demonically attractive, as if the word “small” could be applied to him at all: tall and built, there were times when even you envied the ease with which he maintained that perfect physique despite his penchant for shovelling enough food to feed all three realms into his mouth on the regular.

The same mouth which brought you so much pleasure the night before.

Ahem.

Clearing your throat, you pretend not to see the smirk that spreads across Asmo’s delicate face, hoping the lusty demon sitting just to your left wouldn’t pick up on the very secret thoughts you were having about his brother.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Private Chatroom]: Satan, Levi, Mammon, Asmo

Satan: This is going to sound crazy, but doesn’t it seem like Beel’s…hungrier than usual?  Is that even possible?

Levi: OMFG!  You should’ve seen the state of the kitchen this morning after Beel decided to camp out there overnight!  It was a total war zone, like that epic battle scene in Vol. 5 of TSL lololol.  Soooo good XDDDDD

Mammon:  Hey!  He’s gonna eat us outta house and home at this rate!  Shouldn’t we stop him?

Satan: You do it, Mammon.  Aren’t you always saying that there’s nothing The Great Mammon can’t do?

Mammon: …..

Asmo: Please, as if anyone — angel or demon — could come between Beel and a meal.  

Satan: Why was he camping out there in the first place?  Was there something wrong with his room?  I don’t remember him complaining about anything since he got shacked up with the exchange student.

Levi: Not like he could, seeing as it was his fault to begin with and a direct order from Lucifer.

Asmo: Maybe we should ask her.  I’m sure she knows something about what’s inciting his hunger judging by the way she kept staring at him in class today fufufu 😏  She almost failed her midterm because of it, isn’t that right, Mammon?

Mammon: ‼️‼️

[Mammon has left the chat]

Levi: He is sooooo transparent LMFAOOOO

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gasp!

Pressing a hand to your mouth, you try to contain your shock at the sight that greets you when you peek around the corner into the kitchen:

Curved, ebony horns sitting majestically atop a head of disheveled orange hair.  Thick, corded muscles that ripple across a broad back — readily apparently because the creature bent over a mountain of food on the ground was wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms, loose and slung so low over narrow hips that the sharp V defining his groin is visible even from the distance at which you stood.  

Because this wasn’t quite what you were expecting to find when you made your way to the kitchen in the middle of the night to search for Beel, thinking to approach him about the peculiarity of his recent behaviour: the way he now ate constantly and was less satiated than before, the fact that he seemed to be going out of his way to avoid you even though you shared a room.

In fact, he hadn’t said so much as another word to you after he gave you two dozen of his prized custards the morning after the incident, apologizing again until you had to be the one to make him swear he wouldn’t breathe a word of it to Lucifer.  The demon even made a beeline for the door as soon as he saw you emerge from the bathroom tonight, fresh from a shower.

It wasn’t hard to guess where he was headed.

Even still, you tried to focus on your textbook, reading the same line over and over again as you waited for Beel to return so you could have a proper conversation with the demon you made a pact with.  And when you could wait no longer, you made your way towards his favourite room in the House of Lamentation — silently, so as not to draw the attention of the eldest sibling.

But the growls coming from the direction of the open fridge this time sounded like Cerberus himself, enough so that you find yourself rooted to the ground, unable to take another step forwards or back.  

You had never seen Beel like this before, tearing into whatever he could get his hands on with a savagery that made your heart stop.  Teeth, lips and tongue devoured without second thought in a way that was simultaneously terrifying and…

Throb.

…arousing.

Suddenly, he stills, throwing his head back to sniff the air once…twice…and in a flash, he is upon you, towering over your head as he rises to full height — bigger and taller and much more intimidating than you’ve ever seen him before.

You should have been scared.  Any person in their right mind would have if they found themselves cornered by a demon of Beelzebub’s calibre.  But the hands that balled into trembling fists at his sides made you feel oddly secure, your deepest instincts telling you that not all was as it seemed.

“You need to leave.  Now…please.”

“What’s going on with you, Beel?  I just want to help—”  You reach for his arm.  He jumps back as if burned.

“I SAID YOU NEED TO LEAVE!  I-I…can’t hold back…for…much longer!”

Handsome face screwed up as if in pain, Beel turns to put as much distance as possible between the two of you, squatting on his haunches with his head in his hands when he murmurs:

“I…I don’t know what’s going on with me.  This has never happened before.  I’m hungrier than I’ve ever been.  I eat and eat and eat and it still isn't enough.  The last time I felt satisfied was when…when…”

His voice dies down to a whisper.

“…when I tasted you.”

Throb.

Putting out a hand, you steady yourself against the wall, knees suddenly weak at Beelzebub’s admission.  Or perhaps it was due to relief, the tension that had been steadily building in your strained relationship with the demon released to know that you weren’t the only one who desired to revisit that night’s events.

So you gather your courage, stepping softly towards the demon who crouched on the ground next to the lit fireplace, the heat radiating from the hearth warming the flesh you had deliberately left bare when you lift the hem of your night gown to expose yourself to Beel.

“What are you doing?!  I told you, I can barely hold back—”

“Then don’t.  I don’t mind, Beel.  I…I like it too.”

Amethyst eyes darken as they look up into yours, orange flames reflecting off pupils blown wide.  And when he speaks next, the deepness of his voice echoes in your body, as if its source were to be found within your own soul.

“Ask and ye shall receive.  I won’t touch you until you do.”

Nipples hardening beneath your gown, the rush of heat that floods your core makes you shudder when you say,

“Please, Beelzebub…I want you to eat my pussy.”

Back hitting solid wood, you barely have time to gasp before you are pulled to the edge of a long table in the centre of the kitchen, a long tongue running up the insides of each thigh in turn before they’re propped up onto broad shoulders, Beel’s breath blowing hot on the space in between.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can hold back.  I’m just…so famished, so desperate to taste you again—”

His words cut off in a low growl as he presses his lips to your folds, saliva dripping from his mouth mixing with the juices that already painted a glistening sheen on pink flesh.  You fight to bite back a moan at the vehemence of his hunger, the sheer greed of his tongue — flicking at your clit until your back arched off the table, heralding the arrival of the cream that leaked only to be swept up by Beel licking from end to end of that swollen seam.  And when that still wasn’t enough, you nearly swooned to feel that serpentine tongue penetrate, reaching depths that surely only a demon would be able to achieve as Beel sought out more of your flavour.

He buries his face deeper into your pussy, nose nudging your clit as arousal smeared over the entirely of his visage.  The vibrations of his voice further stimulates your locus of pleasure, punctuating the lewd, wet sounds when he says:

“You smell so delicious.  All the time.  And tonight, when you stepped out of the shower…I couldn’t take it, not with the way your scent flooded my senses.  I had to leave or else…this would happen.”

“Oh Beel…you should’ve told me sooner.”  

Mind lost in a haze of lust and body boneless from riding out wave after climatic wave, you reach down a trembling hand without thinking, fingers innocently tracing along the smooth ridges of the onyx horns that lay against your abdomen.

