#And the fact that he's barely distinguishable from Dick

[azol-otl]

Honestly the more I hear people calling Jason a tank, the more I think that the people writing it are just short

[munson-blurbs]

Bug❤️ let me tell you that your idea meet-cute idea is absolutely great, and I was wondering if I can request one with Eddie?

My pronouns are she/her, I would describe myself as shy and quiet, very weird who lives in her own world most of the time (especially around people I don't know very well) but also very stubborn. I love to read Stephen King books, watch TV shows and then overanalyze them and every detail, I love working with colors but also going out to walk, especially at the parks where you can meet some cute ducks. I also really love dogs and cats too.

I would also say that it can be very difficult for me to make friends irl and not much into pda, but with the right person, everything become more easy.

Not sure if what I wrote is good and gave you all you needed, but anyway, thank you for this ❤️

You meet while reading at the park!

CW: I guess some spoilers for 'Salem's Lot, but that's pretty much it WC: 657 Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

There’s no better way to spend a springtime Saturday afternoon in Hawkins than reading by the pond. 

A cool breeze rippled the pages of your book. It wasn’t your first time reading ‘Salem’s Lot, and it probably won’t be your last. With each reread, you noticed different details about Ben Mears’ time hunting down the vampires that have taken over the small town. 

Easing back into the bench, you let Hawkins fade into the background and immersed yourself in the story. What would you do if an evil entity took over your home? Would you fight it off? Would you even recognize that it was, in fact, evil? Or would you be just as clueless as the fictional residents of Jerusalem’s Lot?

You barely had time to ponder your potential fate before a frantic voice cut into your thoughts. 

“Hey! Reginald, wait your turn!”

Your attention slid right to the man sitting cross-legged in front of the pond, a box of crackers in his lap. Three ducklings surrounded him, one shoving himself in front of the others to get the first nibble. 

The man shook his long curls out of his face. “Seriously, dude, you’re being a dick.” He crumbled a cracker in his palm and held it out to the other two ducklings. “Now you’re gonna go last. How do you like that?”

You giggled, and it must’ve been louder than you’d intended, because the guy whipped his head around for a moment to look at you. He was…beautiful. You lost yourself in his eyes for a moment, then in the smile that appeared at the sound of your laughter. 

A third beak pecked at his palm, bringing him back to the task at hand, and he groaned. “Dammit, Reginald!” Resigned, he crumbled up another cracker and let the ducklings eat it. 

Placing a bookmark between the pages, you timidly made your way over to the patch of grass where he sat. “Did you just call that duckling Reginald?” You asked, not hiding the amusement in your tone. 

The man nodded. “Mhm. Named him that myself,” he said proudly. 

“Why ‘Reginald’?”

“Because,” he grinned, “he has that little mark on his neck that looks like a bowtie. Very distinguished. So he needed a name to match.”

You tucked your lips into your mouth to avoid bursting into laughter. “I see,” you managed. “Do the others have names, too?”

“Of course!” He almost sounded offended, like you were inferring some kind of neglect on his part. “The smaller one is Eclair, because she tried to steal an eclair from me the first time we met. And the bigger one is Cujo.”

Your eyes widened and lit up. “Like from the Stephen King book?”

“The one and only.” He grinned proudly. “Though this guy is more of a gentle giant than a rabid, carnivorous monster.” He cocked his head to the side. “And what about you?”

“Hm?”

“Your name. Mine’s Eddie, by the way.”

You introduced yourself, feeling your heart flutter when he repeated your name back to you. It sounded perfect when he said it. Gesturing to the box of crackers, you asked, “can I feed them one?”

“Absolutely.” Eddie narrowed his eyes pensively. “Just don’t fall for any of Reginald’s bullshit. If you do, he’ll walk all over you. Trust me.”

There was an electric spark when your fingertips brushed his as he handed you a cracker. Did he feel that, too?

Meanwhile, Reginald quacked his frustration that you hadn’t yet offered him anything to eat. 

Eddie nudged the overzealous baby bird out of the way. “Hey, you need to be respectful of the cute girl.” He shook his head in mock frustration. “I’m sorry. We’re still working on our manners.”

“I see.” You watched as Eddie corralled the ducklings as best as he could. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

With a shy smile, he watched you feed the crumbs to the ducklings. 

“We’re happy, too.”

--

[isfjmel-phleg]

Crash course in YJ (and adjacent) Kids

Have no idea what I'm talking about when #comicsposting again? Would like to know? For reference, if you want it, here's a rundown of my comics specialty: DC's cast of teenage heroes on the team Young Justice in the 1990s. Names, powers, backgrounds, etc. I spent way too much time on this.

Tim Drake (Robin)

Age: 14-15.

Powers: None, but highly skilled in acrobatics, detection and martial arts, weapon of choice is a bo staff

Background: Figured out Batman and Robin's secret identities at age nine. Volunteered to be the new Robin shortly after Jason Todd's death because "Batman needs a Robin." Initially the de facto leader of Young Justice with a reputation as the smart guy (but is in fact just as unhinged as the rest of them). Struggles to balance his two identities; he has to conceal Robin from his father and Tim Drake from his Young Justice teammates, which leads to trust issues among the group.

Distinguishing features/costume: Black hair, blue eyes usually concealed by a domino mask with opaque lenses, oval face, short and wiry. Green and red suit with leggings, black and yellow cape (distinct from Dick and Jason's costumes, which were bare-legged and did not have any black, and Damian's, which has much more black, a tunic, and a hooded cape).

Kon-El (Superboy)

Age: 16 physically but chronologically less than 2, is unable to age past 16 for about half the series.

Powers: Tactile telekinesis (TTK), the ability to control anything he can touch, which allows him to mimic super strength, invulnerability, and flight. Does not have Superman's other powers, such as heat vision, x-ray vision, etc.

Background: Clone created by Project Cadmus to be their mind-controlled replacement for Superman after his "death." Escaped before he could be artificially aged to maturity and has been an independent hero since Clark's return. During YJ 1998, is working for Cadmus as a field agent. A habitual show-off and flirt who harbors a lot of private insecurity and doesn't initially function well as a team player.

Distinguishing features/costume: Curly black hair in a fade haircut (later cut short and spiky), blue eyes, strong jaw, significantly taller and more muscular than the others, earring for most of the series, scruffy goatee later on. Initially wears a 90s-ified version of the Superman suit with a black leather jacket, later updates to a metallic version of a suit without the jacket.

Bart Allen (Impulse)

Age: 14-15 physically, chronologically 2-3 due to hyperaccelerated aging for the first two years of his life.

Powers: Superspeed, including the ability to vibrate his molecules through solid objects. Later on he develops the ability to create temporary replicas of himself ("scouts").

Background: Barry Allen/the Flash's grandson from the thirtieth century. Was born with his superspeed out of control and had to be raised in VR to keep his mental aging on track with his physical aging. Brought by his grandmother to the twentieth century to get his rapid aging resolved by Wally West, the current Flash. Currently lives in Manchester, Alabama with Max Mercury, an elderly speedster who is training/raising him. Thanks to his VR upbringing, struggles with patience and thinking things through, but is more intelligent and perceptive than he's usually given credit for.

Distinguishing features/costume: Lots of reddish-brown hair, yellow eyes, big feet, short and wiry. White and red suit with a lightning design, googles with yellow lenses.

Greta Hayes / "Suzie" (Secret)

Age: Never specified but probably around 14-15.

Powers: Exists in an incorporeal, smoke-like form that can float, shapeshift, create smoke constructs, teleport, and become tangible for limited amounts of time. As a Warder, a gatekeeper between life and death, can sense impending death and bring others into a pocket dimension called the Abyss which seems to be a sort of portal to death.

Background: An ordinary girl who was murdered by her brother as part of a ritual and was changed after death into her current incorporeal form. Was held captive by a government organization and studied in a lab but escaped with the help of Robin, Superboy, and Impulse and has been in hiding since. Cannot remember most of her past life, does not understand her powers, and frequently feels alienated from the rest of Young Justice (except Robin, whom she has a crush on), which leaves her vulnerable to those who wish to take advantage of her powers.

Distinguishing features/costume: Blond/light brown shoulder-length hair, blue eyes, smaller than the others, frequently surrounded by smoke. Off-white suit, long and trailing light brown coat.

Cissie King-Jones (Arrowette)

Age: Never specified, but would have to be 16 by the time she competes in the Olympics.

Powers: None, but a highly-skilled archer.

Background: Daughter of a former would-be superheroine who put her daughter through strenuous training and forced her into the identity of Arrowette from an early age. Sent to boarding school after Max Mercury reported her mother to CPS for child exploitation. Took up hero work again to spite her mother but, after a personal tragedy leads her to nearly kill, chooses to quit permanently. Becomes an Olympic athlete and occasional film actress while still keeping in contact with her Young Justice friends.

Distinguishing features/costume: Long blonde hair, blue eyes, oval face, significantly taller than the other girls. Red top, white skirt, and red boots and mask, alternatively a "Dark Arrowette" costume consisting of a dark red and purple suit with a hood.

Cassie Sandsmark (Wonder Girl)

Age: 15.

Powers: Super strength, speed, durability, and flight.

Background: Daughter of an archaeologist who is an associate of Wonder Woman. Eager to join Diana in heroics and seizes an opportunity to request super powers from Zeus, who grants them on the condition that her mother can deactivate them whenever she chooses. Enthusiastic and reckless but is also struggling with self-confidence in living up her predecessors' legacy. Joined Young Justice initially because of her crush on Superboy but comes to discover her talent for leadership and eventually takes over as team leader.

Distinguishing features/costume: Short blonde hair that gets longer over the series, blue eyes, heart-shaped face, physically matures over time. Goes through several costumes. Initially wears a dark wig and googles and mismatched clothing from her closet. Later versions vary but usually include a black shirt, red pants, bracelets, and a bar necklace engraved with "girl."

Anita Fite (Empress)

Age: 16.

Powers: Vodoun, usually used for teleportation; martial arts and use of an emperor's stick; and mind control through verbal commands due to having a piece of the Anti-Life Equation in her.

Background: Daughter of a government agent (who has been pursuing the escaped Secret) and a woman whose mother was a vodoun priestess. Has had her powers most of her life but is inspired to use them for heroics after witnessing Cissie stopping a thief in a mall. Joins Young Justice after Cissie leaves. Seeks revenge on her maternal grandfather after he kills both her parents, and gets her parents back...as infants whom she now must raise.

Distinguishing features/costume: African-American, long dark reddish hair, purple eyes, tall. Gold and purple suit and mask that conceal everything except her ponytail.

Slo-bo

Age: Physically a teenager, chronologically very young--comes into existence late in the series.

Powers: Has the Czarnian physiology of his original, which provides super strength, durability, stamina, and healing, but these are limited since he came from "the shallow end of the gene pool." Also a skilled mechanic and pilot.

Background: Clone of a deaged version of alien bounty hunter Lobo that comes into existence after Li'l Lobo's death on Apokolips. Is smaller and weaker than his original and considers himself an inadequate successor. Presents himself as extremely morally gray but is actually quite sensitive, emotionally mature (compared to the rest of YJ), and ultimately self-sacrificial.

Distinguishing features/costume: Spiky black hair, yellow iris-less eyes that go completely black when he goes blind, black markings around eyes, gray skin, smaller and skinnier than Li'l Lobo. Gray shirt, black vest, jeans with skull belt buckle.

Ray Terrill (The Ray)

Age: 19.

Powers: Light control, including emanating light, blasting rays/energy, flight, conversion to light energy, movement at light speed, creation of constructs and illusions, healing, and invisibility.

Background: Raised to believe he had a deathly allergy to sunlight and must remain in the dark but learned after the death of the man who raised him that he is really the son of the Golden Age hero the Ray and has inherited his light-based powers. Struggles with adjustment to using his powers and trying to live a mostly normal life and has a difficult relationship with his lying, manipulative father. Joined the Justice League for a while. Dragged into joining Young Justice late in the series to replace recently-lost members.

Distinguishing features/costume: Red hair, green eyes, average build and height, earring. White and gold suit (a light construct), black and gold band leader-style jacket, and gold helmet with fin.

Grant Emerson (Damage) [not actually a member of YJ but has worked with them, has connections to some individual members, and is around the same age]

Age: 16.

Powers: Building up biochemical energy in his body that results in super strength, durability, and speed, greater mass, and blasts of energy. If not discharged, this energy results in his exploding like a bomb.

Background: Son of Al Pratt (the Atom) and his wife Mary but never met them. Stolen after birth and experimented upon, which gave him DNA from numerous other superheroes. Raised by abusive foster parents. Manifested powers as a teenager but couldn't control them. Saved the universe during Zero Hour, accidentally blew up downtown Atlanta, had to join the Titans as an alternative to prison, went on a quest to discover his real parentage, joined the Titans again, and went on hiatus to concentrate on healing from his past. Used to be friends with Bart. Cannot catch a break.

Distinguishing features/costume: Brown hair with floppy bangs and sometimes a mullet, brown eyes, strong jaw, increases in muscle mass whenever his powers build up. Costume varies but consistently involves blue and orange or yellow, with a radioactive symbol on the shirt.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Got some more questions

1: what made you name Jake’s hero name skybird?

2: how come Chris superhero name is Nightwing phantom instead of something else like super wing or maybe dark wing? Feels like a mouthful to me lol

3: what’s the most embarrassing thing that has happened to them? Either together or separate.

4: what horror movies have they tried to watch?

5: just like the supersons in canon (and maybe in some ppls fanons) have they ever do some slight teasing with each other? For example: calling each other dork, nerd, buttmunch, hit like a girl, etc…

6: what’s one cartoon/movie that they watch religiously? My headcanon for Chris that it’s SpongeBob.

Well my friend @gothicghost2000 , do I have some answers alright lol

1. Well what happened was that originally I gave Jake the code name of Bluebird since his main outfit was the Discowing colors on a Robin like suit. Only thing was, after some research, I rediscovered the character of Harper Row who went by Bluebird. Hence why I went with Skybird since I felt like it was different enough moniker name from Bluebird.

2. Well the idea was essentially to split the Nightwing mantle between Chris and Dick akin to how back at the marvelous competition, the X Men and Avengers gave a tendency for different teams that operate under a similar banner to bear a subtitle in order to help distinguish them. For example, the mainline X team can be X Men Gold while either a team of newly graduated members or even a time displaced version of the original team can be X Men Blue. Or there’s the main Avengers helmed by Captain America, Iron Man and Thor while another team lead by Hawkeye at San Francisco can be the aptly named West Coast Avengers.

So when differentiating Dick and Chris with the Nightwing mantle, since the former is more well known of the two (it’s a sad fact but true), I had to give Chris a way to let audiences know he too is a Nightwing albeit of a different sort than the one they’re most used to. I would’ve tried with a color based coding for them but I don’t know if Nightwing Orange would be as appealing sounding of a name since unlike Gold or Blue, it doesn’t sound a truly stand out color. So then I applied the fact Chris was born in the Phantom Zone and that his more distinctive powers are shadow based to the name process, hence Nightwing Phantom. Plus calling him simply Phantom by itself would be ripping off a golden age hero called the Phantom. So yeah…lol

3. For Chris, it would be the time Conner washed the laundry but he accidentally shrink Chris’ clothes so much but that morning he had to rush for school. The only thing that’ll fit him in the meantime was Lois’ wedding dress. You can imagine how red his face was when walking into class in said dress.

Meanwhile, there that one time Jake attempted singing a traditional Tamaranean folk song for a talent show. His louder wailing voice combined with the speakers needless to say certainly got not just tons of broken windows but a ribbon for sixth place

4. Mainly they stick to classic Universal Mosnters and if they feel especially brave, J-Horror movies starring Onryo, especially the Ringu and Grudge films. Though the first Ttime they tried watching Ringu, they were very very nervous around unlabeled video tapes

5. Chris and Jake probably do so especially at an earlier time when their little team was still barely coming together but far more lighthearted and less harsh in comparison to that other team. It’s more common for them to call each other teasing names during video game play throughs than out in their superhero jobs

6. For Jake, it’ll be both Powerpuff Girls Classic and of course Voltron Legendary Defender. For the latter case though, he completely ignores all the shipping that goes on in the fandom and just focuses on the show itself

Now as for the both of them being of them, two shows stand out being their go to ones: Avatar: The Last Airbender and Steven Universe

[phantomofthepairofdice]

The 2023 Rosscars

Welcome to the third annual online publication for the Rosscars (hold for applause while the reader acknowledges the ceasless hilarity of the portmanteau of my name with “Oscars”). This year may not have been the easiest to get through, but there are only fond memories associated with the Rosscars -  like when Joan Cusack took home a supporting actress Rosscar for her work in School of Rock and when Michelle Pfieffer won for Batman Returns. These are moments that we remember and cherish. Everyone. We all do.

A few caveats and guidelines: The rules and categories are a little different around here. In keeping with the Academy standard, there are five nominees in each category, except for Best Picture, Best Non-Fiction/Documentary Feature, Best International Film, and Best Ensemble which have up to ten. Every category except for those with 10 entries will have honorable mentions. I want to highlight some things that just barely missed the cut. The narrowing down of a lot of these categories is always tough, but I’m nothing if not a martyr for my medium *hold for rapturous applause*

Distribution continues to be more fractured and odd, so there’s only really one criterion for eligibility, and it seems self-evident: the nominees must have come out/become available between last year’s Rosscars and this year’s Oscar award nominations.

Nominees are listed alphabetically, and the winners are boldened.

Also, it’s important to keep in mind that I couldn’t see everything, and that these are just the opinions of one (self-described) “bozo on the internet.” If you’re a reader and have different picks, feel free to share!

The pre-show events were as rambunctious as ever. First was the longest held tradition of pre-show events at the Rosscars - the Vin Diesel look alike contest. Many bulky boiz showed up with bald heads and broad shoulders, but only one person went home victorious: from Italy, Vincenzo Dieselini. Rumors have started that it’s just Vin Diesel doing an impression of Super Mario. We’ve reached out to the folks at the Rosscars, but have yet to hear back from them. 

There was also the Nepo Baby Career Raffle, where the children of A-C List celebrities gather to be selected at random for a middling career in an adjacent industry to their parents despite not having the experience or talent necessary to land the gig. Tonight’s big winners were the offspring of the donkeys used in the production of the Polish film EO (a film I have yet to see). The donkey from Banshees of Inisherin hee-hawed and stomped its way out of the theater.