Suddenly, his breath hitches at your touch and the Sixth Prince of Hell is throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in a moan loud and deep enough to reverberate off stone walls, clattering stacks of dishes in cupboards and making you come once more — legs convulsing upon his shoulders as you feel a preponderance of fluid gush forth from your body right into Beel’s waiting mouth.

The pleasure was such that you’ve never known before, so good that surely, it must be bad in some way, shape or form.  But you hadn’t the energy to ponder further.  

No, the only thing you’re aware of when your vision goes black is that Beel’s mouth is still on you, feasting upon a pussy that continued to respond to the teasing movements of his lips and tongue even as you ceased to think.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cheddar.  Pickles.  Ketchup and mustard.

The smell is what rouses you, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what you saw when you awoke in your own bed: mountains of cheeseburgers arranged on platters filling up every available surface in the room you shared with Beel.

“You can sleep for longer if you want.  I told Lucifer you’d be skipping class today because you’re not feeling well.  Are you…feeling well?”

Beelzebub lifts his head from where it’d been resting at the side of your bed, the rest of his body laid out on the floor as if he were guarding you like an oversized dog.  Those puppy dog eyes, full of concern, didn’t help his case either.

“I’m fine, Beel.  Better than fine, actually.  I feel fantastic!”  You smile, moving to sit up in bed.  The demon springs from the ground, putting an arm around your shoulders to help prop you up, and your heart can’t help but warm at how protective he was being.

He breathes, relief flooding those handsome features.  “I’m glad.  I was afraid I lost control last night and had to carry you back.  You were just…so tasty and…satisfying…”  

Those amethyst eyes glint as they travel to the apex of your thighs, and all of a sudden, he is grabbing at those human world cheeseburgers, shoving them into his mouth two at a time.

“Have some,” he says between bites.  “They’re my favourite and I thought you might like them too.  Besides, you need to eat if you’re gonna keep up your energy.”

You reach towards the nearest platter, taking one for yourself.  “Energy for what?”

Beel looks at you, expression completely serious when he says, “For the next round tonight.”

Throb.

🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[spencerspecifics]

HI HI HI PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE MOREID AT PRIDE AND SOME PINING AND SPENCER THINKS DEREK IS STRAIGHT BUT HE ISN'T AND THEY KIIIITTTTTHHHHH

I absolutely love your energy fuck yes!! I’m so sorry this took forever, ive got school, work and some other personal things happening so I appreciate your patience!

No TW, B u t, a creep hits on Spencer at pride, so if that is upsetting please note that! Thanks :)

———————————————————————

Pride

———————————————————————

Garcia had been pestering Spencer about going to pride for the past week now, and it was slowly driving him insane.

He used almost every excuse he could think of. When he first turned her down, he had simply said, “Sorry, I’m going to be busy that week.” And of course, Garcia being Garcia, she stole his calendar to see what he was busy with (spoiler alert: he had nothing. Except a reminder to go grocery shopping, and email some professors and research scientists back).

So, she persisted, and he came up with a dozen more excuses; “I was considering flying out to see my mom”, “The local museum has a new interactive archeology exhibit for adults, and I want to learn more about ancient structures”, “I have to do a presentation on thermodynamics”.

None of those excuses work, as she sniffed out every lie, “Spencer, you hate flying to Vegas last minute, that archaeology exhibit has been open for months, and your calendar is empty!”

So with her persistence, and legitimate bullying, Spencer found himself finally agreeing. “Fine, but come over to my apartment before we leave so you can help me.” After all, he wasn’t really familiar with pride parades, and what the scene was like there. He was going to be a fish out of water, he already knew that for certain.

~

True to her word, Garcia showed up an hour before the pride parade was set to start, carrying a coffee in each hand- how she possibly knocked on his apartment door, Spencer didn’t know.

“I brought you a pick me up, that way you have no excuse to be in a bad mood!” She spoke in her signature sing song voice as Spencer let her inside, she barreled in like a hurricane. God, Spencer wasn’t ready for this.

“Thanks..” Spencer decided to reply with that lame response, and not with what he was actually thinking. He took the coffee from her wordlessly as she stepped in further, going to sit down on his couch.

“You excited?” Garcia asked as she set her cup down on his cluttered coffee table. Reid just shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t do great with crowds.”

“But you do great with disarming murderers?” “You know that’s different-” Spencer said, doing his best to argue, “Reid it is literally not. Both are anxiety inducing, but one is life or death, and it’s not pride. So you can do this.”

Spencer sighed, resigning himself to not arguing with Garcia. Because she was right, though at times her arguments sounded wild. He just had to get over this anxiety and show up at pride, he could do this, right?

~

Wrong. So, very, wrong. They had left his apartment with thirty minutes to spare, deciding to walk over to where pride was being held- as it was only a few blocks away in a public park.

And as soon as they got there, Spencer wanted out. There were so many people, more than he estimated (and his estimations were usually spot on.), and there was just chaos everywhere. Music, dancing, shouting, singing, drag queens running around happily. Spencer wasn’t sure what to do. He was out of his element.

Garcia seemed to sense that, though, as she dragged Spencer over to some stalls that sold pride flags, pins, and other miscellaneous pride related things.

“C’mon Reid, why don’t you look around and find something you like?” She offered up, something for him to do- something for him to stay busy with. He could do that. Spencer nodded simply, Garcia stayed by his side- looking at pride related wear for herself.

~

Spencer ended up deciding on a small pin that simply said; “love all”, planning to stick it on his messenger bag strap. Garcia bought a pin as well, but hers just had her pronouns on them; “she/her/hers”.

Looking at all the pride apparel was a good distraction for Spencer, he felt a lot more calmer now- though that didn’t stop him from feeling like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He’s just not familiar with this world, and it’s awkward to suddenly be in the middle of it.

Spencer was in the middle of looking at another booth that sold flags, possibly considering buying himself a small one to stick in his pencil cup at work, because Garcia left him to go compliment a drag queen- when a voice broke through.

“Hey, pretty boy!”

That was a voice all too familiar, what on earth was Morgan doing here? Spencer looked up at him as he made his way towards him. “Hey,” Spencer spoke awkwardly. Not sure what to say.

Spencer was gay. He was fine with admitting he was gay, but he hadn’t really told the team. He thought they figured it out on their own. And they probably had, but still, having his coworker see him at a pride event- it was anxiety inducing.

“What’re- what’re you doing here?” Spencer asked, stumbling over his words as he dropped the small flag he was holding back onto the vendors table.

“Oh, well I’m on the local PFLAG committee. I’m just here to hand out flyers and stuff. But I’m glad to see you’re here, I’m guessing Garcia’s here too?” He asked Spencer casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Spencer.

He was on the PFLAG committee? Why? To help queer people, obviously, but that had to mean he was gay or something- Spencer couldn’t stop his mind from coming up with every possible answer to why Derek was on the committee.

Spencer just nodded in response, he moved himself back from the vendors table to get out of the way, so other customers could look at the flags being sold.

“Yeah, she’s- there.” Reid pointed her out, as if on cue she came out of the thick crowd that had started to gather back up, the parade portion of pride had concluded by now, and people were coming over to the vendors section.

“Hey, Babygirl!” Derek called over to her, and Garcia somehow lit up with a smile brighter than the one she was wearing before, “Well, hey!” She responded enthusiastically, walking up swiftly to give Derek a quick embrace, which he happily returned.

“I wasn’t sure how long you were staying for, but I’m glad I caught you!” Garcia started rambling to Derek, about how the drag queen she met was so nice; “Her name was Mysteria Hysteria. Isn’t that genius?”.

~

Spencer just stepped back from them both, not sure what to do, not sure if he fully belonged. Pride was a nice event, it was. But the longer he stood around, the more he felt like he should be leaving. Everyone was laughing and smiling, everyone was just happy. And Spencer couldn’t stop racking his brain. In the beginning, he couldn’t stop thinking because of his anxiety, but now he was searching his brain for a reason why Derek was here and what it meant.

Of course, a stupid large portion of Spencer’s mind went to “maybe Morgan likes men”, and then an even larger and stupider portion of his mind had the absurdity to think; “maybe he’s interested in me”. Which Spencer did not even want to remotely entertain, because if he fell down that rabbit hole, he’d never climb back out.

Because yes, he did like Derek. He liked him a lot, the start for his liking towards the man was innocuous enough- which is why it was a problem for Spencer. He didn’t realized he liked Morgan until it was too late. And now he had been battling these feelings for years. Spencer wasn’t ever going to act on them, he just had to live with them- which he had been doing, which he has been content with. But this new information, about Morgan being here, being part of PFLAG- it was going to make Reid’s mind implode in on itself.

~

Reid decided the best thing was to say; “I’m gonna get some water, I’ll be back.” To which Derek and Garcia both nodded to, and Spencer was off, away from the vendors stand and the only two people he knew at pride.

And while that was a good thing, it was simultaneously not so good. Because now he was alone, overwhelmed, and thinking too much. And now he had a task to do, find himself some water.

~

That task seemed to be more difficult than anticipated, as the prides layout was a confusing maze, spencer had to pass in front of a group of drag queens in order to get to the food trucks that were on site- but he eventually got there.

He walked up to the first food truck he saw, it didn’t matter what they sold, he wasn’t getting it.

“What can I get for you?” The cashier asked him, “Just a water, please.” He ordered, the cashier nodded and pulled a bottle out from a cooler that was nearby within the truck, handing it over to spencer as they told him his total, a dollar twenty five. Spencer paid quickly, stepping back and away from the food truck, as he wasn’t sure where else to go now. He didn’t want to go back towards Derek or Garcia, he honestly wanted to go home.

He just needed a minute, some space and time to breathe and relax. He was stressing himself out. And about what? Nothing of goddamn importance, just a stupid crush he had been living with for a while now.

~

Spencer had been leaning against the back the food truck for not long, only a couple of minutes as he was absorbed in thought as he fiddled with the cap on the water bottle.

He was doing his best to follow the grounding techniques he had learned, something to help him calm down, when suddenly- a stranger emerged out of the crowd.

“Hey there, handsome.” The man said confidently as he strode up to introduce himself Spencer. Spencer looked up to meet his eyes, the man in question was a fine looking guy, chiseled jawline, long shoulder length hair, a bit of facial stubble. He was handsome. “Hello,” Spencer answered hollowly in response. In an ordinary situation, he would try and seem more lively- but he wasn’t in a normal situation, not at all.

The anxiety of attending pride was stress enough on its own, but now knowing the guy he had been drooling over for years was here- and worked as a PFLAG volunteer? It was enough to make him lose his mind.

The man didn’t seem to notice Spencer’s empty response, however, as he answered suavely in response; “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the way. I’m Fabian,” Thankfully, the man- Fabian, didn’t stick his hand out for a handshake, instead casually pushing his hair back a bit.

“I’m Spencer,” Reid replied simply, knowing it was best to ride this odd social interaction out, rather than try and fight it. “That’s a lovely name,” Fabian complimented, “Is this your first time at pride, Spencer?” He asked him casually, taking a step forward, closer to Spencer. He was all too confident for Spencer, he too comfortable with invading Spencer’s space. If Spencer could’ve, he would’ve stepped back.

“Uh, yeah. My friend dragged me along.” Reid explained, twisting the bottle cap back onto his half empty water bottle. Fabian nodded, “Your boyfriend didn’t take you?” Fabian asked him. That was a leading question, Spencer had alarm bells ringing in his head the second he heard it. “No. He- um- he met up with us here.” Spencer replied unconvincingly, Fabian obviously did not believe a word he said.

“Well,” Fabian took another step forward, practically blocking Reid in against the back of the food truck, leaning in farther to whisper in Spencer’s ear; “I don’t see him around. So, why don’t you and I get out of here? Hm?”

Spencer wasn’t sure of what to do. He wanted to kick this guy in the crotch and just book it, but he wasn’t sure if his FBI status would protect him in this scenario. He wasn’t sure what could protect him in this scenario.

“Pretty boy! There you are!” A saving grace broke through, and suddenly Fabian was stepping back, and Morgan was walking up.

Thank god, thank fucking god, that’s all Spencer could manage to think as Derek came to stand beside him. “Hey, babe.” Spencer said, cringing at his voice, at what he just said. But that feeling only lasted for a moment as Fabian was still standing right there, staring them both down now.

Spencer could only throw his wish in the sky and hope Derek caught it coming down, ‘please catch along to why I’m calling you babe’ Reid was trying to say.

And Derek caught it, “Hey, baby, was worried about you. Who’s your friend?” He said in his smooth voice, a voice Spencer couldn’t forget. He especially couldn’t forget now, being called ‘baby’ was something Spencer especially could not forget.

“I’m Fabian, you’re Spencer’s boyfriend?” Fabian asked, as if them both calling each other ‘babe’ counted for nothing. “Yeah, I’m Derek.” Morgan responded simply, sliding his hand around Spencer’s waist as if to prove a point. Fabian just nodded, looking between Spencer and Derek one last time before talking; “Well, it was nice to meet you, I’ve gotta get going. See you.”

And then, he was off, fast walking away from Derek and Reid, escaping the terrible situation he had created. Fabian quickly disappeared into the thick crowd, and by then Spencer had his hand squeezing his water bottle all too tightly- as evident by the terrible crunch sound it made. He was too anxious to let go.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek asked him softly, pulling his hand away from Spencer’s waist. “Can we find somewhere else- can we go sit down?” Spencer asked him quickly. Reid didn’t want to talk about it right this second, right where it had happened. He wanted to leave, he wanted to leave pride and never come back.