Austin Butler is here, and yes, he is still talking in his Elvis voice. He keeps referring to people as “little mama” and it’s hilarious but also a bit uncomfortable.

O.J. Simpson is here. He wasn’t invited, but I certainly won’t be the one letting him know!

People are still reckoning with the fact that Ross has stepped in as tonight’s host. The identity of the original host for the evening is still under wraps, but our source, known to us and our readers as Cavernous Larynx, says they were once a “Fresh Prince” before becoming a “King Richard.” This reporter can only assume that means it’s a man who is a royal dick. Must’ve been a personality clash.

The first string of categories are about to be announced, and the crowd has a palpable sense of anticipation… that is until they see who the presenter is: Ross.

Best Supporting Actor

Cliff Curtis for Murina

Anthony Hopkins for Armageddon Time

Ke Huy Quan for Everything Everywhere All At Once

Justin Long for Barbarian

Steven Yeun for Nope

Honorable Mentions:

Rayan Sarlak for Hit the Road

Michael Wincott for Nope

Judd Hirsch for The Fabelmans

Benny Safdie for Stars at Noon

This is Steven Yeun’s second Rosscar win, the first being for his revelatory performance in Burning. What a talented young man with a distinguished track record - and he still has an incredible career ahead of him. Thank god he was freed from the manacles of being on “The Walking Dead.”

Best Supporting Actress

Kerry Condon for Banshees of Inisherin

Dolly De Leon for Triangle of Sadness

Chloe East for The Fabelmans

Nina Hoss for TÁR

Kristen Stewart for Crimes of the Future

Honorable Mentions:

Stephanie Hsu for Everything Everywhere All At Once

Julia Butters for The Fabelmans

Angela Bassett for Wakanda Forever

Danica Ćurčić for Murina

Best Animated Film

Apollo 10 ½, dir. Richard Linklater

Beavis and Butt-Head Do the Universe, dir. John Rice & Albert Calleros

Mad God, dir. Phil Tippet

Turning Red, dir. Domee Shi

Wendell & Wild, dir. Henry Selick

Honorable Mention:

Marcel the Shell with Shoes On, dir. Dean Fleischer Camp

Turning Red is a joyful, specific, and rich story about the push and pull of culture and family in forming one’s identity. The fact that it was done with a new spin on the Pixar aesthetic and embraced kaiju and monster movie allegory to talk about puberty and coming into one’s self is brilliant. I was glowing the entire time while watching.

Best Cinematography

Matias Boucard for Athena

Greig Fraser for The Batman

Florian Hoffmeister for TÁR

Hoyte van Hoytema for Nope

Kim Ji-yong for Decision to Leave

Honorable Mentions:

Roberto De Angelis for Ambulance

Sayombhu Mukdeeprom for Thirteen Lives

Hélène Louvart for Murina

Claudio Miranda for Top Gun: Maverick

I truly don’t know how Kim was able to pull off some of the shots in Decision to Leave, and it’s almost like a magic trick - part of me wants to know how the crew was able to do things like the mirror shots in the first interrogation, but I’m also so amazed and satisfied that I want to keep it a mystery.

Best Trailer:

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever - watch here

The Northman - watch here

TÁR (teaser) - watch here

Three Thousand Years of Longing - watch here

Top Gun: Maverick - watch here

Billy Crystal takes the stage to do a short little riff about some of the stars in the audience. So many middling, half-assed jokes, how can you choose which one you dislike the least? There’s the one about Uncle Vanya Taylor-Joy. Ana de Armas-geddon Time. Seth Rogaine. Pre Malone. It appears that just about every audience member has started chatting with their neighbor, and the producers are worried that due to the lack of audience engagement, Crystal may go rogue and try to hook them back in with his go-to Sammy Davis Jr. impression that he did as recently as the 2012 Oscars. For those that don’t remember - yes, he absolutely did it in blackface - yeesh!

Coming out to reign in the spectators like they were a group of cats and the mic was a laser pointer is the host, Ross. He delivers the prelude to introduce the next three categories.

Best Final Scene

Decision to Leave

The Fabelmans

Flux Gourmet

Murina

TÁR

This is a new category this year created by the sheer number of outstanding dismounts from some of the best films of the year. Endings are often the hardest part of any movie to pull off, but these 5 movies not only wrapped things up, but did so with thematic clarity and emotional resonance.

Best Score

Michael Abels for Nope

Michael Giacchino for The Batman

Jo Yeong-wook for Decision to Leave

Cliff Martinez for Kimi

Howard Shore for Crimes of the Future

Honorable Mentions:

Hildur Guðnadóttir for Women Talking

Aska Mastumiya for After Yang

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross for Bones and All

Notable Needle Drops:

“Be My Baby” by The Ronettes in Barbarian

“Last Dance” by Donna Summer in Fire Island

“The Mist” by Jung Hoon Hee in Decision to Leave

“Sailing” by Christopher Cross in Ambulance

“Won’t be Fooled Again” by The Who in Top Gun: Maverick

Best Ensemble

After Yang

Crimes of the Future

Everything Everywhere All At Once

Fire Island

Nope

Scream

Thirteen Lives

Top Gun: Maverick

Triangle of Sadness

Women Talking

Best International Film

Decision to Leave, dir. Park Chan-wook, South Korea

Hit the Road, dir. Panah Panahi, Iran

Murina, dir. Antoneta Alamat Kisujanović, Greece

Neptune Frost, dir. Saul Williams & Anisia Uzeyman, Rwanda & USA

Petite Maman, dir. Céline Sciamma, France

RRR, dir. S.S. Rajamouli, India

This year’s Lifetime Achievement Rosscar goes to prolific and ever-dependable character actress Beth Grant. While you may not recognize the name, one Google (or Bing for the weirdos) search will make you go “ohhhhh” as you recognize the face of a performer who always delivers memorable turns. Congratulations, Beth Grant - you’ve entered the pantheon of award winners alongside makeup designers like Rob Bottin, Jack Pierce, and John Chambers, actors like George Kennedy and directors like George A. Romero.

Best Screenplay

David Cronenberg for Crimes of the Future

Todd Field for TÁR

Martin McDonagh for The Banshees of Inisherin

Jordan Peele for Nope

Tony Kushner and Steven Spielberg for The Fabelmans

Honorable Mentions:

Panah Panahi for Hit the Road

Celine Sciama for Petitie Maman

Domee Shi and Julia Cho for Turning Red

Saul Williams for Neptune Frost

Nope is Peele’s best film yet, so it’s unsurprising that it took home a screenplay Rosscar tonight. It’s a true marvel for simultaneously overflowing with wit and complex ideas while still being a rich character piece and arguably an even better genre picture. Engaging with and interrogating spectacle while examining the cost it takes to create it and the disposability with which it’s received - the dude has his cake and eats it, too. In my opinion, that’s pretty neat!

Best Adapted Screenplay

Kogonada for After Yang

David Cogeshall for Orphan: First Kill

Erin Kruger, Eric Warren Singer, & Christopher McQuarrie for Top Gun: Maverick

George Miller and Augusta Gore for Three Thousand Years of Longing

Sarah Polley for Women Talking

Honorable Mentions:

Henry Selick & Jordan Peele for Wendell & Wild

Lena Dunham for Catherine Called Birdy

In a performance that will hopefully remind people to check out the superlative third entry in the franchise, Channing Tatum and the Magical Michael boys are now taking the stage to perform. They start krumping, gyrating, and doing all sorts of lascivious contortions. Olivia Colman is cheering, Bradley Cooper is shedding a tear of joy, and Glenn Close is blaring sound from a vuvuzela she must have brought from home.

Sure to put out the fire of excitement is our next presenter, Ross.

Best Actress:

Cate Blanchett for TÁR

Rebecca Hall for Resurrection

Keke Palmer for Nope

Tang Wei for Decision to Leave

Tilda Swinton for Three Thousand Years of Longing (and The Eternal Daughter)

Honorable Mentions:

Mia Goth for Pearl

Gracija Filipović for Murina

Michelle Yeoh for Everything Everywhere All At Once

Michelle Williams for The Fabelmans

Blanchett’s win felt a bit like an inevitability, but it was nearly a split decision between her and Tang Wei who won as recently as 2007 for Lust, Caution. This is a decision (to leave) that has, embarrassingly, caused the voting board (read: Ross) to lose sleep.

Best Actor:

Tom Cruise for Top Gun: Maverick

Paul Dano for The Fabelmans

Idris Elba for Three Thousand Years of Longing

Colin Farrell for After Yang (and Banshees of Inisherin & Thirteen Lives & The Batman)

Hassan Madjooni for Hit the Road

Honorable Mentions:

Daniel Kaaluya for Nope

Gabriel LaBelle for The Fabelmans

Viggo Mortensen for Crimes of the Future

This was a strange category, honestly, and the last one that I settled on a winner. Elba, however, feels like the right choice considering how he’s able to walk the incredibly thin tonal tightrope of the movie he’s in, embodying a being beyond humanity while also simmering with operatic emotions that inevitably boil over.

Best Non-Fiction/Documentary Film

All the Beauty and the Bloodshed, dir. Laura Poitras

Fire of Love, dir. Sara Dosa

Is that Black Enough For You?!?, dir. Elvis Mitchell

Jackass Forever, dir. Jeff Tremaine

Navalny, dir. Daniel Roher

Best Director:

Todd Field for TÁR

Kogonada for After Yang

Park Chan-wook for Decision to Leave

Jordan Peele for Nope

Steven Spielberg for The Fabelmans

Honorable Mentions:

David Cronenberg for Crimes of the Future

Daniels for Everything Everywhere All At Once

SS Rajamouli for RRR

Best Picture

After Yang, dir. Kogonada

Avatar: The Way of Water, dir. James Cameron

Crimes of the Future, dir. David Cronenberg

Decision to Leave, dir. Park Chan-wook

The Fablemans, dir. Steven Spielberg

Nope, dir. Jordan Peele

RRR, dir. S.S. Rajamouli

TÁR, dir. Todd Field

Top Gun: Maverick, dir. Joseph Kosinski

Turning Red, dir. Domee Shi

Cate Blanchett and Todd Field (wearing a ball cap, duh) take the stage to accept the award and deliver a perfectly pitched speech that is somehow humble, confident, funny, and moving. Those two rock. But it seems like they’re being played off stage by the orchestra - this never happens at the Rosscars, let alone during the biggest award of the night. The camera pans down to the orchestra pit and it seems that the conductor is… Lydia Tár?! Oh how the once mighty have fallen.

From the first moment I saw it, I knew that TÁR would be the one to take home the big prize. Eerie and ethereal, but also richly realized in its characters and environments, the film is a masterpiece. It’s propelled by the unease of crumbling foundations and hypnotic interrogations. No film from this year has lodged itself so securely in the firmament of my mind.

As always, these awards can be revoked and redistributed at will, so don’t start getting too confident with that statue, Idris - Paul Dano might go full Riddler mode and take it from ya.

For more thoughts on film, and a whole bunch of other junk, you can find me on Letterboxd here and on Twitter here. You can also find very sporadic pieces on this very same blog space: (that’s https://phantomofthepairofdice.tumblr.com/).

On behalf of the RAOGL (Rosscars Association of One Guy at a Laptop), thanks for reading. We’ll see you next year. Keep watching movies, and keep arbitrarily quantifying them in terms of subjective quality!

[kaepop-trash]

I wanna see y/n dominate johnny again 🙏🏻

This isn't as dom as I thought I could make it, but yk. I hope you like it anyway.

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WC: 3.6k

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy, Idiots being Idiots (contd.), Femdom, Switch!Johnny, Switch! Reader, Sub! Johnny, Edging (Male recieving), Footjob (Male recieving), Face-sitting, Oral (Female receiving), Hair Pulling Kink, Degradation/Praise Kink, Dirty Talking, Punishments, One Spank.

__

Johnny shifted, spreading his legs a little further and sinking lower on the couch. Slowly he adjusted himself under her foot, biting down a groan when she dug her heel in a little.

He risked a glance at her, finding her eyes focused on her phone with the screen illuminating her cheeks in a way her furrowed brows prevented the ceiling lights from doing.

"(Y/N)." Johnny took a sharp inhale. She pressed her foot down harder in retaliation, humming in question casually without looking up from her phone.

"How was your day?" He questioned, biting back his groan when she rubbed her heel a little faster.

"It was fine." She responded, eyes not leaving her phone.

Johnny's dick throbbed under her foot and its half-hearted ministrations. His mind, meanwhile, was caught somewhere between caution and a sense of sinking victory. Both of which confused him and aroused him as much as her sudden demeanour did.

She had sat down on the couch beside him after her shower, putting a leg into his lap in a way that he thought was almost cute. But now with her foot slowly working his dick, he wondered what her intentions were

"I had a good day." Johnny continued.

"Yeah, I bet you did." She hummed again, voice void of any tell. Johnny turned anyway, suspicions realised when he saw the deep frown etched on her forehead.

"As far as blind dates go, it wasn't bad. I actually liked her company." He spoke, breath whistling out from between his teeth when she slipped her toes beneath his t-shirt, her feet ice cold. His dick twitched at the assault.

"We could actually have a conversation." He continued, "Since she's a classical pianist.” Johnny leaned his head back when her heel pressed against his briefs. “We spoke about music.” He spoke with laboured breaths. "She even mentioned that restaurant with the tasting menu that you keep saying you want to go to. She said it would be perfect for a second date."

“Sounds like you had fun, then.” She noted. Johnny hummed in response, too focused on the excruciating taste of pleasure as his arousal grew. “Then why aren’t you at her apartment right now?”

Johnny opened a single eye, tilting his head just enough to look at her. To his surprise, her eyes were on him. Her expectant gaze lingered on his face, impatient and indignant. Johnny gave her a smile of true conquest, closing his eyes and just shrugging.

“I don’t think it’s going to work out.” He bit down on his bottom lip when her foot slipped lower.

“Why do you say that?” She questioned, voice still an unassuming hum.

He turned back to look at her, “Just a feeling.”

“Does that feeling have something to do with the fact that you walked out of a restaurant after a date only to drive to my apartment to spend the night?” She questioned, the mildest bite seeping into her words— one Johnny could only distinguish after knowing her for the time he did.

“I dropped her home, actually.” He answered, wincing when she dug her cold toes right against the thick vein that ran the length of his shaft.

“Always the gentleman.” She responded. Johnny laughed at the obvious irritation in her eyes.

Johnny turned his waist to face her properly, giving her a smile full of endearment. It was his way to say what his lips itched to.

He reached his hand out, slipping his fingers up the bare leg that currently wasn’t busy trying to grind him to insanity. She dropped her phone to her chest, lifting the leg and moving it till she trapped his hand between it and the back of the sofa.

"No touching." She clicked his tongue.

"But I want you." Johnny pouted with a low whine.

She pouted back at him in a clear mockery of his desperation. "Really? How bad?"

"I've been thinking about it all evening." He confessed, the relinquishment practically second nature to him by now. She clicked her tongue at him again.

"You shouldn't think about fucking someone else while on a date. Not very gentlemanly of you, Mr Suh." She curled her toes around the band of his briefs. The anticipation of feeling skin on skin made him hold his breath. When she pulled it back after a light brush over his now swollen tip, Johnny let out a disappointed gasp.

"Nothing about how I feel about you is close to being gentlemanly, kitten." He smirked when her cheeks tinted at his words.

"That is true." She cooed, the slightest shake settling in her tone. "There is no semblance of gentility in you for me, is there?"

"Says the woman with her foot on my cock." He scoffed. "Let's go to that tasting menu place tomorrow, and maybe I'll be a gentleman to you too." He tried to sound casual about it.

"We don't do that." She snapped, pulling her foot back with a quick jolt that made him snap his neck to her.

"We go for breakfast all the time." He reasoned. Even as he spoke though, he knew what her next words were going to be.

"But not dinner." She looked away from him, brows knitting.

Johnny wondered how he could know someone so well but still not understand them at all.

"I just want to eat food and then take you home. Don't overthink it." Johnny was grateful that his anger seemed to add a tone of indifference to his words. She sat up on her knees, giving him a searing look that made Johnny gulp.

"I'm not overthinking. I'm saying no." Her brow raised. She frowned at the notion of being handed a consolation prize. His needless pity stinging her worse than the idea of him on a date— something he told her he doesn't do.

Johnny scoffed, trying to hide the sting of her words and looking away from her in the process.

"Fine. It was just a suggestion." He murmured.

"You should go with the woman who asked you to come." She moved closer to him, swinging a leg over till she was straddling him. "I don't care about you being a gentleman." She cupped his chin, making him look at her. "You're my whore aren't you, Johnny?" She cooed at him again, voice laced with condescension.

He looked into her eyes, nodding far too easily.

"How would Miss Pianist react when she finds out?" She questioned. "Were you thinking about this while she was telling you about her hobbies?" She rolled her hips, making Johnny grit his teeth.

He shook his head, "In my head, I was in charge."

When she laughed at his words, the pout that formed on his lips was unintentional.

"Well that's too bad, isn't it? In my head, I was thinking about whether you were going to fuck your date. Now my early night is ruined because you seem to be insatiable. What? Did she not want to let out on the first date?" Her grip tightened on his chin before she seemed to realise, letting go to put her hands on his shoulder.

"I don't know, I didn't ask." He shrugged, still smiling. "Why bother with the uncertainty when I have such a willing pet like you?"

A slow smirk bloomed on his lips as he realised the meaning of her previous words. "Is that why you're in such a miserable mood? You were thinking about me fucking someone else? I almost forgot how ruthless your jealousy can be. Will you give me one of your excruciating hand jobs again?"

"No. I'm going to sit on your face today." She relaxed as his hands finally came up to hold her waist. "Don't be full of yourself, Sir." She gripped his shoulder tightly, nails digging into his skin through his t-shirt. "Jealousy makes it sound too provocative. I just prefer not knowing about your escapades. It's not like I tell you about mine."

There was a momentary surge of heat in his blood at the thought. His fingers gripped her waist a little tighter as he remembered one very clear instance of one of her escapades that he was a willing spectator to.

Provocative would be an understatement of how he felt.