~

Derek didn’t ask a single follow up question as he led Reid away from the food trucks, taking him back towards the vendors stands, and then a bit further back, into the normal-not-so-pride-parade-filled park area. Somewhere less stressful, less scary.

“What did that guy want?” Derek asked Spencer casually as they made their way towards a bench that was sat under a large oak tree. Spencer didn’t speak right away, instead he waited until they were seated to start talking.

“He was trying to flirt, but then he wanted me to leave with him.” Spencer explained as he took a deep breath in, just being away from all the loud sounds and sights was helping him calm down. Derek rubbed Spencer’s back in slow, circular motions as Spencer kept talking.

“He was a classic example of a narcissistic personality, it just made me so uncomfortable- he invaded my space.”

“He was a creep, Reid. Simple as that,” Derek kept rubbing Spencer’s back slowly, Spencer nodded. “I know. Sorry, it shook me up.” Spencer attempted to apologized, and Derek was immediately having none of that.

“Reid, no. Don’t apologize for that, don’t you dare. He was a creep, I’m sorry you got caught up with him. It’s okay if you’re shaken up. We can stay here until you feel up to going back, or we can leave. But I’m not leaving you.”

~

And so they sat for a good amount of time on that park bench, at one point Derek stopped rubbing Spencer’s back, instead just keeping his arm stretched out against the back of the bench and against Spencer’s back. Spencer loved it, but he knew if he thought about it for too long he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking. That was his biggest problem, he couldn’t stop thinking.

He had to know, he decided, he couldn’t just wonder why Derek was on the committee for PFLAG. He wanted to know, he had to.

“Derek?” He spoke up softly, sounds of laughing and shouting and music were still heard in the distance, but they were safe from the sounds under the tree. “Mhm?” Derek hummed in response, looking up at the aforementioned tree that was providing shade for them.

His eyes were tracing the way the branches curved and bent around each other, it was something he did to pass the time. Spencer thought he was extraordinary for it, Derek loved to see where things went; he was curious- after all these years, and all the bad they had seen together, Derek still loved to search and find the beauty.

“Why are you on the PFLAG committee ?” Spencer asked him, it was thankfully an innocuous enough ask to not draw too much of Derek profilings side out to pry apart his question. Derek shrugged, and was quiet for a second before responding, “I know what it’s like to be a scared kid, unsure of his identity. If I can help someone through that, that’s all that matters. Same reason I’m in the BAU, to help people.”

Spencer stayed quiet, Derek’s reason was so sincere and so sweet and kind- and only driving him to think further. Was Derek still unsure of his identity? Was he an ally? Why did he have to make Spencer swoon so hard without even trying?

“So, you’re just an ally?” Spencer approached Derek carefully with that question, not wanting to impose or be rude- but just feign simple curiosity, praying Derek wasn’t using his profiling skills right now to decode Spencer’s fake motive.

Derek didn’t notice, thankfully, as he chuckled lowly in response; “No, pretty boy, I’m bisexual. I don’t really tell the team, but it’s not confidential information. Plus, Garcia found Grindr on my phone. Can’t hide anything from that girl.”

Spencer nodded, mumbling something in response about how Garcia had hacked his email to make sure he was free for pride. And then, the two fell into silence again. But it didn’t last for long, because Derek wanted to know just as much, why was Spencer here?

“What about you, Reid?” Derek asked him cautiously, the way you approach a puppy you find on the side of the road. Calm and slow, trying to get him to trust him bit by bit. “What about me?” Spencer asked, not wanting to answer anything about himself unless Derek was specific.

“Are you an ally?” Morgan asked him, leaving the question open ended. Spencer could say as little or as much as he wanted. This is how you get him to open up, Derek knew that for a fact. “Um.. yeah, I mean- who isn’t? I just- I have to be. I’m.. gay.” Spencer admitted all too awkwardly, not at all in a normal fashion. But nothing about Spencer was in normal fashion.

Derek nodded slowly, not responding as he stared back up, tracing his eyes over the tree branches yet again.

~

A few hours had passed, Spencer and Derek eventually left their peaceful bench under the large oak tree, and instead moved back towards the parking lot.

“Garcia’s got a ride home already- I think she got that drag queen to get her home.” Derek explained as they approached his truck, Spencer nodded as he followed Derek. “Anyways,” Derek continued speaking, “I can give you a ride home. Let’s get going.”

“You don’t have to-“ Spencer started, Derek immediately shut him down. “I want to, c’mon. It’s late, you’re tired. I know you are. Let me take you home.” Spencer just nodded in agreement, he couldn’t argue with Derek, even if he did try. Morgan was a stubborn man.

So, Spencer followed Derek into his truck, and they sat in comfortable silence as they started on their journey back to Spencer’s safe space, his apartment.

~

By the time Derek pulled his truck into the apartments parking lot, Spencer knew something was just the slightest bit wrong. Derek had barely spoken for the entire ride, and usually he loves to say something, to make Spencer smile or laugh, or even just nod and mumble in agreement. But he had done none of that on the way to Spencers.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, turning to face Derek as he put the vehicle in park. Derek didn’t meet his eyes, staring at the steering wheel instead as he spoke; “Yeah. Sorry. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” Spencer pried, absentmindedly unbuckling his seatbelt as he spoke, “About today.” Derek said, not explaining further. “Was today bad?”

Derek shook his head, “No. It started weird, it’s ending pretty good, though. But I’m gonna regret today forever if I don’t do something right now.”

Now, Spencer was confused. Not sure at all what Derek could be talking about, “What do you mean?” He asked, voice quieter than before.

Derek said nothing as he unbuckled his own seatbelt, turning to face Spencer as well, and then he leaned in- closer than they had ever been before. Their noses were almost touching, and Spencer didn’t move. Instead, he watched Derek’s eyes expectantly.

Then, Derek broke through, they were no longer intersecting each other’s personal space- now they were fully destroying each other’s atmospheres. Derek’s lips were on Spencer’s, a chaste, soft, quick kiss- something Spencer would have wanted to go for a lot longer. But then, he pulled away just as fast.

“...That’s what I meant..” He mumbled after a second, looking back towards the steering wheel, looking away from Spencer- and more importantly, not seeing the smile on Spencer’s face.

Spencer couldn’t help it. He knew it was terrible to be smiling right now- he should jump and say something to fix what was happening. But he had to smile, he couldn’t believe that had actually just happened, his brain was still computing and re-circuiting, trying to savor the memory and not forget how Derek’s lips felt against his.

Spencer dragged himself out of his own head quickly, though. He did all he could think of to do in the moment, get Derek back. “Morgan.” Spencer said, tugging on Derek’s sleeve as he did so, forcing him to look back at Spencer and meet his eyes again.

But Spencer didn’t say anything, and he didn’t give Derek the chance to speak, either. Instead, he leant forward, pressing his lips against Derek’s. This is all he had wanted to know for the longest time, and now he had it.