When he looked back up at her, she was watching him with her signature guarded eyes. Johnny gave her a smile, tugging her towards him to brush his lips over hers. She blinked, a passing look of surrender in her eyes that mirrored exactly how he felt.

"Sit on my face." He mumbled against her lips, smirking when she blushed despite having suggested it herself.

Johnny remembered when she admitted that he made her feel very timid in some small moments. Moments like this, he assumed. Johnny pecked her lip again before reaching up to do it to the tip of her nose as well.

"No teasing." She warned him, voice gentler. Johnny shook his head. He had already done that by telling her about his date to get her riled up. Something he was undoubtedly successful at.

While it was extremely childish of him, Johnny quite enjoyed getting a rise out of her like this occasionally. Getting (Y/N) jealous was rare on account of the fact that she religiously avoided asking or knowing about other people in his life.

But that night at Yuta's birthday party from almost a year ago remained in Johnny's brain. He knew that, not only was she capable of feeling the emotion, but that her demeanor was almost irresistible when she was searing with envy.

That was the very thought that ran through his mind all evening. While he couldn't cancel this blind date one of his aunt's had set him up on, the very idea of what it would do to (Y/N) was enough to make him giddy while the dinner went on.

He kept his grip on her waist, slipping off the couch and sitting on the floor.

“Now I have to go back up.” She sighed, pushing his hair out of his face. “You need a haircut.” She noted, looking up as she pulled the strands up between her fingers to inspect.

“I’m thinking of growing it out.” He hummed, chuckling when she crinkled her nose in disapproval.

“Why? This hair looks so good on you.”

Johnny just shrugged, “I wanted to try something new. I’ll cut it off if you don’t like it.” He pulled her higher up his lap, closer to him as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

She gave him an amused smile, neck turning red despite it. “I didn’t realise I have such a sway over your decisions." She mumbled, squirming when he nuzzled his head into her neck. "Since we’re on the topic, I think you need to get rid of the snapbacks. Something unsettling about a grown man dressing like a teenager.” She continued to run her fingers through his hair. Johnny pulled back with a confused frown, making her grin sheepishly.

“Okay, up.” He pushed her lightly, making her laugh with a nod as she moved back to the couch. Johnny laid his head back, looking up as she adjusted herself tentatively. He reached up to smack her ass once she removed her bottoms, grinning when she yelped from surprise. “That’s for talking shit about my caps.”

“You’re getting real brave for someone who was just ready to come on my foot.” She raised a brow at him as she lowered herself. “Don’t forget who’s in charge.” She warned, grabbing a fistful of his hair to make him look up at her.

Johnny just hummed, wrapping his arm around her thighs without any hesitation. He looked back to her with a glint in his eyes. "I haven't forgotten anything." He promised, his tongue running up her slit the next moment. When he pressed it against her clit she bucked forward, his hold tightening to keep her in place.

When she looked down, there was a clear mark of victory in his eyes. Before she could say anything he did it again, the vibration of his chuckles against her making her grit her teeth to hide her moan.

Eventually, Johnny picked up a slow but consistent pace. His hands reached into her t-shirt, lifting it till she got the hint and pulled it off herself. Johnny sighed, the blow of air against her warm folds making her moan. His arm moved up her body, caressing till she melted into his touch. His tongue drew rough circles over her clit, pressing harder each time till she was heaving.

"Such a good cumslut." She sighed, "I can't believe you even have an appetite after having such a nice dinner." A scoff left her lips, making Johnny mirror it.

The small grunt made her sit up straight, a moan leaving her lips soon after. Johnny hummed next and her legs tightened around his head. He seemed encouraged by it, shifting till his tongue was teasing her hole.

"Don’t play.” She warned, grip tightening in his hair. She tilted his head slightly just as she looked down at him. He just watched her with tepid eyes that made her skin burn. Johnny slid his hand up to her waist, squeezing tight as his tongue barely slipped into her. The sudden action made her gasp, the way he teased slowly built her fury till it reached the tip of her tongue.

“I should make you do this in the middle of the club someday. I wonder how every single person would feel knowing that your perfect lips belong to me.” She looked away from him, neck heating at the realisation of her own words. Johnny’s face bucked higher up, tongue slipping further into her.

When he began thrusting it in and out, her legs shook. Johnny had to bring his arms back down to steady them with a tight grip. “Yeah, I know you’d love it too. Always such a willing whore for me, Johnny.” She moaned when he groaned into her.

One of his hands let her go and she tilted her head back to see it snaking towards his own hard member, straining against his sweatpants. She tugged at his roots, turning back to look at him. “Don’t be an animal. Where’s all your restraint now? Bring your hand back if you want me to fuck you later.” She ordered. Johnny raised a defiant brow, pulling his tongue out of her in retaliation. She clicked her tongue, “You’re so spoiled. Do you want to test me?” She questioned, biting down on her bottom lip when he gave her an eager nod. Still his hand came back to her waist.

With her fingers still in his hair, she began grinding against his tongue. She pushed his head till his nose brushed against her clit, failing to bite down a whimper when she rubbed against it. She found her own pace easily and her head fell back as she focused on her building pleasure, having every intention to use his face till he was gasping for breath. Her irritation only spiked when higher when she felt his smile against her folds, recognising that he was enjoying it.

Johnny moved both hands away, making her look back at him immediately. Instead of touching himself though, he put them behind his neck. His head came closer to her as a result, tongue pressing flat against her clit. He grinned when she winced, relaxing further as he looked like he was in no hurry to finish.

“Enjoying yourself that much?” She struggled to keep her voice spiteful. Johnny gave her a nod, humming with approval when she rolled her hips again. “Don’t be lazy, use your tongue.” She demanded.

Instead of listening, he raised his head, kissing her clit softly. A huff that was meant to leave her lips, stuttered when he did. Johnny chuckled at the frown on her face. Then he wrapped his lips over her clit and sucked with a loud slurp that made a jolt shoot up her legs.

“Fuck.” She gasped, leaning over till her head fell on the back of the couch. Satisfied by her reaction, Johnny bought his arms back to her hips. He lifted her up a little, taking in thick gasps of breath. He looked up to meet her gaze, a gasp leaving her lips at the sight of his swollen lips and glistening chin. She closed her eyes when he licked his lips.

“You taste so good.” He hummed, flicking her clit with a small lick that made her hips twitch. “Be a good girl and keep grinding on my face okay? I want to watch you using me to come like this. So desperate to feel my tongue, aren't you?” He kissed her clit again, “You’re so cute when you’re trying to be in control.” He chuckled, mocking her. “You’re so hot when you’re mad but you can’t even hold a thought long enough when you want to come, can you? Impatient little kitten.” He grinned unfazed.

A moan left his lips when she tugged his hair harder,— a silent punishment for his words. “Keep doing that, makes me so hard.” He taunted her.

“Feeling very rebellious tonight, are we? Or are you forgetting how much of a good boy you can be when you set your mind to it?” She asked him, eyes still squeezed shut from his occasional kitten licks.

He hummed like he was considering her words. “Maybe I could use a reminder. But I don’t think you’re up for it right now. You’ve made it too easy for me tonight, I’m rather enjoying myself.”

“That’s because behind all that attitude of yours, you’re just a brat who loves to please, don’t you?” She tilted her head back again, “Looking at how hard you are just from having your face used. Of course you love this, you just want to be a toy.” She scoffed.

Johnny just smiled, but the way he gripped her hips to bring her back against his waiting tongue gave her the confirmation. He used his arms to move her against his tongue as he switched between using his lips and tongue to inch her closer to her high.

She failed to sit back up, truly lost in the feeling of the changing pace of his tongue. Each precise flick, each deliberate tug made her legs begin shaking. She pressed her thighs against his head so hard that the muscles ached. If the pressure hurt him, he didn’t express it.

When he took her clit between his teeth, a wretched whine slipped from between her lips. He rolled her clit between his teeth like that a little longer, using his lips to suck at the same time. She pressed down on his face harder as she felt herself close.

“Johnny.” She whined, used to asking him for permission to come. She stopped when she realised that she didn’t need to; but he hummed his approval on her clit anyway, moving his tongue in rapid circles till she took in a sharp breath and her legs trembled. Her orgasm washed through her with a crashing wave, every muscle going rigid from the pleasure.

She stayed still for a moment, lifting her hips slightly to let the man under her breathe.

Johnny took the opportunity to ghost a finger against her hole, dick twitching when she clenched. Then she smacked his head as she pulled away. Johnny let out a breathless laugh, stopping her from moving onto the couch and bringing her back down on his lap instead.

She gave him a frown, “You look too pleased with yourself right now.” She grunted.

“I am. I got dinner and dessert. Feeling almost spoiled.” He sat back, breath hitching when he felt her warm cunt soaking through his sweatpants. The mention of dinner made her face sour and Johnny almost felt bad.

“You should do both together next time then.” She rolled her eyes, sitting further up his lap till she rubbed against his dick. “Or maybe I’ll do that.” She chewed on her cheek.

Johnny scoffed, “With whom? Doyoung doesn’t seem like the dinner date type. You’d never go on a date with a stranger.” He smirked with haughty confidence in his claim.

She hummed, “Then maybe we’ll skip right to the dessert.” She gasped when he bucked his hips up towards her.

“Sounds like a plan. Maybe we should do one of those double dates. At least we’ll get to try the tasting menu. I’ll find you a dude myself.” He countered.

“Maybe you can ask your new pianist friend. I’ve heard pianist’s know how to use their fingers.” She pressed down against him, both of them trying to bite back a moan. Johnny raised a brow at her, wondering if she forgot that he was one himself or if she was teasing.

“Aren’t they?” Johnny asked, utterly vexed. She took in the growing anger in his face, squirming against him.

"Did you kiss her goodnight?" She asked him with an air of ease to her voice. Johnny raised a knowing brow at her, impatient this time.

His hand grabbed her chin, "What do you think?" He watched her lips grow into the mildest smirk. With a careful gaze that went from his lips to his eyes, she leaned closer and brushed her lips against his. Staking a silent claim on it.

Johnny thought about her words from earlier, neck going warm. His lips did belong to her, and her knowing it felt like the biggest taunt so far.

“You did drop her home. She must have expected it.” She mumbled, leaning closer.

Johnny gave into her with a sigh, “I don’t care.” He caressed her waist, gripping it almost possessively. She leaned forward, gaze locked into his as she pressed her lips against his. Her body melted into his till he could almost convince himself that it was one.

“I know.” Her gaze softened to something warm and intimate as she deepened the kiss.

Johnny's hand slid up her back to pull her closer to him. He sighed as he took in the many whims of his woman. She was beyond his comprehension, infuriating and endearing.

And he adored her. This equally insincere and brutally honest woman who was starting to bewitch him, body and soul.

“You’re fully clothed.” She pulled away, looking down at him with a pout. “That makes me feel extra exposed.” She looked back up at him with an expectant gaze.

“That’s how I always feel when you look at me like that.” He smiled, capturing her lips in his again when she took in a nervous inhale at the words. “Bed?” He whispered against her lips and she gave him a nod.

--

Character from: Chance Encounter

Mini Masterlist

[jungkxook]

—stay. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: popstar!jungkook x groupie!reader + smut / sprinkle of angst and fluff

⟶ words: 8,083

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: jungkook wasn’t always so madly in love with you but the fact that you’re sleeping with two of his band mates too makes things a tad bit complicated.

⟶ warnings: multiple smut scenes, slight dom themes, oral sex, finger sucking oops, boob fondling, hair pulling ft. jungkook’s undercut, doggy style, missionary, thigh riding, spitting, jealous kook!!, unprotected sex, kind of slight possessive themes? but also just general sweetness tbh 

⟶ disclaimer: my time jungkook still has me in my feels! also, this is a repost of an old fic on an old blog.

“Stay with me?”

Jungkook asks this hopefully, of course, but he already knows the answer. It’s just that, lying there with you on the hotel room bed, there’s no other place he’d rather be ━ and there’s no one else he’d rather experience the moment with than you. Legs tangled together on top of the duvet with your fingers tracing circles onto his bare chest, Jungkook swears he’s in love with you ━ only, you’re not his to have. 

“I have to go,” You pout, though your fingers continue drawing constellations on his skin, treading down his arm and over the tattoos that adorn him. You’re focusing now on the lily on his forearm, around and around, sending his head spiralling. “Promised my friends we could hang out today. Besides, don’t you have Mina or Nina━” You wave your hand in the air to dismiss the thought━ “coming over soon?”

“Who?” It takes him a moment to even remember who you’re talking about. Truthfully, he hasn’t seen that girl in well over six months but he’d never tell you that. In fact, he hasn’t been seeing anyone else other than you but he would definitely never tell you that. “Oh, yeah. Well, I think she’s coming over later tonight.”

“Well━” You trail off, and Jungkook knows it’s because you’re stalling. You want to stay, and he knows it well enough, but every question you ask him is just meant to further reassure you that it’s okay if you stay. That he wants you to. “Aren’t you busy with work today before the second show?”

Jungkook shrugs. “We still have lots of time before the day starts.”

You shake your head at him but he knows he ultimately wins out when you start to smile to yourself. You prop yourself up beside him and he has to admire momentarily how you’ve never been timid in front of him when you’re naked. His hand reaches out to brush his fingers against your cheek and you smile down at him. But then something seems to dawn on him that he can’t believe he foolishly hadn’t thought of first. 

“Unless… Unless you need to see one of them soon.”

“Who?”

“Taehyung or Namjoon.” It takes all he can muster to say their names without a trace of bitterness. He lifts himself up on his elbow. “Are you still seeing them?”

You shrug innocently. Sitting up a little straighter, you brush his hand away and fidget with your hair. “Would it matter if I was?”

Yes, he wants to scream but he refrains. “No. I just━” he stops. “Just curious. Is that what you meant by work then? You have to go see Tae or something right after me? ”

“No, you prick.” He’s relieved you giggle at him, fingers poking at his chest despite the fact that he was mentally cursing himself for being a dick the minute the words left his mouth. “Believe it or not, I do have a life outside of sex. Friends, too.”

“I know, I know,” he says sheepishly. “Sorry, I━ I know. You said you wanted to go shopping downtown before the show tonight, right? One of your friends ━ Dahyun ━ goes to school in the next city over and she’s taking the day off to see you. I do listen when you talk, y’know?”

He doesn’t miss the warm smile that spreads across your face. You finally return to him, kissing him slow and steadily. In the meantime, he flips you over onto your back and then parts from you much to your dismay. He’s nestled himself between your legs in an instant, kissing up your thigh and sending shivers down your spin. Your hand flies down to twine your fingers in his hair, now much longer than usual.

“I guess I could stay a little longer, if you’d want me to,” You say. 

“I do.”

He wastes no time in swiping his tongue at your folds, his mouth wrapping perfectly around you. You’re already mewling with delight. That’s all it ever is with the two of you. Sex and more sex. And while Jungkook isn’t complaining, he sure does wish he could just have more of you. Jungkook burrows a little deeper, his nose rubbing against your clit as he eats you out. 

“Morning sex does sound nice,” You manage to say, breath shaking.

“Yeah,” he rasps against you. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Your thighs are already threatening to squeeze shut around his head, fingers tightening in their hold. His own hands find purchase on your waist, stretching outward to hold on to you, and nothing can break you both apart. Not even the muffled sound of rapid knocking on the front door of the too grand hotel room. At least, not the first two times. On the third time when it’s followed by the sound of Jungkook’s manager irritably calling out through the flimsy wood panel, does Jungkook groan into your cunt and poke his head upward, craning his neck to look over his shoulder as his manager’s voice carries infuriatingly loudly to you both once again. 

“Get up already, will you? We’ve got several business meetings to conduct today and we haven’t got time for you to sleep off a hangover or whatever it is you’re doing━”

“Gimme ‘til noon!” Jungkook asserts gruffly. He settles himself back between your thighs, and you surely don’t miss the devious way he smirks just before burrowing his head into your heat. There’s an inaudible sound that he makes, that you and certainly his manager can distinguish as being, “I’m too busy right now.”

Busy is an understatement, pointedly made clear when his tongue delves into you, lapping at your leaking wetness as if he were terribly quenched and only you could save him. You don’t think Jungkook taking his morning to eat you out is a good enough excuse that will run over well with his manager later in the day, but it drives him away for now with only a grumbled chorus of words left in his wake. But the silence only lasts for so long. Just as Jungkook is getting comfortable once more, you speak up.

“I don’t think tardiness is a very good quality to have as a celebrity,” You ponder aloud through a heavily pleased sigh.

“Ah, or it’s exactly the thing I need,” he counters with a shit-eating grin. “Being late is a very celebrity thing, isn’t it?”

“When the fame gets to their head,” You snort. Your voice splinters off into a whimper as he tilts his chin up a little higher, lapping deeper into you.

“Then I guess I’m bad.” His voice murmurs against you, rattling you to the bone.

“You’re definitely far from bad. Everyone thinks you’re an angel.”

“Wonder if they’d think the same thing if they saw me now━” He pinches lightly at the inside of your thigh, “head between your legs, and you coming on my tongue.”

You roll your eyes, but your wittiness falls short when he tugs with his teeth at your folds. Your back arches off the bed at once, hips pressing harder against his face.

“Namjoon called last night,” You say. No, you don’t say it. You moan it and even though Jungkook knows it’s because of him and how he’s making you feel in that moment, he still hates hearing someone else’s name roll off the tip of your tongue that isn’t his. “If you must know. Said he wanted to see me in the morning━”

Jungkook grimaces. He grunts shortly, “Guess you’re gonna have to let him down.”

“I’m sure Joon will love that━”

“Don’t,” he hisses. He bites down a little harshly on the inside of your thigh but you don’t mind. When he glances up to look at you, his stare is dark and hooded. “Don’t say their names. Not now. Please.”

You almost miss the desperation in his voice, the way he almost whines his words. You don’t ask, even though you’re curious. You don’t ask, even when he eats you out that morning until he’s made sure you’re crying his name and nothing else. You don’t ask, even when fucks you slow and deep and measured and almost, dare you say, loving like he never has before, clinging onto you as if he can’t live without you. You don’t ask, even when he may get a little rough (just how you like it), as if he’s afraid you’ll leave him right then and there. You don’t even ask when he sucks not one but two hickeys on your neck, large enough for anyone to see. For Taehyung and Namjoon to see.