~

Maybe pride wasn’t so bad after all, you just have to be with the right people for it to work out.

———————————————————————

[slashbitch2]

The Very Nosy Neighbour

this fic was 100% inspired by this one here , but I mean it practically wrote itself I couldn't resist

NSFW

You can't remember much past waking up in an unfamiliar room- though 'room' is really a sugarcoated description, as in reality it qualifies more as some kind of cavern. You're sitting in a chair, ankles and wrists bound by an indistinguishable material. Whatever the binds are made of feels strong, so any attempts to struggle against it are futile. Yet, in spite of what really should be an extremely stressful situation, you find yourself completely relaxed. You briefly wonder whether you've been drugged, but with every sense feeling fully operational, that theory is soon dismissed.

Instead of choosing a more logical response to the circumstances you've found yourself in, you decided to focus more on your surroundings: not to form any resemblance of an escape plan, but simply out of curiosity. Although, the investigation is equally as ineffective. You're unable to name anything around you except for stone walls, strange (glowing?) vines and weird symbols carved above a few archways. Everything beyond that is either entirely lost to you, or shrouded in darkness.

With little else to do, you start to think back on the events that led you there, trying to glean any useful information from the blurry memories. The clearest image, therefore the most recent, is the smirking face of a woman, Agnes you realise. Though the malicious glint in her eyes doesn't quite match your perception of the nosy neighbour. But where is she now? Is she also in danger? You may not have known Agnes for very long, but are reluctant to let any harm come to her regardless.

With a clearer head, you consider calling for help, but a small voice at the back of your subconscious warns you against this. And the voice sounds smart, so you elect to listen to it. But what should you do instead? Where did this voice come from? And most importantly, should you trust it? Luckily, you aren't given much time to overthink the decision.

While trying to tune into this voice, footsteps echo in the distance, gradually drawing nearer. You hold your breath as the sound suddenly stops, leaving your eyes scanning the vicinity for any movement. The unpleasant reality dawns on you all too quickly: the footsteps were approaching from behind you.

“Well, well, well.” Someone says playfully, then snorts as they start walking closer. "Sorry to be a total cliché. I couldn't resist." It's Agnes. She narrows her eyes and smirks, folding her arms as she examines your constrained form. Subjected to her scrutiny, you find yourself swallowing, but your throat is too dry. Other small discomforts also become noticeable; your cramped limbs, aching back and the bruises on your hands. Well at least you put up a fight. The more rational part of you, however, realises that your hands are no longer bound. You stare down at them, flexing each finger as if checking they were all still fully functional.

Something suddenly knocks into your head and you grimace. Left reeling from the impact, you realise that you're slightly nauseated. Though not enough to stop you from reaching out to grasp the floating cup of water. The fact that the glass is suspended in mid-air doesn't go unnoticed, rather ignored, since there's too much happening simultaneously to comprehend any of it in sufficient detail. You swirl the liquid round, hesitant to drink, unwilling to trust your captor's apparent mercy.

"Drink up, dear." Agnes drags a chair forward, which seems to have just appeared out of thin air. She sits backwards on it, legs spread and arms resting on the back casually. "That's all you're getting until we're done here." The tone of her voice is both threatening and teasing. You're reluctant to admit it's quite a turn on.

One glance up at her prying expression and you relent, downing the chilled water way too quickly. Though you aren't given a chance to mourn your impatience, as with an effortless wave of her hand, Agnes refills the glass. While you sip at the water, she refuses to tear her eyes away from you for even a second. It's slightly disconcerting.

“Now," She claps her hands, startling you. "I assume you know why you’re here?”

“Not really.” You confess, unable to pinpoint why anyone would go to so much effort to kidnap you, especially Agnes, who up to this point had been an eccentric yet kind neighbour.

She sighs, more for show than anything else, and rubs at her temple. "Come on Y/N, let's not play dumb now."

Embarrassingly, a heat begins to pool deep in your gut, but you quickly dismiss the unwarranted lust. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh really?" She quirks an eyebrow, sitting upright. "You really have no idea?" The inquiry is ridiculing, and you can see that your naivety is starting to annoy her.

All you can do is shake your head and pray the sincerity is reflected in your eyes.

"Okay." She slams her hands down on her thighs. "I guess we'll have to go about this the hard way then, toots." A sharp gesture and your hands are bound before you once again.

By the time you're looking up, she's striding toward you with purpose, which does nothing to ease the building heat between your legs. Her hands clasp on the armrests either side, essentially trapping you, not like escape would've been possible without the extra precaution. Up close you finally recognize this isn't Agnes- in fact it never has been. There's a feral yet wise appearance to her, the facade of nosy neighbour dissolved in an instance to be replaced by a deranged, frighteningly powerful woman (or witch, you're undecided).

Despite your better judgement, you're unable to stop yourself from asking. "Who are you?" Your voice barely breaches a whisper, but she's standing close enough that nothing less intimate is required.

She looks mildly impressed, the corner of her mouth twitching almost indiscernibly. "Agatha Harkness." She extends a hand, smirking upon realisation that you're a little too tied up at the minute to reciprocate. "Lovely to meet you."

You swallow again, finding your throat to be a little less dry. "Likewise." Then decide to take another risk. "So what do you want from me?"

“Wanda's true identity.” She replies so quickly that you almost miss it, looking at you with an eagerly expectant expression.

Agatha's question confuses you further. “I don’t know what you mean.” Although your answer is honest, something at the back of your mind hisses lies.

"There's no need to lie here." Her patient humour had disappeared. "Trust me, no one will hear you, so drop the act."

For some unbeknown reason, her accusation angers you. "I'm not putting on an act, I don't know why I'm here or what you want from me." The bravery dissipates all of a sudden as you remember that you're not exactly in the position to command such authority. "Please, stop this."

Agatha purses her lips, stands up and turns away from you. She calmly moves forwards a few paces, and in the short amount of time you manage to convince yourself that she's given up. Until in a completely unprovoked move, she swings her hands to the left, sending her chair crashing into the wall in frustration. Whether this is part of her interrogation performance or not, it works. Your heart starts racing, and confusingly, the awkward heat between your legs pulses.

She runs a hand through her hair, still facing away from you. "Don't make this any harder harder than it needs to be." You can practically hear her grinding her teeth, but don't doubt that she was getting some enjoyment out of the situation.

"I can tell you that Wanda is my sister and only real family, that I moved to Westview with her and that I couldn't live without her." You start listing off some basic facts, desperate to prove to Agatha that nothing is hidden. That you're normal.

"What about your brother?" She swivels round, clicking her fingers as she tries to recall something. "Pietro!" She exclaims.

"Pietro..." You falter. Why does the name sound so familiar? The nausea worsens. You shake off the feeling. "Never heard of him."

“Liar.” In one swift movement, Agatha is right by your ear. The feeling of her lips brushing against your skin causes you to close your eyes. The close proximity was becoming overwhelming, and your body had chosen to react in a rather unfortunate way. Admittedly, you'd always had a thing for Agnes, but Agatha was on a whole other level. You dreaded to open your eyes, worried that she'd noticed your current state. Instead, you internally begged for mercy.

“Don't go all shy on me now.” She pushes your shoulder into the chair, compelling you to open your eyes. "If you don't want to talk, I have other methods." Her hand raises, a purple flow emanating from the tips of her fingers. It crackles and sparks, as if the power was barely contained, yet as she shifts closer to brush the hair out of your face, you don't flinch. One finger remained touching your forehead, then traced down to your jaw, and finally along to grasp your chin.

While the vaguely sinister movement terrified you, it also forced you hold your breath and grip onto the armrests for dear life. Why you'd decided this was hot was beyond you considering the many connotations of her words, yet your thighs pressed tighter together as she drew closer. You attempted to turn your head to the side, longing for distraction, but her hold on you kept your head still.

"This won't be much fun for you, dear." She sighed in mock pity, her breath hot against your skin... Which just tipped you over the edge. As hard as you tried to stifle the noise, a broken moan escaped your lips. You'd definitely hit a low point here. Too ashamed to face your apparent arousal, you screwed your eyes shut. Although, at Agatha's silence, you relented and opened them barely a minute later.

To your relief, or perhaps dismay, the woman was grinning like a maniac. Her eyes flickered down to your parted lips as she chewed on her own. Then carefully, as if she were testing the waters, her fingers began to rub against your jaw, and upwards to your mouth. Your breath deceives you by hitching as her thumb slips between your lips, stroking your tongue. At the contact, you can't help but arch into the touch. Agatha chuckles.

"I take it back." She murmurs, removing her hand. "This will be fun." Although the intimidation factor prevails, there's a certain desire mirrored in Agatha's expression which cancels out any remaining common sense. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and even if you wanted to, there was little you could do to stop her. So, you give into your yearning, sighing as she climbs to sit on your lap. Immediately, her hand switches to gripping the back of your neck as she slams her mouth onto yours. You willingly indulge by opening further, allowing her tongue to slide between your lips. Her other hand lowers to grab at your chest, like she were trying to tug herself impossibly closer.

Without removing her lips, the hand massaging your chest shifts to your thigh. She still keeps her lips firmly pressed to yours, and with the lack of oxygen, you can feel yourself growing lightheaded. It almost feels like a challenge, one which you're determined to succeed at. Though when she eventually does break away, her hand suddenly slips between your thighs, and your breath is stolen from you once more. Wasting no time, she massages you through your clothes, dragging out an inevitable whine. The touch is both too much, and not enough. But judging by her malevolent smirk, that was exactly her intention.

Even though you were currently incapable of producing any reasonable thought, you still noticed that Agatha wasn't entirely unaffected. Her breathing was laboured, hips occasionally jerking against your thigh and eyes struggling to stay open. The influence you were having on her only encouraged you to moan louder, craving to see her equally dishevelled. Your plan seemed to momentarily fail as her hand retreated. But you'd certainly earned her attention.

She licks her lips, then abruptly changes her expression to look disturbingly like that of Agnes. "You wouldn't leave me out of the fun now, would you dear?" Her voice is high pitched as she basically sings her words. Although the question must've been rhetorical as doesn't await a response, instead you find your hands unbound, flung behind your back and bound together all in a matter of seconds. Then, she shifted her position, yanking your bodies closer so that your crotches were pressed together. She grunts, heaving forward to rest against you for a moment and regain her composure. And finally, without warning, starts to grind your hips together.

It doesn't take long for her movement to become more frantic, accompanied by her hair spilling onto her face. She remains impressively quiet, however, or perhaps you were just comparably loud. With the little pride you have left, you decide to take matters into your own hands, and start meeting each thrust with equal vigour. Miraculously, it works. She throws her head back with a remarkably loud moan, proceeded by change in strategy as she starts almost bouncing on top of you, hips losing their rhythm, pleasure overwhelming her. Startled by her lack of self-control, the heat in your stomach begins building exponentially fast. Your eyes slam shut.

A hand grasps onto your face. “Look at me!” She growls, then emphasises her demand by rolling her hips torturously slowly. The movement ceases. She leans her forehead against yours, staring directly into your eyes. “Come with me.” To your surprise, there's an audible plea in her voice.

At a loss for words, you nod. The pleasure had been building for so long that you knew it'd only take a few more grinds to push you over the edge. With your confirmation, Agatha resumes her thrusting, though soon succumbs, throwing her head back and uttering an exceptionally loud, high-pitched moan. She arches her back, pressing herself so far into you that the pleasure peaks. You groan, lurching backwards in a moment of pure bliss. All you can feel is Agatha, all you can think about is Agatha. Coming down from the high, you sigh and collapse forward to bury your face in the crook of her neck.

She tenses slightly at the contact, but soon relaxes into the strange embrace. You gently press your lips against her skin and feel her shiver, confirming your suspicion that it'd been a while since Agatha had received such affection. Motivated by a new, more innocent desire, you continue to pepper light kisses across her throat and behind her ear, simply enjoying the unexpectedly intimate moment.

Agatha finally breaks the silence, leaning away from your touch to look down at you curiously. "Wanda really has you under her mind control too, huh?"

Although still stuck in a post-coital haze, you muster enough brainpower to consider her words. "Mind control?"

"Oh, right." She smirks, a slight sadness perceptible in her eyes. "Forgot to mention." Before you can say anything, she swings one leg to the side, stiffly sliding off your lap and clasping her hands together. "You might want to reconsider where your loyalties lie, dear." She glances at you, then ambles to the opposite side of the room. "That's one fucked up family situation right there." Her voice teasingly calls out.

You feel yourself flush, strangely offended by her comment, and annoyed by her vagueness. "Like you can talk." Your response is a total shot in the dark, but must've hit a nerve since she slowly turns back to you, a suspicious expression upon her face. "Just a guess." You add, unwilling to know the details of whatever sensitive topic you'd just touched upon. Agatha easily shrugs it off, leaving behind a stifling silence. Eventually, it's a mixture of your own boredom and concern that prompts you to end the lull in conversation. "Are you still planning on interrogating me about something I know nothing about?"

"Oh, no I read your mind." She waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder. "Got all I needed."

Again, you're left suffocating in the confusion her ambiguity provokes, with nothing else to ask except. "How...?"

The inquiry must've been exactly what Agatha wanted to hear as she immediately dropped what she was doing to turn around and lean on the wall, arms folded in a casually smug pose. "Sex leaves you vulnerable." She smirked. "All I did was take advantage of the opportunity- but I'll spare you the boring details." With a flourish of her hand and a flash of purple, the binds holding your ankles and wrists disappeared. "You can go now. First door on the left."

Without sparing you another glance, she busied herself with some witchy task, allowing you to see yourself out. Massaging your wrists, you stood slowly, watching her expectantly. Surely she wouldn't just let you leave? Yet as you sauntered over to the door she'd directed you to, she made no move to stop you. "Bye then?"