You never really do ask, even though you notice things have become different.

It’s not as if you haven’t always been close to one another. There are more times than not in which you both physically can’t keep your hands off of one another in public, though in the safest and simplest ways possible. It’s there, in the way you sit next to him with your legs crossed regally on the couch in the green room backstage before a set, playing with the rings on his fingers on the hand resting on your shoulder; there, in the way you sit draped across his lap, leaning into his chest, in the studio as they blur through recordings. When you give advice on composing or lyric writing, Jungkook listens. When you giggle into his ear and whisper lewd things when you probably shouldn’t in the middle of a party with important business men and other celebrities, Jungkook is captivated. 

It wasn’t always supposed to be like this. Jungkook wasn’t always so madly in love with you, but he always knew there was something about you he just could not get enough of. You had chosen him first, approaching him late one night at a bar, and he was instantly head-over-heels. Even if it was mutually agreed upon ━ and oftentimes never really outwardly mentioned ━ that you could sleep around with him, Namjoon, and Taehyung, then Jungkook would have to deal with it. He would do anything, if it meant getting to see you more. At first he didn’t even mind. What was one more groupie to the ever growing list he had already accumulated? He’s never gotten feelings for any of them, so surely he thought he would be okay with you; that maybe whatever he was feeling for you would go away. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

After he asks you the question the first time, he finds himself stuck in a greedy months-long habit of asking you wistfully every time he finds you in his bed. He asks it a thousand and one times, but only ever gets one response from you. You’ll say no, that you have to leave, and sometimes you will. But sometimes ━ sometimes when he knows he wins out because he knows you let your guard down long enough to become besotted by him, a tangible mess with his every touch ━ you’ll linger just a little longer and the notion alone is enough to instill a sense of hope in Jungkook even if he knows it’s wrong. 

And maybe you shouldn’t play along. Then again, he takes all your time and you devote what little you have left afterward to him anyway, pretending that you’re still seeing Taehyung and Namjoon when you’re certainly not.

Sometimes Jungkook catches you when he doesn’t mean to, or isn’t expecting to, and it’s all different moments that physically pain him. Sometimes those moments come from paying one of the guys a visit and stumbling upon you there, too. 

After having not seen you for the whole day, and just before the concert begins, Jungkook is called over to Namjoon’s room within the hotel to discuss some last minute changes to the show (which Jungkook’s positive he would have heard about if he hadn’t ignored his manager early in the morning). Only Namjoon doesn’t answer the door when Jungkook arrives. There’s a crescendo of giggling on the other side of the threshold and then it’s you, and you’re standing there wearing nothing but a baggy shirt of Namjoon’s that barely covers your bum (and shorts too, he thinks, but Jungkook’s much too focused now on you in Namjoon’s shirt). Namjoon’s standing a bit further back, leaning against the wall of the hallway without a shirt on and he’s grinning at something that’s just happened. 

“Took you long enough,” Namjoon calls out. “Come in, we’ll get started. I’ll just be right back━ Just hopped out of the shower━” And then he disappears into another room, most likely to find another shirt that isn’t taken by you.

“Jungkook!” You greet him so cheerfully, as if the sight of you half naked in another man’s home isn’t eating away at Jungkook. You pull him into a hug that’s so tight he can smell your familiar perfume and probably Namjoon’s lingering scent if he focuses hard enough. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jungkook says. He doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so standoffish. He hopes you don’t notice. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah. The girls had to leave but that’s okay.” You’re smiling so bright and wide that it almost hurts. “Namjoon━”

“Wanted to see you?” Jungkook finishes for you, remembering your words earlier in the day. 

“Yeah━” You’re rambling on now but Jungkook isn’t listening. The pain is still lingering and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He knows it isn’t right but he can’t be bothered to care. In that moment, he realizes he’d rather be anywhere but there and he’s never felt that way before.

“Uh━ You know what?” He cringes slightly when he interrupts you. “Forgot I had to do something actually. Mina called earlier ━ said she wanted to talk or whatever.”

Your face immediately drops at the mention of the other girl and it pains him even more to know that you don’t see through his blatant lie. What’s worse is that Mina had called him the night before, but he had turned her down promptly before she could even say what she wanted. 

You glance over your shoulder fleetingly as if to look for Namjoon, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your lower lip. “But I thought you needed to talk with Joon about the show?”

“Can’t, sorry. Tell Namjoon he can do whatever he wants. I don’t care. Seems like he’s got his hands full with you here anyway.”

He hates himself for it ━ he hates how petty he can be, how rude he can sound without truly meaning it ━ but before he can explain himself or apologize in a way that would probably make him look even more like an idiot, he turns his back to you. It’s the first time he’s really ever done something like that. Usually, he puts up with it ━ with you draped over Namjoon’s lap or Taehyung’s hand on your waist because usually he hadn’t always had feelings for you. 

Truth be told, Jungkook doesn’t know how Namjoon or Taehyung feel about “sharing” you. He doesn’t even know how you feel about it or if you’ve noticed Jungkook’s short temper lately. He tries to contain it but he can’t and he hates how he’s become when he’s not alone with you. Lately, he’s started to think that maybe this isn’t right anymore. Maybe he shouldn’t keep meeting up with you if he’s going to feel this way all the time, and it wasn’t fair to you for him to be sulking so much. He’s not supposed to be in love. He’s supposed to be having fun. 

After all, that’s what it was to you, wasn’t it?

But that night something happens.

Jungkook only notices you half an hour into the show later that night even despite the fact that you’re in the same place that you always are, standing on the side in the part of the pit closest to the stage where only family and close friends are allowed to stay. Of course you’re dancing along, just like you always do, and of course you’re watching him and the rest of the boys with starry eyes, just how he loves. You smiled wide at some point when his gaze locked with yours ━ him, drenched in sweat and nearing exhaustion, and you, face-flushed and looking as if you’re having the time of your life.

But that’s the thing about you ━ you’re not like the others. Sure, your eyes tend to drift to him more often than not and linger on him longer than necessary but you don’t just come for him. You live for the music, admire the rest of the boys that have treated him so dearly and make the group what it is. 

And the way he performs ━ you wonder if he purposely exerts himself more because he wants you to only focus on him. Every rough thrust of his hips, every time he grabs at his crotch, dark and hooded eyes meets yours and you know he’s trying to tease you. Trying to make you suffer.

Later, when the concert is finished and you’re at a private room in a club with the boys to celebrate the evening and Jungkook has had one too many shots, he finds you at the bar. He sidles up from behind you, one palm sliding onto the small of your back. You know it’s him even before you look, judging by the familiar stature of his chest pressing against your body, and his usual scent. His lips press to the crook of your neck and your lips unfurl into a smile. You reach up blindly to grab at the nape of his neck as he starts to sway against you to the beat of the music, hips digging into your ass.

“I’ve been dying to be next to you all night.” He whispers this into the shell of your ear and you wonder vaguely how you’ve maintained enough self-control to not drop to your knees and suck him off then and there. Even worse is the fact that he’s still adorned in the makeup from the concert. Your fingers scratch at one of the newly shaved sides of his head, the rest of his long locks only maintain some of its original style pushed back and off his forehead, though now messily mused as it splays out on either side of his head and threatens to hide the undercut once more.

“You’re drunk,” You point out. He doesn’t seem to register the fact that you only point it out because otherwise, if he wasn’t so smashed, you aren’t quite sure he’d even be touching you the way he is now after the way he’s been acting lately.

“So are you,” Jungkook hums. “Let’s get out of here?”

And you can’t possibly say no. 

He thinks it’s a shame, really, because you had looked quite pretty that night wearing a velvet red dress. Because after somehow calling a taxi and stumbling back to his dorm, he gets lost in you for a while and completely ravishes you, impatiently ripping your dress off you and pressing you against the wall, hips eagerly digging into yours until you hook your legs around his hips and he carries you off to bed to finish. 

When you’re spent from your first high, Jungkook moves from your sprawled out positions on the bed and gets up, pulling on a pair of discarded sweatpants from the floor. You watch him as he combs his hair back that’s fallen into his face again, muscles in his biceps rippling as he does so. He reaches for an acoustic guitar in one corner, then sinks onto the edge of the bed. He’s not usually this quiet after a night spent together, though you don’t quite seem to notice, thinking nothing of it as he starts plucking away at the guitar with a melody in mind if only because when he’s frustrated and stuck on a lyric, he usually goes to you in seek of help in terms of finding relief. You get to your knees, crawling over to him so that you can drape your arms around his shoulders from the back.

“That’s pretty,” You sigh dreamily, nodding to the guitar and the lazy strumming he had been doing. In the distance, you realize there’s been music playing faintly the whole time from the dock where his phone is plugged in. You recognize one of the boys’ songs playing, then realize it’s Jungkook’s solo, his own voice singing beautifully back to you. Above all else, you realize all at once that he isn’t really playing anything at all, or brainstorming a new song, but plucking along absentmindedly to the melody of his own song. 

He’s distracted but he tenses at your touch, then relaxes at once, melting instantly against you. “Just messing around,” he sighs.

“Nonsense,” You giggle. He glances over at you just in time to see you reach for his hand, and he watches as you play with the rings on his fingers. “There’s magic in these hands. In more ways than one.”

You press a chilling kiss against his palm, and then the tip of each of his fingers. Time seems to slow, and all he can suddenly focus on is you. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” His voice has a dull, stubborn whine to it that he can’t shake. “Have I ever told you that?”

“Once or twice,” You smirk. You busy yourself by focusing on lining the bottom of your palm with his, measuring your hand in his. He’s much bigger than you, his fingers nearly towering over yours and they’re always so snug and warm.

“Well, it’s true,” he says. “You’re the kinda girl songs are written about.”

“Unless I’m mistaken,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, “you have written songs about me.”

He feigns a look of doubt, though a smile threatens to tug at his mouth, especially when you delicately lace your fingers with his one-by-one. “Ah, is that what you think, baby girl? Don’t let the fame get to your head.”

You laugh, dropping your head and leaning your temple against his knuckles in an attempt to hide your sheepish face. With his free hand, he sets his guitar back onto the floor and then unravels his other hand from yours. His palm is calloused and hot as it slides onto your cheek, and you nuzzle into it even despite him guiding your face back up to look at him. He can’t help himself; he leans in to kiss you, biting at your lower lip and earning a delicious moan. As his hands come to grip at your sides just over your ribs and the underside of your breasts do you crawl into his lap to straddle him. For a while, he lets himself get carried away, feeling your hands roam his chest, but then with such vivid intensity, he can only imagine Namjoon and Taehyung in the same position as him and it almost makes him want to vomit. Either that, or it’s the alcohol. Gathering his wits, he shakes his head, pulling apart from you.

“I think I should write━” He fumbles uselessly with his words. “Namjoon’s gonna kill me if I don’t finish these songs━”

You arch your chest against his, warm and soft and palpable, and your hips dig into his a little more roughly, rubbing against his straining erection. You can be heard whining sluggishly as you kiss the underside of his jaw, “But I want you inside me, Kook.”

His breath hitches in his throat, but he can’t think straight anymore. Is the scent he smelling even you anymore, or just a mix of Namjoon and Taehyung? And when you tell him he’s the only one who can ever make you feel the way he does, do you tell that to them too? 

His silence is answer enough, and is what ultimately forces you to look up at him. You’re met with an empty expression, then your own countenance is contorting. You sit back on his lap. 

“I don’t understand you anymore, Jungkook,” You say. There it is, he laments to himself. The familiar pang to his chest, the dreaded realization that maybe he’s fucked this whole thing up forever. “It’s like sometimes you can’t get enough of me, touching me here and there and just before shows when you’re supposed to be on in ten minutes, telling me that no one will care if you’re late. Then sometimes it’s like you won’t even look at me. Like you can’t get me off of you fast enough; like you can’t even touch me anymore.”

Jungkook avoids your stare, which he knows is exactly the sort of thing he shouldn’t do. But you already have your answer. You clamber off of his lap at once to slide back onto the bed and he wants nothing more than to pull you back but he knows he shouldn’t. Now, you seem flustered, or maybe just disheartened. Your arms come to cross over your bare chest, as if to hide yourself.

“You don’t want to touch me anymore,” You say dryly. 

It’s not a question so much as it is a statement. Either way, he shakes his head. Rubbing a tired hand over his face, he mumbles, “Maybe you should go.”

You clamp your mouth shut. “You’re not serious, Jungkook.”

He still doesn’t dare to meet your gaze, his jaw set hard in place. 

“You’re kicking me out? Now? Now?�� 

“I’m not. I’m just━ Not in the mood tonight.”

“What a liar,” You gasp. “I had your stupid boner poking my ass the entire time we were at the club, and you sure as hell spent the better part of the night fucking me.”

He can’t quite tell if you’re mad. Your tone dances a fine line between incredulousness and amusement, though he assumes it all boils down to disappointment in the end anyway. You refuse to move, though, pushing yourself onto your knees beside him.

“Tell me the truth, Jungkook,” You plead carefully. “Something’s wrong. Has been for a while, and I want to know what it is.”

He takes a deep breath and finally meets your stare and, god, you look irresistible. Your lips are bruised red from him biting and sucking at them, and your exposed chest is too tempting, beckoning him to touch you. His mind is a whirlwind of emotions ━ plus, he’s just a little bit tipsy, and so he blames it on that for caving into you so easily.

He grimaces. “I’m jealous, all right?” 

You don’t respond at first, and he decides he wants to curl up into a hole and die. Then, you snort, which isn’t exactly the sort of reaction he was expecting to hear from you, and suddenly you don’t seem so angry at him anymore. “I knew that. Was wondering when you’d tell me, though.”

“You what?”

“Well, it’s not that hard to see. You’re always giving Namjoon and Taehyung death glares when I’m around.”

“I didn’t think I was that obvious.” He says this sheepishly, and at least you giggle at him. “I just━ I’m selfish. I want you to myself.”

“I’m not a thing to have,” You retort.

“I know,” he says, and then groans the words again. “Fuck, I know. I’m sorry. I know you’re not a thing to have, and you’re not mine to have but, god, I hate it that they know everything about what it feels like to be with you.”

Gently, he grabs at your waist, tugging you onto his lap, rough hands spreading your thighs to sit perfectly on him once more. Then, with his hands planted on your hips, does he guide you back and forth on him slowly. He reaches out to brush his fingers along your bare arms, then across your collarbones, and down to your breasts. He leans down as if to kiss the valley between them, but his mouth never really does meet your skin; instead, his lips graze faintly against you.

“That they know your body.” He brushes his nose against your chest as he lifts his head. His mouth ghosts across your breasts, almost catching your nipples in his mouth, his breath warm and tingly against the sensitive flesh, just to tease you. His hand follows his lips, grasping firmly at the underside of your breast, his thumb flicking over the perked bud. “Have touched it where I’ve touched it.”

Your own hands flail out to grasp at his shoulders, your breath hitching in your throat. “Why? Why do you hate it so much? That’s all I want to know.”

“Because they don’t even know how lucky they are,” he mutters. “Because you probably do all sorts of things for them and they just think you’re another groupie. Because they aren’t in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me?” Your face is hot now, your body trembling. His hands are still on your chest when he starts kissing your throat. 

“Yeah. I am.”

“What if I told you I’m in love with you too?”

“Well, you are fucking my band mates. I think that makes things a tad bit complicated.”

“You’re such an idiot.” You’re certain if he wasn’t making you feel like heaven in that moment, you would have snapped the words. Instead, you’re already shamelessly grinding your hips against his even without his guidance. “I called it off with them a while ago, actually. They were okay with it, too. Said they felt something was different. You’re the only one in my life, Jungkook.”

Jungkook stops suddenly. He pulls his head back to gawk at you and is greeted to your hooded eyes watching him. “You━ What? What about this morning when you said Namjoon wanted to see you?”

“I lied,” You admit timidly. 

“And when you were in his room━”

“We never did anything,” You promise. “I just wanted to see a reaction from you. Honestly, so did Taehyung and Namjoon. I mean, Namjoon purposely told me to come to his room to see if you’d be jealous. And I think I went along with it because I really just want to know that when you ask me to stay with you, in your bed, do you really mean it? I just…” You trail off, biting at your lower lip, asking him apprehensively, “What about you and that Mina girl?”

“I haven’t seen her or talked to her in months,” he says earnestly.

“Of course not.” You say this in a breathless laughing manner, as if it’s just now dawning on you. Then, you reach up to cradle his head in your hands, grasping at either side of his face. When you speak next, your voice is an ardent whisper. “I want to be with you, Kook. Like really, really be with you. I didn’t know how to tell you because we were so used to just having sex and nothing more and I figured if that’s all I could get with you, then I’d learn to live with it even if it’d kill me to hear you hooking up with other girls.”

Jungkook blinks. He takes a moment to comprehend what’s happening, but then he’s feeling that tension in his chest loosen and he’s just so relieved. 

“There’s only you,” he says. “Has been for a while.”

You smile, so big and soft and pretty, and he kisses you just to bask in the moment. Suddenly, he’s just overwhelmed with love for you and almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Maybe I should get you jealous more often,” You muse pensively. “It’s kinda hot.”

“It’s mean,” he pouts. Then, his demeanour changes and he’s smirking wolfishly. “Besides, they can’t fuck you like I can, can they?”

“N-No,” You croak feebly. “It’s always been you, Jungkook. Even with them. I’d never tell them but… you’re all I could think about even when I was with them. Imagining you touching me instead of them. Imagining it was you when they laid with me.”

This seems to grab his attention, having him groaning into your neck. “What’d I say? Gonna be the death of me.”

You shiver at the sound of his hoarse voice. You whisper aloud, “The feeling is mutual.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid lately,” he says. “Let me make it up to you. Do you want that, baby girl? But first you gotta show me you mean it. That you’re mine.”

As he tongues a pattern against your throat, you muster a nod. You wonder if it’s obvious how badly you want him in that moment, with the way your hips continue to grind against his. 

“I want you to fuck yourself on my thigh,” he murmurs against you. “Can you do that for me?”

The thought entices you and has you scrambling to nod your head again. His large hands come to grab at your ass, shifting you until you’re seated on one of his legs. Your eyes never stray from his as you start to grind against his thigh, the rough material of his sweatpants rubbing at your core. Slow and steady, he guides you back and forth, watching as your pretty mouth pops open into a silent gasp.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he coos. “God, you look so pretty. And you’re all mine. Touch yourself for me.”

“Where?” You ask breathlessly.

“All over. Anywhere you want me.”

You whimper at the thought, imagining the feeling of his rough hands on your body. You start at your chest, grasping at your own breasts, squeezing at your perked nipples. You pinch them until they’re hard under your fingertips, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts with your palm as you try to picture Jungkook doing the same. Then, you slide one hand down the front of your stomach, past your navel. He watches as you dip lower and lower before finally reaching between your legs, fingers rubbing small circles against your clit. The mingling feelings of you rutting your hips against his thigh and the way you touch yourself under his burning stare has you writhing on his lap within seconds. 

“Oh, Jungkook━” Your eyes clamp shut, brows knitting in concentration. “Wanna feel you so bad━”

“Uh uh,” he tuts at once. Grabbing at your chin, he yanks your head back up in his direction and taps his thumb against your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me. I want to see how I make you feel.”

“But it feels so good,” You whine. Still, you listen, prying your eyes open just slightly enough to meet his stare again. Now, you’ve started to grind a little harder on him, rubbing at your heat a little faster. “Please, Jungkook━”

“Cum for me first,” he coos, his tone gentle despite his obvious demands. “Then I’ll do whatever you want. You can do that for me, right?”

You muster a nod, eyes threatening to flutter shut again but you refrain. He moves one of his arms to wrap around your waist, his large hard encompassing almost all of your back as he pushes you closer to him and the action alone is enough to make you hum with delight. 

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he says. “The things they could never do for you.”

He doesn’t say Taehyung’s or Namjoon’s names for you to understand and, truthfully, you’re glad he doesn’t. Your mind is much too focused on Jungkook to care about anyone else.

“I want you━” You cry out suddenly, biting at your lip. “I want you to touch me, anywhere. I want you to use me, and make me yours. I want you in me. I just need your dick, Jungkook, please. You always make me feel so good. Please, please touch me━”

His jaw sets hard in place as he continues to watch you, fingers itching to please you however which way you want, but he waits. He knows you’re close to your high when you start whimpering and moaning his name, your hand falling from your chest as your other hand rubs harder at your clit the faster you ride his thigh. He flexes his muscle beneath your core, and the simple action is enough to have your head spinning. As you reach your high, his hand that is still wrapped around your chin slides upward and his two forefingers poke into your mouth. Instantly, you’re sucking against them, tongue laving at his digits desperately as you imagine his cock in your mouth, in your cunt, stretching you wide.

“God, you’re such a good girl,” he grunts. “Keep your eyes on me.”

As you unravel in his arms, body twitching into his chest, his arm tightens its hold around your back and envelopes you in his warmth so much to the point where it feels as if you begin to melt against him. You grab at his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper into your mouth until you almost gag, muffled moans meeting his ear as you climax. When you’re spent, your pace on his thigh slows to a steady occasional gyrating of your hips as you suck and lav at his fingertips.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Jungkook hums, his free hand stroking your back as you calm your nerves. When you’ve regained most of your wit, you pop Jungkook’s fingers from your mouth and he takes the liberty of guiding his palm down your chin to your throat to your breasts. “You’re doing so well for me. Bet you never listened as well to them as you do with me. Will you get on your hands and knees for me?”  

You scramble to obey, crawling off his lap and onto all fours on the bed. You crane your neck to watch as he gets to his knees behind you, shoving the material of his sweatpants down to his knees in haste. He’s already impossibly hard, grasped in his knuckles, precum leaking from the head of his dick. He wastes no time in pushing himself into you, and though he’s stretched you wide hours ago, the same feeling of him slipping in snug to your heat does wonders on your body still. 

“Mm, Jungkook!” You cry out as he buries himself balls deep into you, coaxed so easily by your slick arousal. He sputters at the sensation, palms pawing at your navel as he yanks you further down his cock. “F-Fuck━ You feel so good━”

“Show me,” he gasps, pulling his hips out once and rutting into you so vigorously you feel it shudder throughout your whole body. Then, he’s thrusting into you at a rhythmic fast pace that has you clenching so tight around him, his head spins some more. “Let me hear you. I wanna see how I make you feel. Let me see how you belong to me.”

He tugs at your elbows, yanking you up off the bed, and you clumsily follow suit, pressing your back flushed against his chest. 

“I’m all yours, Jungkook,” You whine. “I want you to wreck me so bad. Only you know how to wreck me so bad.”

“Yeah?” he taunts. “Only me? Gonna prove it?”

“Please, Jungkook━ Harder, please━ I’ll do anything you want!”

He quickens his pace and slams his hips up into yours harshly. It has you moaning with delight, nearly slipping from his grasp, but he holds you tighter in place. He reaches round to grab at your chin again, twisting your head in a careful yet prompt manner so that you’re looking over your shoulder at him with your flustered gawking expression.

“Open up.” He taps at your mouth and you do as you’re told. Almost instantly, he pulls your chin closer until your mouth is hovering over his, and spits. It’s a wordless command and gesture, as if to further prompt you to prove your point. You welcome it entirely, swallowing his own saliva completely. What doesn’t make it into your mouth, dribbles down your chin and onto your throat. Then you’re chasing his mouth, hearing him hum approvingly, “That’s it, baby.”

You almost miss his lips the first time from the way he’s being so feral now as his hips continue to slam against yours. You’re fortunate when he guides your chin, still pinched between his fingers, in a much too tender manner for the crude moment that has your heart swooning despite all the hysteria. A hot open-mouthed kiss which is still entirely sloppy as your tongues ravish mid-air, and his teeth nip and suck on your lower lip any chance he can get. 

“Gonna tell them how well I fuck you?” he asks breathlessly. You bite at his lip this time, tugging at it hard. “Let them know you’re all mine? Fuck━”

“Mhm!” You rasp. “Oh, Jungkook━”

By now, his pace is relentless. You threaten to ricochet from his grip with each rut of his hips, knees wobbling beneath you. He hand falls from your chin finally to grab at your breasts, replacing your earlier efforts, pinching at your nipples, squeeze at your soft flesh. He lavs wet kisses along your jawline, your neck, and shoulder. Your own head leans back onto his shoulder, a hand reaching out to grasp at his hair. Your fingers first scratch at the shaved sides, then thread through his hair, yanking at it tightly enough to have him grunting in delight.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna━” You whimper. “I’m gonna━”

But you don’t finish your thought. It doesn’t matter anyway. Jungkook already knows you’re close to your high with the way you start to clench around him. You pull even tighter at his hair, a pleasant burn evoking a hiss from his throat. His hips move even faster than before, desperate to try and carry you to your high. So riddled from your first orgasm not long ago and the one before that, you’re quick to crumble beneath him once more. Twisting and turning, you cry out his name in a repeated mantra, like music to his ears. When the scorching heat between your thighs and blinding your eyes subsides enough for you to be somewhat coherent again, you meekly find your voice.

“Tell me I’m yours,” You beg despairingly, voice barely a ragged panting whisper. The aftershock of your orgasm still shakes through your body that the way you’re clutching at his hair now is only so that you can still have some sort of hold on reality still. “Please, please. Tell me. I wanna be yours so bad. You already have me, just wanna hear it from you. Tell me you want me as much as I want you. Please, Jungkook━”

A nerve flutters in Jungkook’s heart. And his dick. He marvels momentarily at the idea of how he wants to continue to wreck you and simultaneously love you all over and grows impatient. Without warning, and with much difficulty, he pulls out of you. Before you can register what’s happening or miss the warmth of his cock in your heat, he pushes you onto the bed and flips you around so that you’re on your back. Then, hovering over you close enough so that he can hook one of your legs over his shoulder, he pushes himself back into you. 

“You’re all I want,” he says, smoothing his mouth over yours once more. He moans against your lips, then rests his forehead against yours as he squeezes his eyes shut. “God, I’m so fucking in love with you. You make it so hard to think sometimes. Everything about you drives me wild.”

His pace isn’t as harsh as before, though he’s careless as he abandons all form in an attempt to ride out your high and reach his own. Each thrust he makes jolts you back and forth on the bed, the sensitivity between your thighs a mild burn that starts to crescendo as you gasp each time his cock slides back into you. You reach out tiredly to grab at his face with soft motions despite not bothering to move him from where he still rests with his forehead. One large palm of his comes to grasp at your side, pushing you further into the mattress as he hammers into you. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum━” He moans. “Gonna let me fill you up, baby? Gonna let me make your cunt mine?”

“Yes, please,” You rasp. “Wanna feel it so bad.”

It’s different this time despite knowing the sensation well enough from all those times before. Every event since then has been a build up to this, and when he finally releases into you, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. The last few sluggish ruts of his hips make the both of you whimper and whine, mewling with delight the longer he cums in your heat. 

Then, he slumps against your chest and the room falls silent once more safe for the sound of your mingled panting. He burrows his face into the crook of your neck and your fingers rake through his sweaty hair in a soothing manner until that too ceases after a few silent moments. 

“Not falling asleep on me now, are you?” he asks after the thrill of both your highs have subsided. He lifts his head to look at you and finds that you are, in fact, beginning to doze off. 

“No,” You lie. You pry one eye open to look at him as you bite back a sheepish snicker. He pulls out of you at long last, and the lack of warmth has you immediately protesting. You reach out  blindly for him before he can move too far. “Come back here. I want to cuddle you.” Then, letting your surroundings register once more, you realize suddenly that music has still been playing all this time. Most specifically, Jungkook’s solo which has been left on a loop. You meet his curious gaze in the dark and deadpan, “Did you seriously just fuck me to your song?”

“It’s not fucking when we were making love,” he wriggles his brows suggestively. You wonder how he’s always so quick to go from one extreme to the other. Whereas five minutes ago, you wanted nothing more than to have him demolish you with his dick, now he’s just his usual lovable idiotic self that you want to kiss all over. He’s not wrong though, you discern. The song isn’t a bad one either, and the thought of him having sex with you to his own music is undescriably hot anyway. 

“You can’t say you were making love to me when you just took me raw.” Amongst other things, you think to yourself, but you’re certain he’s well aware of that. His snickers warm your heart to no end and you can’t help yourself when you lean forward to kiss him. 

“I can and I will because I love you,” he says proudly. Then, as if tasting the words on his tongue and favouring the sound of it, hums more pensively again, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And this time he knows you mean it because, in the morning, when you both wake up feeling sore and marked all over by one another (so that Namjoon and Taehyung can know), you’re still curled up into Jungkook’s chest. You’re half asleep, your nose nuzzling against the crook of his neck and making him smile. You’re only roused awake by the feather-light strokes his fingers make as they rub small circles into your back.

“Stay with me?” Jungkook asks this hopefully, of course, but he already knows the answer. This time, he even knows it’ll be different. 

He sees your sleepy smile widen when he kisses your temple sweetly, and decides quickly that he likes this, right there and now, as it is, and especially when he hears you whisper finally, “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

amnesia // bucky barnes

Summary: During a fight in Madripoor you get hit in the head resulting in forgetting the last ten years of your life. And most important, your boyfriend.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: TFATWS SPOILERS, memory loss, zemo is a dick, sad bucky, angst

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Also, thanks to @bob-kane​ for proofreading this!

divider by @firefly-graphics​

main masterlist

He didn’t leave your side, not  even for a second. Worry was eating him alive. You had been unconscious for a while now. Some asshole had hit your head pretty bad, and  they couldn’t risk take you to a hospital to check if everything was alright.

You were still in Madripoor, so Sharon suggested taking you to her place. You were lying on her bed. Bucky had been beside you the whole time, his flesh hand holding yours .

“Are we even sure  she’s gonna wake up?” that’s the worst thing Zemo could ask.

“If you don’t shut up, you will be the one not waking up to see tomorrow,” When it came about you, you were Bucky’s number one priority, the rest of the world didn’t matter. And he will definitely kill Zemo if he dared to say something like that again.

You’ll wake up. You had to.

He was right.

You opened your eyes and blinked. The first thing  you noticed was the throbbing pain in your head. It was worse than waking up from a hangover. As you tried to raise your hand to wipe the sleep from your eyes, you realized someone was holding it. Stretching your sore body, you turned your head to examine your surroundings. Your vision was blurry and you could barely make out  three vague shapes moving in the corner attested.

“Y/N?” Although your vision was still hazy you distinguished the figure of your friend approaching you.

“Sharon?”

At the sound of your voice, the hand holding yours released it, allowing you to wipe your eyes in an attempt to see things more clearly.

“What happened?” your voice was sore, you were still confused

“Some dickhead knocked you out,” Sam walked cautiously towards you

“How are you feeling?” You turned your head to find the source of the voice, at your left you saw a dark-haired man with blue eyes.

“Like I have been hit in the head,” the man chuckled, if you still had your sense of humor that was a good signal. “Where am I?”

“My apartment,” You narrowed at the response of your friend, you took  a look at the room. This wasn’t Sharon’s place.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked when he saw the confusion on your face

“You had moved and I don’t remember?”

Sam, Sharon, and the man with blue eyes shared a concerning look.

“Y/N, we are not in Brooklyn. We are in Madripoor,”

“Where?” What kind of name was that for a town. Pretty sure they didn’t have a lot of tourism.

The man that had remained in the corner laughed. “Seems she had a reset”

At this the blue-eyed guy exhaled deeply and went towards him, grabbing him by his shirt “One more comment, and I swear I’d kill you,” rage and anger were dripping from  his mouth.

“Y/N,” Sharon called you with a soft voice, you averted your gaze from the two men to your friend, “Do you know what day is it today?”

You looked at her confused, not knowing why she would ask such a question. “Friday?” you answered her question, not too sure.

“Year?” she insisted.

“2014,” now you were very sure about this.

Your friends shared concerned looks. “Do you know who this is?” Sam asked, pointing at  the blue-eyed guy. You shook your head. “Are you sure?”

“I would remember a pretty face like that, Sammy,” but the truth is, that you didn’t.

“What about him?” He pointed to the man in the corner.

You scrunch your nose “Not my type,”

“Hey!,” the man seemed offended by your answer “For your information, I have a private jet,” he tried to impress you.

“I don’t care,” you simply said

“Y/N,” you felt the hand of your friend on your shoulder “It’s not 2014. We’re in 2024”

When you saw people get amnesia in the movies they always made it romantic, but this didn’t feel like that. You couldn’t recall anything from the last ten years of your life. You were unable to deal with the intensity of your emotions. You felt lost, you didn’t feel at home.

It was a lot to process, Sharon had been branded an enemy of the States, Steve was gone and now there was a new Captain America parading around, Tony and Natasha were dead….

“What about him?” you pointed with your head to the guy who claimed to have a private jet.

“These dickheads broke him out of prison,”

But Sam didn’t like the answer Sharon gave you, so he quickly clarified “He broke him out of prison,” he pointed at his friend “Not me”

You looked at the blue-eyed man “And who are you?”

Bucky felt a shard in the guts. That question really hurt him. You completely forgot about him. Your mind had erased every piece of him. You were his biggest support and now he had lost you.

“Steve’s friend. Bucky.” Sharon explained, “Steve talked to us about him, remember?”

You did remember. And you also remember Steve telling you how he fell off the train and died. “Wasn’t he dead?” You were confused.

“He survived. And HYDRA captured him.”

Your eyes widened. “They captured you?” He only nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground. “What did they do to you?”

Sam cleared his throat. “Let’s not talk about that now,” You didn’t press, knowing that it wouldn’t be an easy topic for him to talk about. “How are you feeling?”

“If we ignore the fact that I don't remember the last ten years of my life, pretty good, actually.”

“We have to go back to New York,” Bucky suggested  “A doctor should see you”

“That would  be  best,” Sharon agreed.

Although you wanted her to come with you, you knew she couldn’t,  not until Sam got her the pardon he promised. At least, that's what they told you.

“It’s going to be a long flight,” The ex-prisoner was the first in walking out of the room.

“I don’t like him,” you muttered

“Me neither,” Sam concurred.

Sam was sleeping in his seat, Bucky was looking through the window and the other guy was nowhere to be found, not that you cared. You were flying back to the States, with some luck you would see a good doctor and maybe you’d get your memories back.

“You okay?” you sat next to the blue-eyed guy, he averted his gaze to you when he noticed your presence.

“Yeah,”

“You don’t seem okay,”

“You’re the one who had been hit in the head. How can I be the one who doesn’t look okay?”

“Touché,” you laughed, and he gave you a half-smile in return. But you could see how his eyes hold sadness behind them. “When did we meet?”

He paused for a second, thinking if he should answer your question or if this was something you should remember on your own. But considering they already told you some of the things that had happened this last ten years, your question wasn’t that much of a deal. “In Bucharest. In 2015.”

“That was before the sign of the Accords happened, right?” he nodded “What team was I on?”

He chuckled, “Which one do you think you were in?”

You made a pensive look that made him smile. This time it reached his eyes, and you couldn’t help the thought of how beautiful he was. “Well, I have always been loyal to Steve, but I have to say that the idea of  going against Tony scares the shit outta me,”

You don’t know when it happened, you kept talking for a while before you eventually fell asleep on his shoulder. He brushed the air off your face and caressed your cheek gently, not wanting to wake you up.

“You know it’s not the end if she doesn’t remember you, right?” Zemo sat in front of him “At least she’s alive,”

“It would be the end, for me,” yes you were alive and he was thankful for that but everything that you had shared wasn’t there anymore. He was a complete stranger to you. You didn’t remember all the nights you stayed up by his side when he had a nightmare, you didn’t remember your time in Wakanda together, you didn’t remember all the stories he had told you about the forties, you didn’t remember staying up until morning  talking about your future, about building a family together, you didn’t remember all the times you made love, you didn’t remember him.