Agatha looked up at you and winked. "See you around, neighbour."

[luminouspoes]

safe in the morning light

pairing: poe x gen!reader

summary: reader wakes up first in the morning and decides to wake poe up nicely

word count: 2k+

warning: n/a just soft kisses and fluff

You wake up first, which is unusual. Typically, Poe is the first one up: he’s a light sleeper, quick to alertness from years of being a pilot. Typically, by the time the D’Qar sun is fully up in the sky, Poe has already finished most of his morning routine of having caf, checking the messages on the console across from his bed, and reviewing logs from the various squadrons under his command.

Instead, you’re delighted to find he’s still in bed next to you. It’s still early, so you decide to take the time to appreciate the quiet peace in your home. You shift closer to Poe, smoothing the duvet down as it twists around you at your movement. It strikes you how peaceful he looks: the tension in his face is smoothed out for once, and your eyes roam over his handsome face, trying to commit to memory what he looks like now. 

The war is still a phantom on the horizon, haunting everyone on the base. There’s no doubt in anyone’s minds that war will eventually, finally break out, but it’s only a matter of predicting when. It’s Poe’s defiance and kindness that led you to falling in love with him, but his urgent need to protect what his parents fought for, to stop the First Order from hurting anyone else the way it’s already hurt him, weighs him down in a way few seem to notice.

He hides it too well, for someone who can’t lie to save his life. Besides yourself, General Organa seems to be the only one to realize how much he pretends things are easy for him. He’s the one who offers encouragement and help to people, and you adore him for it. You just wish he’d realize that he deserves to have that, too.

You place your hand over his chest. There’s dozens of scars littered across it, each with their own story. By now, you’re familiar with each story, each scar, and you’ve loved them gently with both your fingertips and lips more times than you can count. 

As much as you’d love to let him sleep in, to keep that relaxed expression on his face, you also know it’s only a matter of time before a message beeps on the console that will wake him, or someone will turn up at your door needing something, and you’d rather he wake up to something sweet than a rude interruption. 

You lean forward, pausing for a fraction of a second to appreciate how his eyelashes brush the tips of his cheekbones with his eyes closed. You press a kiss to his forehead (usually, when you did this, it would be to smooth out the worry lines there), then move to press one to the tip of his nose. You continue to map out the planes of his face, from his cheek bones, to the side of his temple, the corner of his mouth.

Although he keeps his eyes close, you feel him stir slightly underneath you. He’s pretending to be asleep, so with a grin, you decide to up the ante so to speak. You throw a leg over his hip so straddle him before closing the distance again, smiling against his skin as you kiss along his jawline. You can feel his hand twitching at his side, wanting to hold you, but he seems determined to make this last as long as he can.

He can try to keep up the ruse for as long as he wants, but there’s no denying the slight flush to his cheeks, and the fast thrum of his heart underneath your palm. You slide your lips down from his jawline, down to the crook of his neck and - 

Get exactly the reaction you were seeking.

Poe yelps, his eyes flying open as he squirms away from your mouth, shoulders tucking up around his chin as a burst of laughter falls from your lips. He glares up at you without any venom, “That’s playing dirty.” 

“Is it?” You ask, a mischievous glint lighting up your eyes. 

Poe’s eyes widen slightly in alarm as you move back in, a firm “no, wait -” falling from his lips and quickly turning into another round of bright, brilliant laughter as you ghost your nose along the side of his neck, featherlight. He writhes beneath you, trying to move away, as his laughter continues to rumble through his chest against your own. 

He was terribly ticklish around his neck, something you’d been delighted to discover early on into your relationship (you’d been tucked away in a supply closet, trying to catch a moment to yourselves to catch up on your day, when you’d leaned in to kiss down his neck, and promptly found out how sensitive he was there). You twist your head to look at him as you continue to nuzzle your nose against him, drawing light circles to keep him laughing. Your heart seizes with something indefinable as his face scrunches up with mirth, eyes crinkling softly with joy. 

He continues to wriggle underneath you and it’s not long before you’re both wrestling around, legs tangling together as he continues to try and evade your attacks. But you can’t help but chase after him, enjoying the way your quarters fill with the sound of his hearty laugh as you roll around the mattress. 

Distracted as you are by how happy he looks, Poe takes your momentary slip up and uses it to his advantage, grabbing your wrists in one hand and effortlessly flipping you under him with one smooth movement. You bounce slightly against the mattress as he comes to hover over you, balancing on one arm. Your breath stalls in your chest from how easily he pinned you underneath him - it’s easy to forget how strong he actually is - and the way his eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you. 

Poe leans down, his nose nuzzling against yours for a second, before he tilts his head for better access to your mouth. You close your eyes, heart racing in anticipation - 

And then he ghosts his fingertips over the rolls on your waist, wiggling his fingers like spider legs, and you nearly fly off the mattress, his name falling from your lips in an affronted squeal, and you’re quickly losing your breath for a very different reason than the moment before, as he continues to tickle your side, eager to draw out as much laughter from you as you had him. He’s practically glowing as he tells you with a self-satisfied smile, “Two can play at this game, sweetheart.”

As you continue to squirm and giggle beneath him, the automatic light sconces in his room slowly activate, leaving the room in a golden glow that’s indicative of the sunrise happening outside. It only makes this moment seem even more like a slice of heaven, your shared delight spanning simultaneously an eternity and only a few minutes. 

Finally, Poe concedes, opting instead to splay his hand on your waist, fingers tucking around the fabric of your shirt (one of his shirts, actually) so you can catch your breath. His and your chests rise and fall rapidly with pants, but neither of you have lost your somewhat manic grins.

“Morning flyboy.” You run your hand down his chest again, ghosting along the scars there. Poe’s eyes slip shut at your gentle touch: it never fails to make his chest tight with emotion, the way you always touch and hold him like he’s something precious. He isn’t sure what he’s done in his life to deserve someone as incredible and loving as you, but he’s glad he has you.

When he’s able to open his eyes again, he pokes your chest lightly, teasingly with his index finger, “Was tickling me really necessary?”

You roll your lips as you mull over his question, shifting beneath him slightly. Judging from the expression on his face, he’s expecting you to make a joke, but your mind is still too groggy from sleep to come up with one, so you opt for the truth instead. “To hear that beautiful laugh? Absolutely.”

He leans back slightly, his gaze softening from your words. Then he grins, a brilliant lopsided one that makes your heart glow, and he’s shifting your body closer to his so your legs tangle together again.  “Could say the same about yours,” he tells you as you slide your hand back up his chest to snake around the back of his neck. Your palm brushes against the cold chain of his necklace as you move your hand into his curls, scraping lightly at his scalp with your fingernails. 