“She fell in love with you once, she can do it again”

[sinisterlyhan]

05 ; 08. chanjin / 2503 words

threesome, female!reader, roayl!chanjin, unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), faint size kink, bounding with ropes, creampie, overstimulation, mentioned of edging, light degradation 

cw: mentions of body image (reader is small)

a/n: nothing but hyunjin and chan on my mind after the mama performance :) so i wrote a little something to self-indulge.

hyunjin learned a few things on his trip to visit chan.

one—chan has a secret chamber in his castle, with a giant bed in the middle, with contraptions and ropes and whips hung spaciously on the stone wall.

it was intentionally unguarded, but nobody was allowed inside unless invited in by him. chan wave the guards and servants off whenever he goes inside with someone, someone who hyunjin came to learn to be you, a castle staff he only saw once in the hallway and did a double-take because your tousled hair, blushed cheeks, and urgent steps seemed suspicious.

two—he was right to be suspicious because as it turned out, chan has been fucking his castle staff in the chamber. or more specifically, he has been fucking you in the chamber.

he supposed he understand why chan needed to wave people away. he barely stumbled upon the room and he could already hear your filthy noises echoing through the haunted corners of the old castle halls. it would be awkward to have to stand by the big doors and wait until the king finishes in his woman of choice every day.

but he waltzed in anyway because he did not think chan would be upset that he, a close friend, walked in without permission. besides, he politely knocked before entering. it wasn't his fault that neither you nor chan could hear the soft sounds of his knuckles because you were screaming so loud.

three—he loves sex.

or, more specifically, he loves being in control. as much as he could be with you when chan was in the same room, at least, but he would say he has gained a few pieces of your heart ever since chan graciously invited him to join in on ruining you for the afternoon.

your hands were tied behind your back, the thick ropes wrestling around your tiny wrists while chan pressed your clenched fist against the small of your naked back.

your knees were grounded weakly against the mattress of the king-sized bed, ankles bound to the two bedposts with a long rope, legs that barely supported your weight spread open so chan could have access to your sticky cunt from behind. he thrusted into you, one arm going over your waist so you wouldn't fall onto the bed in complete exhaustion from the last three orgasms he gave you—first with a glass toy, then his tongue, and then his finger.

and now chan was riding it out. he was stretching the time thinner and thinner, edging you with every hard thrust until you began to cry in agony from having your high chased down every time.

your tears that once rolled down to the mattress began to drip down with your messy drool when hyunjin came along to lodge his thick cock in your mouth.

he has your head held up by the top of your head, his grip tight on your hair and the other rubbing along at front of your neck where he could feel the bulge of his tip whenever he pushes himself into your throat.

this felt wrong. he was reluctant at first, unsure if chan was joking, but all the clouds in his head got thrown away as soon as chan pushed your pretty mouth open and told him to do whatever he wanted. the next second, he just placed himself between the skin of your lips, and as soon as you automatically began to suck on his tip, he was gone.

come to think, he hasn't asked if you actually wanted this yet—not that has to, though, because only agreement could come out of your lips in the face of someone with more authority.

much more authority.

but still, it might have been better if he had asked whether you wanted him here. perhaps you were only comfortable with chan.

"ah, fuck! she feels so good!" hyunjin groaned out once his string of tolerance began quivering, threatening to snap with a release.

he doubled over, unconsciously pushing his hips toward your face so his cock stops at the back of your throat. his stomach touched the top of your head, his chest heaving as pleasure took over his body upon your chokes and moans around his shaft.

you could not breathe, and neither could you move, as well as think. you just felt lost, and stuffed, and unsatisfied that chan wouldn't let you cum after each time he pushed you near the edge just for good fun. the only thing keeping your sane was the fact that hyunjin was about to release over your mouth, and you could finally get a taste of something, as bitter as cum could be.

chan arched a brow from above you, watching as hyunjin threw his head back with a sweaty moan, moving in and out of your mouth to chase his high. he furrowed his brows then, his eyes casting down to your naked back and distinguishing the sound of your muffled moans. a realization hit him, and he laughed to himself—you wanted this. you wanted hyunjin's cum.

it could just be from him hitting your sweet spot, but for certain you also wanted hyunjin's essence over you, you cum slut.

"oh, hold on now," he whispered as he abruptly reached his hand out to shove hyunjin backward.

exhausted and unprepared, hyunjin slipped out of your mouth, the cold air hitting his skin, and he dropped onto the mattress with a huff of breath. his pleasure bar decreased slowly, bringing him down from his almost-orgasm, and he glared up at chan for some sort of reason behind his action.

but his eyes could not find chan. he could hear chan's sinister chuckle, but his eyes were only trained on you. your disappointed brows, your opened mouth and stuck-out tongue, your longing eyes—you moved forward, your knees rubbing against the mattress as you tried to move toward his still erect cock, glistening prettily in the air and waiting to be engulfed again.

it wasn't long before your voice came into his ears, paired with the slapping of skin and chan's occasional groan.

"cum... cum... your majesty..." you slurred out, eyes lost in red lust and body impatiently lurching forward only to be restricted by the ropes scraping against your skin. "please, your majesty... cum... your cum... i want..."

hyunjin watched you with wide eyes, his heart pounding angrily and sending blood to his arousal.

what the fuck was that—oh lord, what the fuck, were you just begging for his cum? so shamelessly? oh lord, you were so lost, you cock slut. your mind was truly fucked out. all you could think about was to be stuffed full and drowned in white filth.

that was hot. very, very hot. he has never laid with a woman like you, or maybe he just never wrecked one far enough that they begin acting as you did. he should try someday, or if chan allows it, he would continue doing it to you as he was quite fond of you now.

your hasty moans, your strangled noises, the warmth of your cheeks, the curve of your smooth back, your tears, the squelch of your wet cunt—oh, he could only imagine how your holes would feel. just think about it makes his insides burn with needs and wants.

"pl–please... i want... i want more..." you slurred between whimpers, chan hitting you just right from behind and your orgasm building again. "please let me... give me your cum... please..."

"aww, does my baby girl want to suck hyunjin's cock? hmm?" chan leaned down to your ears, whispering with malice and startling you. "it's right there for you. you can get there on your own, right? or are you that useless, you need my help to find a dick you could suck on?"

"i–i can't reach, your majesty," you replied timidly, looking at him by turning your head slightly.

you couldn't tell him he was restraining you and keeping your body up. if you did, you'd get punished for talking back, and you've already received enough of those today. you just wanted to cum again.

"hmm, but i think you can."

chan pushed you forward by the back of your neck. he hummed when your face landed on the mattress, only inches away from hyunjin's dripping length. he pulled you up by your hair then, pushing you forward and lowering your back until you came face to face with hyunjin's cock.

your tongue quickly darted out, barely swiping your tip against his vein and his tip before you pulled your knees a little closer to him, moving your head forward so you could take him in your mouth again. you moaned with an eye-roll, feeling a rush of delight upon your first suck, and all you could do was keep going.

you bobbed your head against hyunjin's length, matching with the rhythm of chan as he pounded into you from behind, quickly building your release and not stopping until he gets you to release all over him this time.

hyunjin sighed out in relief and pleasure. he closed his eyes, one arm raised above his head and the other shifted through your messy hair. he guided you along his length slowly, feeling each suction of your mouth sting his skin like a charming beat.

you kept moaning around his length, especially strongly when chan ram into you with an extra hard thrust. and he listened, storing your sweet noises in his head and envisioning the taste of your dripping cunt, the feeling of your warm hole. how sweet your essence would feel on the tip of his tongue, how perfectly your walls would wrap around him, how pretty you would be when your small frame crumbles beneath his body.

he quirked his lips, his tongue swiping across his lower lip upon the feeling of yours rubbing against him. it felt so sensational and so hot that he could feel his arousal threatening to pop again.

your high was approaching, and so was chan's. you could tell by the stuttering of his hips. he was pounding in you without care now, slipping out of your hole occasionally only to quickly shove himself back in because he couldn't stand not feeling the euphoric friction.

you clenched around him with a moan when he hit your g-spot again, and he let out a low whine. leaning down so his chest touched your back, his hand found your clit to abuse you even further, while his free hand pushed at your head so you were forced to take hyunjin's further.

you let out a surprise choke, stimulating his tip and cashing hyunjin's eyes to snap open. his legs jolted with pleasure, a loud and shameless moan pushed out of his lip as you deep-throated him.

"oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" he cursed thought gritted teeth, his hip jutting up when the feeling finally washed over him and he released in your mouth.

you stayed still, tears rolling down your suffocated face and cum splattered over your tongue. you couldn't feel off him for a while because chan still had his hand pushed against the back of your head, so you simply waited with hyunjin's dick in your mouth, yearning for a release.

the drool was rolling out your mouth, hyunjin panted as he observed the two figures before him, trying not to feel the way your lips were still around his shaft.

chan growled under his breath, his sight beginning to shake the more he pulled in and out of you. he was getting close, very close. it was when you started to clench around him because you found it extremely hard to breathe with a dick in your mouth when he sighed, his hand leaving your head to your hip where he held you still and sped into you quickly to chase his high.

you popped off hyunjin, an exhausted groan slipping off your lips, as well as some of his cum and your saliva. hyunjin furrowed his brows, feeling jittery at the sight of your opened mouth, and he reached a hand over to his length to wrap around himself. he pumped it a few times, gathering the slickness on his skin, and he sat up slowly until he could put his fingers in your mouth.

"you said you wanted my cum, so here you go," he said, his finger moving around your tongue as you moaned at the movement. "you left some on my cock, baby."

"so–sorry, your majesty," you mumbled, your voice ringing in his ears as you licked his fingers clean.

"don't be, just keep sucking my fingers," he said. "does it taste good to you, hmm?"

you tried to reply with your words, but the knot in your abdomen was about to snap, so all you could do was nod clumsily until the one sudden shove from chan that finally finished you off. you screamed, your eyes rolling skyward and your jaw hung open at the orgasm. you released around chan, giving him a tight clench around his cock and a rush of a hot liquid wave that made him curse.

"fuck, gonna fucking... fill you up real good, baby girl,” he gritted his teeth,”you're gonna take my cum, aren't you, you filthy little bitch?" 

snapping his hips into yours. with one last stroke of your wall, he pushed to bottom out in you as cum sprouted from his tip, tainting you with whiteness.

he pulled out of you then, slumping onto the bed as you did. hyunjin let his jaw hang open when you finally laid on your side, your legs trembling and cum leaking past your inner-thighs. as chan moved to unbound you from the bedpost, hynujin’s eyes glimmered at the sight of your pressed tighs, and even though he knew you were sensitive already, he just needed to learn one last thing.

you yelped when you felt your legs being spread open. your bound hands struggled uncomfortably at your back, your weight leaning against your numb arms. looking up, you found hyunjin staring back at you with hooded eyes, his tongue poked out between his teeth as he eyed your weak, tiny figure and knelt before your dripping core.

oh, he could imagine hovering over you, his big hands fully covering the parts of your body, you pretty little thing. 

you whimpered loudly, a scream mixing in between when you felt his fingers spread your hole open and his tongue licked along your slit. he scooped up the cum in your hole, taking them in his mouth before he licked you again.

you shook, your back arching off the bed as you mumbled begs and moans off your lips. it was painful, but so good, so fucking good. you wanted him to stop and keep going, you wanted to feel him suck on your clit again, you wanted his tongue inside you—you're gone, you're so gone and so pretty.

it was when you uncontrollably released on his mouth when hyunjin learned his last thing for the day.

four—holy hell, you taste good.

(and he wondered, for once: can you take more?)

[undersero]

mouthy

repost from my old blog!

pairing: geto suguru x female reader

contains: dubious consent/consent not explicitly given within the written work, brat taming, blowjob/face fucking, degradation, spitting, slapping, swearing.

word count: 1066

**this work is intended for 18+ audiences only. minors do not interact. do not repost this work. do not promote this work on any other platform**

“Watch your fucking mouth, little girl,” Suguru’s breath ghosts over your ear, bringing goosebumps to your arms as his hand clamps tighter around your throat, back meeting the wall with enough force to momentarily knock the attitude right out of you.

All the vitriol in your body evaporated, the words of your next sharp retort dying on your tongue as soon as you felt his hand closing around your windpipe. Wordlessly, helplessly, silently, your mouth opened and closed as you desperately wrack your brain for a response, but none comes, and you’re left to gaze at your boyfriend’s hulking figure.

Sugu is pissed. It’s the silent, seething kind of anger that so easily bubbles over, makes him snap, and has him acting on his irritation before he can reason through the fact that you’re looking for this exact rise out of him. He’s gone, giving in to the desire, the dark, lustful need to put you in your place.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asks you, faux sympathy dripping on each syllable. He considers you, gaze dark as he smirks at the blush that’s invaded your cheeks.

“Not so big and tough now, are you? Little whore mouth of yours isn’t as brave now?” he’s cooing, so condescending it makes your skin prickle with anger and embarrassment, but there’s little to no fight left in you, not now, not after he’s silenced you with his large hand on your throat, long fingers millimeters from overlapping at the back of your neck.

Words, again, fail you, and you’re barely able to gaze into the tall man’s eyes as he squeezes your throat, and you’re ashamed to feel yourself get wet at your predicament.

“Since you want to run your mouth,” he continues, seeming to not need your input on the matter, “I’ll have to put it to work, now won’t I?”

Quick as a flash, you’re on your knees in front of him, eye level with the distinguished bulge in his pants. Shame creeps up your spine further when you feel excitement in your veins, but he seems to be aware of this, because he laughs. Cold. Cruel.

“You don’t get to cum, baby,” he tells you, again, the condescension in his voice so heavy and mocking that you want to cry. Your expression must reflect betrayal and shock, because he laughs again, fisting his hand in your hair and tugging you closer to him, pressing your face unceremoniously against his hardening cock.

One hand snakes around the front of his pants and pulls his zipper down; the other hand still stays in your hair before yanking you forward. You feel the shaft, the hard, hot shaft of his cock against your nose and lips as you’re shrouded in his scent.

“Mouthy little whores like you are only going to service me, understood?”

And as if you needed guidance, he used the hand which was wrapped around your hair to move your head up and down. A nod.

“Oh, smart girl,” he said, faux-praising you. “Now get to work.”

Suguru’s cock is so thick that you often worry about whether or not it will fit in your mouth. It always seems to, though, even if he’s gotta force it a bit. After following instructions to spit on it, he was shoving his cock in your mouth, a satisfied moan leaving his lips.

Salty precum fills your mouth, a result of Sugu enjoying your brattiness more than his words lead you to believe. But you know he enjoys it. He always does.

Sugu only gives you a moment before he’s thrusting into your mouth, a gag erupting from your throat as you were not quite ready for the full length of it. Your gag just makes him laugh, his hand pulling your hair and guiding you closer to his hips, ultimately forcing more of his cock down your unprepared throat.

Tears stream down your cheeks at this point, and you struggle to regulate your breathing, just as Sugu expects you to.

Abruptly, he pulls you off his cock, a long string of saliva connecting your lips to his throbbing, needy dick. You sputter and gasp as air fills your desperate lungs, and Sugu’s low, cruel laugh reaches your ears. Your eyes unfocus, and for a moment, you think you hear his voice, but you can’t be sure.

And his hand slaps your cheek hard enough to leave a sting, making you whimper. Mere milliseconds after, he grips your jaw and forces you to look up at him. He isn’t mad, though, not like the slap may make you think. Instead, his face is amused.

“Have I fucked you dumb already?” he coos, mocking you. “Can’t even hear me when I’m asking you a question.” His fingers press into your cheeks, at the vacant spot between your teeth, making you open your mouth.

And he spits directly into your mouth, holding your jaw closed until he feels you swallow it. Arousal leaks from you at this point; Sugu knows just what to do to get you going. In the next moment, his cock is buried in your throat, and breathing is a struggle once more, though not as much as the first time he pressed his pubic bone against your face.

His thrusts aren’t gentle. He fucks into your face at a brutal, unwavering pace. Your throat slowly loosens, accommodating the massive length being fucked into it, though the wet and choking noises from your mouth don’t stop. They get louder. And as they get louder, Sugu’s thrusts get more desperate. It appears he was more aroused than you thought by your show of defiance, and soon you realize how correct that assumption is.

Less than ten thrusts into your hot, wet mouth later, and he’s pulling his cock from your mouth, now sloppy and wet, and jerking it over your face before globs of sticky cum paint your cheeks.

The sight of Sugu standing over you, cheeks pink, face flushed and pleasured, makes you whimper, and when he hears that, he smiles. This time, it isn’t cruel.

“Guess you got me off pretty good there, little girl,” he coos, friendly. Then, his hands are under your arms and he puts you on the couch, the closest piece of furniture, and settles down right on top of you.

And it’s many orgasms before he gets off of you again.

[mightymorphingayagenda]

cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!

then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here,  x

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.” 

Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.  

“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.  

Humourless. 

And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.  

“This is the part where you-“ 

“Shhh.” 

A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.  

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.  

In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.  

Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.  

She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.  

The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.  

It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.  

Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.  

It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.  

Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.  

Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.  

Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.  

“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. “If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”  

Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.  

“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.  

“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.” 

Cue phase two of the plan.  

Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.  

Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative. 

“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.” 

“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.” 

Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.  

He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.  

“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”  

“Is that a threat?” 

“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.” 

Eris said nothing.  

“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued.  “To do as you’re told.” 

She gave him strict instructions.  Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me.  Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.   

“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.” 

She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.  

Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.  

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.  

And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle:  a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.  

She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.  

Who’s your daddy, now?  

- 

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.  

They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.  

Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.  

“Damn it,”  she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.  

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway… 

“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.  

She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…  

“Ugh,” she said again, louder.  Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time. 

Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.  

“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?” 

He meowed again.  

Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.  

“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.  

Cassian’s jacket.  

Uhg.  

Now she was thinking about him again.  

Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.  

He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.  

She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”. 

He purred.  

Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath.  Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him.  The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.  

Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.  

The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.  

Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.  

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.  

Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автома́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.  

Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.  

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.  

Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.  

She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.  

Not a man. A boy.  

A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.  

Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.  

Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex.  Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet.  In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.  

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.  

But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it. 

Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.  

She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her. 

Her screaming.  

Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body.  What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.  

It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.  

And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.  

It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles.  And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.  

Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.   

And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even.  In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.  

A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.  

Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.  

Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues. 

No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.  

And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.  

Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.  

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” 

 Her mother’s last words.  

 Ten numbers.  

 Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door.  All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.  

 “три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.  

 Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.  

 Like a phone number.  

 No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough.  Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.  

 A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.  

 “Здравствуйте.” 

Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.  

Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.  

“Who is this?”  

Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?   

“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-” 

The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.  

 A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.  

What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.  

Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.  

Go down for murder.  

Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body.  How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.  

 Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly.  Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.  

 Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers.  The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.  

 “If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”  

 “You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?” 

 “Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.” 

 “Woof,” Nesta had said dryly. 

 “Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”

 “You offering to adopt me?” 

 “I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.” 

Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.  

 “But you ever want job, you call me.” 

 Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.  

 Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.  

In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.  

She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.  

And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice.  Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.  

Until Feyre had moved to the city.  

 Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics,  selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit.  Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.  

 At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.  

 Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner. 

 Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.  

 Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.  

 Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.  

 The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.  

 Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.  

 Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring.  A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings. 

 If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain. 

 It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done.  Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.  

 She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.   

That and the fact they were really very good.  

Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.  

In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly.  Sinking deeper into the basin.  

A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-  

Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.  

Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.  

“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.  

“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.   

Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.   

“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.” 

“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.  

“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.  

“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”  

If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully. 

It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.  

“You told me to give him a chance.”  

“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?” 

Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.   

Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.  

“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on- 

“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?” 

“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”  

“Ever heard of the third date rule?” 

“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?” 

Feyre sighed.  

“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-” 

“So why did you send him my way?” 

Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.  

“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes.  

“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked. 

Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.  

“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.” 

It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.  

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.  

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.  

“Well I’ve been smoking.” 

“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.” 

“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.” 

“He only smokes them on special occasions.” 

“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?” 

“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.” 

“Oh so you did hear me?” 

“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”  

She hung up.  

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.  

When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.  

It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.  

Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.  

But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.  

Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.  

Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.  

What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and  sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client.  An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could.  Because it was just easier.  

Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.  

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.  

Fuck.  

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.  

Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot;  but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.  

Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong. 

She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.  

A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living! 

Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.  

But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.  

 — 

 Cassian had ignored her calls.  

All three.  

Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.  

Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator.  Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.   

Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy.  She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.  

Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.  

Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.  

It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.   

“All work and no play?”  

Cassian looked up from his desk.  

“I can fix that,” she said.  

He’d never looked more handsome.  

Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.  

He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.  

It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.  

“What are you doing here?”  

Rude.  

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.  

“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.  

“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.” 

She turned to find him watching her.  

His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.  

Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.  

“You’re still upset about that?”  

“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.” 

“Oh really?” 

“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“ 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.   

She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.  

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.” 

“You don’t have a clue what I want.” 

“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly. 

The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.  

It was all very conflicting.  

“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.  

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.   

“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again.  “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.” 

The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.   

“You’re right,” she said.  

Cassian blinked.  

Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.” 

The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.  

Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike.  “Your emergency, of course. Which was?” 

“Nothing to do with you.”  

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.   

“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”  

“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.  

But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.  

“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.  

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.   

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.  

“Shit.” 

His head fell into those large hands.   

“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up.  So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.  

“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.  

“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.” 

“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.  

Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.  

Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.  

“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?” 

She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.” 

“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.” 

Nesta slid of the desk.  

“Go on,” she instructed.  

“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.” 

Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.  

“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.  

“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.  

“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.  

“I can tell.” 

She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.  

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”  

Cassian swallowed.  

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.   

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.  

“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?” 

“If you say please.” 

“Please don’t screw around with me.” 

Nesta faltered.  

Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.  

“I’m really into you,” he admitted.  “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.” 

The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.  

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.  

“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”  

She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.  

Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.   

Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.  

“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion.  “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.” 

She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.  

“Nesta-“ 

“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.” 

“Someone could come back-“ 

“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.” 

His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.  

“Nesta-” 

She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders. 

“I want you,” she purred again.  

He might have tried to breath.  And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.  

“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.” 

His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.  

“You want me,” he breathed.  

She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.  

The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously. 

“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.   

“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.  

“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.  

His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.  

“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.” 

“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.  

She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter. 

“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…” 

“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.  

“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.” 

“And I’m saying you could be in me.” 

She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.  

The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over.  The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.  

“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.” 

“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.  

“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout. 

“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.  

The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.  

Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.  

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.  

“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.  

“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.” 

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.   

Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.  

“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.  

“Yes, yes, please.” 

“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.” 

Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze,  wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.  

The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair. 

“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.  

And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.  

“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.  

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.” 

“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.  

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.   

His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.  

“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.  

The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.  

“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.  

“More,” she demanded. 

It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.   

She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him.  Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.  

“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.  

He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.  

“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.  

“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.  

“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.  

“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.” 

“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”  

His words sent her over the edge.  

Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.  

Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.  

Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders.  Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.  

Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.  

“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.  

“Then get on your knees.” 

Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.  

“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.  

“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again.  “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”  

His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.  

Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.  

Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.  

“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.  

“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.  

He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.  

In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.  

Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.  

She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.  

“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.  

Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.  

The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.  

Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.  

Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.  

“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.  

His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.  

His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.  

“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.  

“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.  

“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.  

Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.  

“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.  

She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.  

Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.  

He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.  

She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.  

“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.  

He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.  

Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.  

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.  

“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.  

Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.  

“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.  

“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.” 

“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.  

Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.  

“Down boy,” she purred.  

“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.  

“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.  

“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.  

And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.  

Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.  

“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly. 

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.” 

Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.  

“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.  

She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.  

“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.” 

“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby” 

Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.  

“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.  

She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.   

Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth.  Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.  

“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.” 

Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew.  His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.   

“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.  

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.  

“Cassian,” she keened.  

She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.  

Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.   

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.  

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.  

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.  

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.  

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.  

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.  

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.  

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.  

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”  

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles.  Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.  

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips. 

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.  

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.  

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.  

“Let me take care of you.” 

“Cassian.” 

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there.  “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.” 

Nesta smiled.  

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.” 

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.  

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.  

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.   

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.  

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.  

It was so good.  

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him.  And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl.  Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.  

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.  

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,”  She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.  

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.  

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit. 

Nesta whined softly.  

“Cassian…more…” 

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.  

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.” 

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.   

“Oh!” 

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.” 

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.  

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.” 

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.  

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”  

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.  

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.  

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.  

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.  

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.” 

She turned her gaze to him.  

“Shame.” 

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.  

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.  

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.  

Cassian grinned.  

“You like Italian?”  

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.  

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.  

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”  

 “Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”  

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.” 

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.  

“Lethal,” he whispered.  

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”  

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.  

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.  

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.  

  Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair. 

Their second date had been incredible.  

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.  

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.  

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.  

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.  

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.  

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.  

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.  

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.  

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.  

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child. 

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.  

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.  

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.  

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.  

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.  

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.  

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.  

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.   

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.  

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”  

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.  

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?” 

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.  

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying.  Which off course only made him like her more.  

“What? Make you blush like a-” 

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them-  like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?” 

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”  

“Says the military man.” 

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.” 

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.  

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.  

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.  

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.  

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”  

“That was so a line!”  

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.” 

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.  

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive.  “Because I’d love to take your top off.”  

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.  

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”  

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.  

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.  

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.” 

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.  

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.  

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.  

“What would you rather we talk about?”  

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.  

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.  

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute.  It reminded you that you were alive.  

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.  

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.  

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.  

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-  

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore.  Tame Impala playing from his pocket.  

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.  

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.  

“Well you’re the only one getting it.” 

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.  

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.” 

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.  

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.  

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.  

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.  

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.  

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly,  hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.  

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.  

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.” 

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.  

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.  

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.  

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.  

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.  

“Yes please.” 

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower- 

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.  

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.  

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.  

“What are you doing?”  

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did.  Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.  

“Congratulations.” 

Cassian grinned.  

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”  

 “Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.  

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.  

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.  

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.  

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.  

“Please do.” 

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.  

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.” 

He pulled back abruptly.  

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?” 

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.  

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.” 

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-” 

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.  

“But I-” 

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.  

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.  

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.” 

“More romantic than that sentence?”  

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.” 

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.” 

“How have you already failed?” 

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.  

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.” 

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.  

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.” 

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.  

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.  

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf. 

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.  

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.   

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.  

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.  

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.  

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.  

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.  

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.  

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.  

“Did you decline my call?” 

“Yup.” 

“Bastard.” 

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.  

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.  

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”  

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.” 

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.  

“That why you’re calling?” 

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?” 

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation.  “Yeah, I’m free.” 

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday. 

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.  

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-” 

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?” 

Shit.  

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.  

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.  

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait.  In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.  

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.  

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-” 

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.” 

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.  

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.  

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-” 

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.  

“Fine, your stropping-” 

“Fuck off.” 

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.  

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.” 

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.  

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.  

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.” 

“Hang on a minute-” 

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.  

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.  

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.” 

“Alright, alright Don.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.  

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.” 

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?” 

Cassian sighed heavily.  

“This a secure line?” 

“Always”. 

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.” 

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.  

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?” 

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”  

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.” 

“Lucien?” 

“Turns out the kid’s his.” 

“Fucking hell.” 

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.” 

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.   

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?” 

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.” 

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-” 

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.” 

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.  

Rhys went silent again.  

“We could always just kill Eris.” 

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.  

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.  

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-” 

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.” 

“Dick.” 

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.  

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-” 

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.” 

“I’m fucking Persian!” 

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.  

“A fanabla!”  

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.” 

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.” 

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-” 

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.” 

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?” 

“If I said yes would you come back to us?” 

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.” 

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.” 

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.” 

“Nesta’s no Feyre.” 

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.  

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.” 

“See you then.” 

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@januarystears

@bookstantrash 

@illyrianshadowhunter

[internalsealpanic]

Bloody Valentine

Summary: There is nothing more romantic than being stuck in an elevator and arguing about terrible life decisions. 

a/n: Blame @littleredwing89 for the existence of this.  This is, as of the time I’m posting this, the 4th part (chronologically) to my Dick Grayson/Merc!Reader series. It might be better for you to read part 1 or part 2 before reading this as the angst might hit harder if you do. 

Warnings:  Mentions of blood and injury. Dick and Reader are both hypocrites with no self preservation. It also gets a little heated(?) in the end but nothing really bad.

Main Masterlist

Dick Grayson Masterlist

Direct Sequel to this: Sweetness 

This was not how you pictured your Valentine’s Day. 

Sure, you weren’t exactly picturing a candle-lit dinner under the stars or slow dancing in the pale moonlight like a Hallmark movie. But you’re not exactly thrilled to be standing outside an emergency room waiting area, clutching an unopened pack of cigarettes and a spare superman shirt, as per the police chief’s suggestion. You tap your foot impatiently as an officer persuades the hospital staff to let you in as you stupidly forgot to bring any of your IDs. The pack of cigarettes crinkles loudly earning you a withering look from a tired-looking mother. 

You take a breath. 

You settle yourself in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs they point you to. There’s a scream in your throat. And you’re so close to crying. From frustration, anxiety, fatigue? You couldn’t distinguish. 

You flick your eyes to them. Finally, the staff relents and you brush past them brusquely.   

Your thoughts spiral. The bile lingers at the back of your throat. Burning. Acidic. Dick had lost a lot of blood but not fatal, they told you. The sob that left your mouth was inhumane. You’d almost dropped the phone. Static and white noise vibrated through your eardrums. In a trance-like state, you walk towards the room they kept him in, tunnel vision guiding you to his door. That’s what shock does to you. 

All you can think of is him.

You hold the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, glaring at Dick through the rearview mirror, more specifically the white hospital issued sling cradling his arm. You watch Dick as he pretends to not notice the look you’re needling him with.  “I spy with my little eye something… green,” he says absentmindedly as he stares out into the flow of traffic. 

You keep your narrowed eyes straight ahead, not even thinking about dignifying his little distraction. Right now, all you were seeing was red. 

To your right, Dick sighs dramatically, running his hand through his black hair. “So you’re just going to ignore me, huh?”

You’re not but you sure are trying. 

Dick as far as you knew was used to silence but he thrived in noise. He lived off of interactions, good or bad. You’re usually an endless supply of banter and playful quips but right now you needed the silence. You needed him to stew in it along with you. This isn’t to say you were particularly ill-tempered or impatient with people, being friends with someone like Dick necessitated a certain level of patience in your opinion.  And sure, you had a sharp tongue but you didn’t lose your temper often. But as you sit there next to him with your teeth grinding, fingers tapping, and muscles clenched, you could feel anger coiling under your skin. 

He lets out another sigh, this time sounding genuinely exasperated. Good. “(y/n), I don’t know why you’re upset by this- I’m a cop. We both know the risks.” 

The coil under your skin burns and you break hard, pointedly ignoring the loud cursing from the driver behind you. Dick chokes and hisses as the seatbelt digs into his chest. You offer him no sympathy or apology as you shoot him such a glare that whatever smartass remark he has for you dies on the tip of his tongue. Considering all the villains and heroes he’s had glaring at him over the years, you consider this an accomplishment. Dick flinches at the intensity of the anger wicking off of you. 

You click your teeth and turn back to the road, seeing the light turn green again. “You were issued a gun for a reason,” you say flatly, opting for this instead of the litany of other ways to say ‘you’re a moron’. You’re polite like that. 

It’s Dick’s turn to level you a look but unlike him, you don’t flinch, too caught up in your own anger. “Well, I assessed the situation-”

“You were wrong.”

“- and thought I could deescalate,” he says scowling at you through the mirror. Hurt flashes behind his eyes.  He looks… like a mix between petulant and offended but you can’t bring yourself to care to do more than give him a withering look, especially not when you still have his bloodied uniform burned into your mind. You admired his determination to keep the peace the way you admired how uncompromising his stance was on second chances. You really did but… It was the second time he nearly died that week and it was just Tuesday. 

You stop again. You close your eyes. Loving someone who could someday not come home to you was not a possibility you had prepared for.  You just- You just weren’t ready to care for someone so… destructible.  You weren’t sure how to process all the anxiety that came with that, so you turned to anger. It just seemed so much more productive and tangible than the shapeless fear anxiety brought you. “And you nearly got shot in the heart,” you deadpan, heart twinging. You taper your emotions down into something more manageable, something easier to compartmentalize. You can tell Dick was going through the same process. Which one of you was having a harder time, you couldn’t tell. 

“He barely grazed me.”

“Correction, you have a hole in your shoulder.” Asshole.  You bite back the insult, trying not to escalate the argument. You click your teeth but try not to clench your jaw or grind your teeth. The first person to lose their temper loses the argument. 

Dick huffs, resting his chin against his uninjured hand. His eyes flicker to you then the window. “I’ve had worse,” he mutters and your stomach tumbles to the ground getting crushed by the tire. Your mind careens. Your lungs fill up with the smell of ash and gun smoke. For a moment, your eyes do not work. For a moment, you’re in a crumbling building. Your eyes watching the billowing smoke curl against the sky. A blast of heat so hot it makes the liquid in your eyes boil breezes past you. 

You feel the flick of Yasiri’s tail on your skin and suddenly your foot is on a gas pedal instead of a broken cement floor. You blink, a tar-like emotion is swimming under your skin. You breathe. You glare at the traffic in front of you if only to focus your vision. “You’re impossible,” you snarl. 

In the corner of your eye, Dick peels away from the window, anger flashing in his easy-going features. He’s brandishing a sneer. You brace yourself. Dick… Dick Grayson was a mean son of a bitch when he wanted to be and he knew too much of your hurts. You swallow, gripping the steering wheel. Yasiri swims on your skin, surfacing just enough to get ready to strike but also just enough to be hidden. 

Dick opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Dick closes his mouth then opens it again and instead of something truly scathing, Dic opts for something more teasing probably realizing that pissing off your driver is a really bad idea. “You say that like you’re any easier to talk to.”

“At least, I know how to listen,” you bite out, voice drawing dangerously low. Dick’s eyes flicker to you, his shoulders bunching up a fraction. You click your teeth and take a calming breath. 

Dick snorts, the knot in his shoulders disappearing. “Yeah, right.”

You bristle. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel contemplating on whether to deck him. You should deck him. You should definitely deck him. Would that open up his stitches? It probably would. You mutter a curse. It feels nice rolling off your tongue and it seems Dick feels the same when he curses in Romani. You catalog the word for later use. Dick turns away from you, glaring out the window. You can see the way his eyes narrow through the reflection in the window. The look in his eyes is a complicated mix of irritation and hurt and regret.  

You silently agree to table the discussion, at least, until you got off the road. 

You brush past the elevator door, tossing your bag to the corner and leaning against the cool wall of the elevator. Dick enters and leans on the opposite wall, gingerly rubbing his shoulder. Neither of you look at each other. You watch the buttons light up as the elevator climbs up. Your skin is still buzzing from emotions. You thought the quiet drive would right them but… it didn’t.

To your side, you hear the restless tapping of feet. You glance over to Dick whose body is vibrating and itching from movement. Seems you weren’t the only one jittery. You smother a snort in your hand. It was cruel but you find the fact that he’ll be so bored while recovering is slightly funny. 

The elevator shakes. You’re thrown off balance. There’s a metallic clunking above you. You both lookup. Dick strains his ears to listen. You quiet your breathing so as not to distract him. He sighs and curses, the side of his fist pounding against the wall. “It’s just broken.” You look at him, eyes wide and dumbfounded. 

“Are you fucking with me?”

He shakes his head. “I wish,” he scoffs. You scrunch your nose and Dick sneers. “We’re just gonna have to wait, I guess.”  And you press yourself against your wall. “Wonderful.” 

You both stew in silence. “I can’t believe I’m stuck...” you mutter under your breath as you try to pry the elevator doors open. Dick rolls his eyes at you. “You can’t open those doors, (y/n),” he ruffles his hair in frustration, “we just need to wait for the fire department, dumbass.”He says, his head lulling back against the wall. 

 You hiss, your fingers sore and red. “Has anyone ever told you that you were an ass?” You snarl making Dick scowl at you. 

“You’ve said so like 5 times in the emergency room and 2 times in- Do you really wanna start this again?!”

You punch the door, creating a deep divet. “You’re goddamn right I wanna start this again because, Richard, for once in your goddamned life I wish you would stop being such a self-centered dickweed!” You seethe. Your knuckles hurt. They feel cool. They’re probably bleeding. 

Dick shoots up from the corner. “How am I self-centered?”

“Risking your life like a fucking moron like that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to save those people.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” you throw your arms up in exasperation, “do you know just how bad you are at keeping yourself alive because of that fucking hero complex, huh? You dumb. piece. of. Shit.”  You take a deep breath and continue your tirade. “You think you’re invincible just cus you run around in tights all night?”