Poe’s gaze grows heated as he searches your face. In a rough voice that has nothing to do with the fact that he just woke up and everything to do with how you’re holding him, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You respond by burrowing your fingers further into his curls to pull his face down to your own, his mouth crashing against yours. His hand skims down to your hip, drawing you up so your bodies are flush together. The warmth of his bare chest seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt, as his other hand moves from propping him up to ghost down the side of your head, coming to a rest at your neck, his fingers spreading out so that they brush against the edges of your jawline as he pulls your top lip into his mouth, drawing out a low hum from the back of your throat. 

While you tug at his curls with one hand, you let the other wander down the expanse of his back. His muscles move beneath your palm as he pushes against you, but you’re delighted to find that his body is relaxed under your touch, and holds none of the tension you’ve unfortunately come to be so familiar with. Your hand ends its journey at the small of his back, as he deepens the kiss and cradles your jaw reverently. 

“You know,” Poe muses against your lips, rubbing his nose against yours, “I’ve forgotten something very important.”

Still caught up in the bliss of the moment and the feeling of his lips and body moving against yours, it takes a second for you to register what he’s said, let alone reply. “Yeah? What’s that?” 

Poe grins, his eyes sparkling as he presses your foreheads together, “Forgot to tell you I love you.”

“You didn’t have to, you showed me.” You tell him before you crack a yawn. Poe hums in acknowledgement, then rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re on top of his chest. “What are you doing?” you ask him as he shifts on his pillows, quite obviously getting ready to go back to sleep, especially since he closes his eyes. “We have to get up.”

“You’re tired,” Poe answers, like that’s going to change the fact that you both probably have very busy schedules ahead of you. His arms snake around you, holding you closely but not tightly - just firm enough that you feel safe and content. He peers open one eye at you, his lips twitching up into a smile, “and we actually have the morning off.”

“What?” 

“Yeah, no drills today. There’s supposed to be a storm.” Poe grins up at you. “I was up first by, like, three hours.” He swipes his thumb across your cheek. “Cancelled all the drills on account of the weather, crawled back into bed with you. I was planning on letting you sleep in, I know how you feel about storms so -”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his in a sweet, languid kiss, your lips sliding against his. Every little thing he does only endears him more to you: this ridiculous, sweet, considerate, rebellious, dashing man is everything you’re fighting for, and you hope he knows it.

When you pull back to find him staring moonstruck at you, you think he might feel the same. “What was that for?” he asks. 

“Because I love you too,” you tell him and he brightens. You relax in his arms, pressing your cheek to his chest as he tucks his chin over the crown of your head. Sleep tugs at your bones, warm and content, and it’s not long before you’re both dozing off again, the sound of rain echoing lightly through the base as the storm begins outside.

[cosmicjoke]

Saezuru chap 36 observations

Okay, so, I swear I’m turning into a broken record here, but once again, I’m feeling more and more convinced that Misumi is going to become a problem for Yashiro and Doumeki. 

The interaction between Yashiro and Misumi here is really telling, particularly the way Misumi first speaks to, and then treats, Yashiro.  Yashiro clearly doesn’t want to see Misumi, or interact with him at all, because he knows Misumi is just going to keep pressuring him to return to the yakuza.  And we see that play out during their conversation at the bar, with Misumi practically badgering Yashiro to come back.  What really strikes me here is how, once again, we see Misumi undercutting Yashiro’s hopes.  When Yashiro says that maybe he’ll try going to Dinseyland, since he’s practically a civilian now, Misumi immediately cuts down the claim, telling Yashiro that being able to go out to a place like that doesn’t mean he’s a civilian, before saying “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten what you are?”  We once again see Misumi reaffirming this idea that Yashiro can’t be anything other than a yakuza, that he can’t ever hope to make a normal, respectable life for himself, that he’ll always be a “criminal”, etc...  He continues to push this idea when he essentially mocks Yashiro’s claim that he’s laundering his money into a legitimate business.

Yashiro is getting so frustrated by Misumi’s badgering, that he purposefully incites him by questioning his ability to get it up as a means to distract him from it, which leads to the next scene, in which Misumi acts like he’s going to rape Yashiro.  Yashiro’s reactions during this whole scene are what initially clued us in to the fact that he doesn’t enjoy violent sex anymore.  Yashiro isn’t enjoying Misumi hitting him.  In fact, the opposite.  He cringes away and looks wide eyed, almost startled when Misumi grabs his face and tells him to strip.  He freezes,  which leads to Misumi screaming at him again to strip, before forcefully starting to tear Yashiro’s clothes off.  One of the most important parts of this comes when Yashiro starts to try to tell Misumi to “wait”.  He can’t even get the word out though, because Misumi hits him again, before ordering Yashiro to “show me all of it.  All that’s mine.”.  This is completely possessive language, on top of possessive treatment.  And while Misumi does stop short after this, and doesn’t force himself on Yashiro any further, it’s still pretty unsettling, especially given Yashiro’s reaction.  He doesn’t want this, and for a moment, Misumi genuinely lost his head and let his possessiveness over Yashiro get the best of him.  I wouldn’t be surprised if this foreshadows what might happen down the line, when Misumi realizes Doumeki is back in Yashiro’s life.  When Amou later asks him what will happen if Yashiro really doesn’t intend on coming back, Misumi says “Even if it’s very unlikely, I won’t forgive him.”.  Again, Misumi’s language is incredibly possessive and implies he has some sort of ownership of Yashiro, while simultaneously dismissing Yashiro’s own agency.  He shrugs off Yashiro’s genuine attempts to leave the yakuza, as if this is just some temporary shirking of duty done out of laziness, rather than acknowledging it as a legitimate wish to get out.  He doesn’t even consider it a real possibility.  Beyond that, his words of “I won’t forgive him” have a definite, ominous tint.  Again, it makes you wonder how Misumi will react, later on, when he realizes Yashiro is very much serious about not returning.

There’s been a lot of discussion about what Yashiro meant when he later monologues to himself about how Hirata took his right eye.  Yashiro thinks “That’s how I thought of it.  I only wish he had taken both with him.”  He then thinks “The things I already gave up on at that time are still left here in this world.”  It’s easy to think he’s referring specifically to Doumeki here, but I think Yashiro actually just means his own life.  He’d given up on his life, was ready to let it go, to die and end his suffering.  When he says “The things I already gave up on at that time are still left here in this world.”, to me that seems like he means he’s still alive, when he never planned on being, and so, as a consequence, he’s just left existing, not really living anymore.  He wishes Hirata had “taken both (eyes) with him”, meaning, I think, he wishes Hirata had killed him.  This seems bolstered by the state we see Yashiro in now, after chapter 47, with how depressed and directionless he feels, with him admitting to himself that everything has lost meaning to him.  He even says, back in chapter 34, that “To go on living this strained existence, no longer holds any meaning to me.”.  He’s lost the will to live.  He’s alive, but he finds no purpose in it, no point.  He’s “given up” on his life, because it’s empty and hopless.  He wishes Hirata had killed him, because now all he’s doing is suffering.