Dick smirks at you. “You never had a problem with my tights when-”

“Check your ego, Grayson. I’ve dealt with a lot of spandex-clad pretty boys before, you’re nothing special.” You want the words to sting. 

“Oh please, you dealt with them by putting them in body bags!”

“Yeah! Fuck you! You’ll end up in one the rate you’re going.” Dick is speechless for a moment. Something in Dick’s eyes flares. You flinch and open your mouth to say something but Dick roars, the sound loud in the confined space. “What? Are you gonna tell me to stop being a hero? Are you gonna tell me that I’m not good enough to be Nightwing like how Bruce told me I couldn’t be Robin? Hah?”

Your heart drops and your chest burns. Your hackles draw up as high as they can. You bare your teeth. “No, you fucking moron That’s not the point!”

“What is it then, (y/n)? What do you want from me?!”

“You always go on this damn crusade to save everyone and everything and you don’t bother to take care of yourself or how it would affect others!”

“Wha-”

“No! You don’t- You don’t ever think!”You shove him against the wall, jabbing your finger into his chest. 

Dick glares down at you, grabbing your wrist in an almost painful grip. His finger jabs against your collar bone as he gets in your face, his hot breath fanning against your skin. “Fuck you! You’re just as bad as I am! You always throw yourself in front of others at the first sound of gunfire.”

“Dipshit, I have accelerated healing!” you say, ripping your hand out of his grip. 

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE INVINCIBLE.”

“Neither are you!” You sob, it comes out wet and raw. You close your eyes. You can still see the blood on his uniform. You sink to the floor, clutching at his shirt. Your tears sting even as they fall to the floor. “Neither are you.”

“(y/n)...” Dick’s shoulders droop as he watches you proud form crumple, entire body shaking.  He lowers himself to the ground slowly, careful not to agitate you. 

You press forward and bury your face into his shoulder, fist lightly punching his chest. You don’t want him to see you cry.  “Dick… I’m not saying you should quit… that- that’s just who you are.” You hiccup, tears flowing.“I just- I don’t want to bury you. I don’t- I can’t lose you, you fucking moron… You can’t just worm your way into someone’s heart and- and- ”

“(Y/n)...” Dick pulls you into his lap and lays his chin on your head. He hadn’t really thought… He should have known. He should have guessed. 

You pull away and look him in the eye, eyes bloodshot from crying. “You can’t just expect me to be ok with the possibility you won’t come back to me,” you say lowly, punching his chest.   The next few words come out in a shy whisper, low enough that Dick has to strain his ears to hear you. “Dick… I love you. I want to grow old with you, you waste of oxygen.” You cry into Dick’s shoulder not able to face him.  Dick shakes his head. He puts his hand on the back of your neck and presses a kiss to your hair. Dick doesn’t know how many times he has to tell you he doesn’t think less of you for crying on his shoulder but he’ll tell you no matter how many times you need to hear it.  

You sit in silence with only your muffled sobs and Dick’s comforting words filling the dead air. 

 “Timmy is gonna kill you for making me cry,” you sniffle, facing him with a wet tear-stained smile. 

Dick gives you a crooked smile in return.“ I still have no idea how you managed to turn my siblings against me,” Dick says, planting another kiss on your face but this time on your eyelid just below your brow. 

“You say that like it’s hard.” 

Dick pouts at you and you cackle loud and high, somehow still managing to sound musical. “I am a lovable big brother-”

“-And I’m a fucking nun-” Dick pinches your ass through your skirt. “We'll  have nun of that,”

You grab Dick’s wrist in a tight grip, managing to narrow your eyes at him. “I am not dropping this conversation just  to get fucked in an elevator.”

His eyes shine cheekily at the idea.“Wasn't my plan... but that works.”

“Dick…”

Dick leans down, his nose grazing your pulse, brushing like petals against your skin. “Let me make it up to you,” Dick says, licking a stripe up the column of your neck. Ignoring the swell of his pants against your inner thigh, you pinch his cheek, tugging him away from your neck. Your stomach roils at the loss of his lips on your skin but you suppress a whine to glare at him.

Dick looks up at you, mischief lighting his eyes. He pulls away from your hand. His lips find their way back to your neck then back up your jaw. His lips press kisses along your jawline. “It’ll-”kiss”-be-” kiss “-sooo worth it.”

Your breath hitches.“Dick...” you whine, feeling your skin heat. Your mind is buzzing. He smiles against you. His fingers toy with the strap of your bra, tugging it down slowly, carefully, making sure you feel every bit of his movement. “I hear my name-” he kisses your shoulder “-but you’re not stopping me.”

You roll your hips, panting for him. Dick’s tongue is hot against your skin. “C��mon, sweetheart, you know I can make you scream my name with just one hand,” Dick whispers against the shell of your ear. His hand slides down your arm down to your hip, his hand guiding your ass towards his growing bulge. “C’mon, Sweetheart, think about it-” Lick ”-the words I could make you sing.”

“Dick...” you pant, arching your back, pressing your body against his, giving him more access to your neck. Dick nips at your flesh happily. “Honey, I’m going to-”   

You yelp, your skin flying off your bones when you hear the elevator doors open. Dick, unphased, continues kissing you and licking up your skin. 

“Heeey guys, it’s Grayson,” the fireman calls out to the other men behind him. He turns back to the two of you with a cheeky grin.“Dickie, if I’d known it was you..” He glances towards you, eyes catching on the red hickeys blooming on your shoulder. You want to evaporate. “You guys need a minute?” Dick grins against your skin, looking up at you through thick lashes. “Thanks, Jerry, but we might need more than that.”

You glare down at Dick who simply smiles at you as he nips at your flesh.  “What? Feeling shy?” Dick breathes against your neck and all of a sudden, all of the anger and irritation comes creeping back. You shove Dick lightly, standing up and fixing your shirt. “I think he has a concussion. I suggest you check him out,” you snarl, brushing past Jerry leaving Dick on the floor, horny and stunned. 

“I’m totally fine!” Dick says, scrambling to his feet and grabbing your bag. 

You glare over your shoulder. “Our argument isn’t over.”

“What? But- I thought- We were about to-” Your scowl deepens as you see Dick flounder.  Jerry cackles as he gives Dick’s back an unsympathetic pat. 

“Sorry about that, Grayson. I guess you were destined to get blue balled,” Jerry laughs shaking his head. Dick sighs deeply, his shoulders drooping. “Are you really sorry?” Dick asks, side-eyeing Jerry. Jerry grins. “Nah, but it’s the thought that counts,” Jerry says, looking all too pleased with himself. 

Dick bumps past Jerry gently with a slightly petulant look on his face which earns him a chuckle from Jerry and a glare from you. “Watch the shoulder,” you crow from the hall. 

Jerry shakes his head. “No, hero’s welcome, huh?” Dick rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, she’s not exactly happy about the hole in my shoulder,” Dick admits, sheepishly. Jerry shoves Dick forward lightly and the other firemen do the same. “Go get ‘er, Tiger!”

Dick falls into step behind you, his lips brushing the back of your neck. His arm wraps around you as he pulls you close. He places a kiss behind your ear. You gasp and you hear hoots behind you. “Dick… Don’t… You can’t solve this with an orgasm,” you sigh, feeling your resolve crumble as his soft lips brushed the weak point of your neck. “Honey… please.” Dick holds you against his chest. The beating of his heart thaws you. “Honey, I’m sorry...” His breath runs down the side of your neck and it feels like feathers caressing your skin. You take a breath. He just knew how to make you melt. 

“... I love you too.”

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell   @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

[kaetastic]

Reuniting

pairing: Post-Azkaban!Sirius Black x F!Reader

summary: It had been long, torturous years since Sirius Black had been wrongfully accused of murdering his friends. The wizard felt nothing but relief at the fact that two of his friends had stood by with him. Now, it was time to catch up with an old, wavering fire. Just like old times, with Remus watching the scene midway.

word count: 1.2k

warning: dirty talking, language, smut, unprotected sex, confident!remus, slightly voyeurism? smut w/o plot? 

note: I! love! Post-Azkaban! Sirius! Black! I was planning on doing something like this with a reader who’s a friend (an old crush of the chosen one) of Harry (of age of course). She ended up fucking Sirius Black but whateva. Here we are. P.s, I love the editing on the image lol. Once again, as stated under my masterlist- it is not mine. Credits to the owner :)

Soft pants and gentle moaning trickled into his ears. The familiar sound which had embedded his students days in Hogwarts sent shivers down his spine at his sharp memory. Despite seven years of learning, well, not so much learning since Sirius Black had done anything but learning, he could barely recall any lessons. All the memories blurred out by the way her bare skin grazed his.

Sirius’s fingers dug into her thighs, his other hand trying its best to anchor on her breasts that he had already plastered all his love to. With her wild locks of hair thrown back to prick into his neck and shoulders, Y/N’s eyes were rolled to the back of her head. Her eyelids fluttering in intermittent pulses as his hips snapped once again. The position had been uncomfortable at first, but Sirius Black always made it work.

Knees prodding into the edge of the mattress, the reflection from the mirror that hung high on the wall had only caused her to let out a sigh. The sight of him in her; her skin littered with his trailing kisses, and sprinkled bruised bites, was like a memory of the past. Except, this time, he had a growing beard. A goatee some might specify. Something he had not wanted to shave off- the reason was on the lines of him not wanting to look like a toddler, and embracing manhood. Well, pushing aside the few strands of hair he had shaved off to sculpt the important factor to distinguish him from being the boy he was. The curls of his beard grazed over her exposed shoulders, the warm huffing from his parted lips sparked an untameable bonfire.

Her hands could not find a place to grip on. Y/N had tried the mattress, but one nudge, and she would meet the ground with a thud. All she could do was try her best to grasp him from her back, her stuttering arm wrapped around his neck, while her other hand rested on his large hand that covered the swell of her breast, “Fuck, yes, Sirius... fuck.”

“You still like that, huh? Fucking twelve years and your cunt’s still tight, just like I remember.” The growling of his throat vibrated from his chest in quivering shivers into her back. The mild grip of his fingers cladding around her neck softly angled for their lips to meet. Her neck craned, her half-lidded eyes fell upon his dark orbs. Breathless pants and exhale were exchanged between the two mouths before it was locked into one another. Tongues caressed each other, dancing in their own rhythm, not bothering to match with Sirius’s thrusting.

A gasp fell off her lips, plunging into his- to which he swallowed gladly, satisfied at him catching her off guard when he pressed his fingers on her bundle of nerves. Her thighs shook as he drew rapid circles, “Fuck... Sirius, please... Oh, fuck.” His sombre gaze narrowed onto the way her top teeth would peek out to pierce against her swollen bottom lip.

“Fuck, you wrap around me so well, baby doll,” Sirius mumbled against her shoulders, exactly on the spot he had already marked a blaring, prominent kiss- if she had not dared to cover it up. While his eyes beamed onto the sight of his dick, all of him inside her tightness, his fingers worked steadily yet hastily. Pinching and rolling the hardened pebbles of her nipples, and toying with her clit, he couldn’t help but let out a low hum when their eyes met through the reflection. “Look at that, hm? Your cunt’s made for me, fuck.”

The words uttered off his lips were screeched short at the abrupt clench around his length, “Please, Sirius...” With his large palm covering her breast, he kneaded the mound. Every snap of his hips, his fingers massaged her breasts. Beads of sweat swam down their figures, glistening under the dim rays of moonlight that had only survived the war against the barrier of fabric.

A grunt shivered into her skin, sending tingles to her full cunt. Fingers trailing down to grip her waist, Sirius wasted no time to ram himself. The surges of him hitting the right places had caused her eyes to roll back, legs quivering from the overwhelming feeling. All the blissful feeling was thrown out of the window.

“I see you’ve reunited.” Eyes snapped onto the figure, his face shadowed by the faint light of the hallway. Although it had been some time since the light source had been blinking intermittently, the damn elf would not listen to its master demands. Stupid Kreacher. They didn’t even need for the man to step into the room for they made out the outline.

Dressed in a baby blue jumper, it wasn’t even difficult to wonder who it was. His fashion was dull- closet probably full of the same toned clothing. Brown, beige and for a sprinkling of colour- dull blue. Nothing too vibrant. The trailing scars that would be the first to capture an eye glittered red, even in the darkest of times. A reminder of what he was. A reminder of how dangerous he was to others around him. If Remus Lupin could not protect himself from the monster he was, how would he do that for others?

Sirius chuckled, his erected shaft still inside the warmth of the woman, “You’re very welcome to join us, my old friend.” There was not even a spare of uneasiness. No quivering emotion of the situation being wrong. Not even a speck of uncomfortable-ness had invaded Y/N’s head. The situation she was stuck in reminded her of the well-stored memory of her past in Hogwarts. A memory she had safely packed in a concealed jar, up onto the highest shelf where even a strand of light could not fall upon it.

“I think I’ve done a few amounts of watching in Hogwarts, Sirius, few to many.” Remus mumbled, recalling his youthful life in the school. Snickering at his comment, Y/N laid her hands on Sirius’ that rested warmly on her waist. 

“You were always the one to watch us, huh, Moony? Never liked partaking in the activity.” The man who was snug in the woman sniggered against her exposed shoulders, his palms trailing up with hers’ still on his, to fiddle with the hardened pebbles. Lips brushing her faintly shivering shoulders, the bristles of his moustache pierced into her skin. 

Remus hummed, “Adding up all those time you guys went off like rabbits, it might be equivalent to Christmas holidays.” Although a smart remark settled on Y/N’s tongue, a moan slipped out as Sirius thrust his hips once more. 

“Fuck...,” Sirius groaned out, the involuntary clenching of her walls around him squeezed him would’ve been the end of him. “Moony, if you’re joining, close the door behind you. If not, good night.” The man who stood at the door let out a chuckle at the choked out words of his close friend. Pushing Y/N’s chest onto the bed, him still inside her, she let out a string of curses at the new position. Refreshing.

“Alright then, good night. Have fun kindling old light.” With the creaking door to a shut, the night would certainly be fun for the two exasperated figures.

[bigskydreaming]

I honestly can’t tell if this is a purely petty want or its a rare non-petty want and I’ve simply lost the ability to distinguish between the two.....

But man would I kill for some fics from Jason or Tim’s POV post Forever Evil, while still believing Dick’s dead, where they like, think about all the things they’d held against Dick in the years before that while he’d kept trying to reach out to them, and just....regret all the time wasted, y’know? Like....there are SO MANY stories that spare no detail in showcasing how guilty Dick felt for Jason’s death and wishing he’d been around more often in hindsight......but what, Tim never thought about how often Dick tried to apologize or explain his reasoning with the Robin mantle or get him to keep in touch during the early Red Robin era and thinks....was it worth it? Keeping him at a distance as long as he had? Etc, etc.

I mean, if we can have decades worth of fic burdening Dick with more of a guilt complex about Jason’s death than we even typically see from Bruce, like, feeling guilty about how he handled the Garzonas case and giving Jason reason to doubt his place in the manor and as Robin and go seeking more family elsewhere......then surely brothers regretting the time they wasted fighting with a now deceased sibling is a pretty reasonable area of exploration, y’know?

And honestly, that’s a huge part of what made Jason and Tim’s reactions so hard to stomach when Dick came back. There was so much focus and emphasis given to their feelings of betrayal BECAUSE of how much time and emotion was spent grieving for him, now seemingly for nothing.....

But problem was....

WE NEVER REALLY SAW ANY OF THAT!

Like where was it? It was very much a case of tell and not show. We barely ever got any MENTION of Dick’s death from the others during that in between time, it was more just awkward references and pained silences, but that’s not.....the same thing, y’know? We never really got any actual EXPLORATION of how they actually FELT about Dick being gone, other than a vague ‘oh we’re sad now’.....like I mean....when Bruce was lost in time, we actually SAW the grief play out in different ways amongst the different characters. With Dick’s though, we basically were just TOLD upon his return that they’d been SO heartbroken that now all they could feel was betrayed and angry when they looked at him, but where was all that heartbreak? Shouldn’t there have been some actual....displays of it then, if its gonna be strong enough to justify punching your returned from the dead brother and then pretty much declaring him persona non grata for the next year?

Course, as an extension of all that, I also can’t help but feel that if there HAD been more of an examination on the impact Dick’s loss had on the others, what it brought up for them, what it made them think about and reprioritize and regret or wish they could have done differently or had another chance to do differently....whether in canon or just in terms of fic trends.....

Then I do honestly think that actual FOCUS there on those kinds of things would have paved the way for the others still to have been more....gracious about Dick’s return, or like....made it easier for them to have more nuanced perspectives there. Because if you’ve ACTUALLY just spent the past year or so regretting having wasted so much time being angry at the brother you now miss so much, with this actually being reflected in various narratives.....then suddenly it becomes a lot easier and more obvious upon discovering he’s alive, to like....not literally repeat the same thing all over again and just go back to being mad at him rather than taking advantage of this second chance at having him back in your lives.

And I mean, if the problem all along was people not wanting to acknowledge Bruce’s specific role and actions in getting Dick to go undercover at Spyral, which I mean, I actually do get......there’s still no real need to throw Dick under the bus to give the others someone to blame there, if like.....you just make their priority not needing to BLAME someone at all, but just being fucking GLAD to have him back, the very thing most of them probably wished for multiple times over the prior year.

But that particular prioritization - joy that he’s alive, period, versus resentment for time ‘wasted’ grieving - basically first requires a reversal in what focus is given most priority. To get THAT outcome, you basically need Dick’s ABSENCE and his loss from their lives over the past year, how this affects them, how they feel about THAT, to be given the actual focus....rather than what we actually got, which was the focus just on their feelings of hurt and betrayal UPON Dick’s return.

(With this of course also stemming from and playing into my biggest issues with Forever Evil and Grayson, which is that everyone else was cast as being more victimized by the storylines that Dick was literally the ACTUAL victim of, buuuuuuut I’ve ranted on that many a time before so I mean. Whatever).

But yeah, just.....there’s a real dearth of actual REACTIONS to Dick’s death and reflections on his LOSS and what that means to the others, during that year he’s gone (with honestly the same being true of the entire year he spent as Ric Grayson, like I mean it was literally just the same thing, redux.....everyone was so busy resenting Ric for not being Dick, there was barely ever any focus actually given to the fact that this was because they MISSED Dick.....and since Ric still was Dick, after all, this basically just meant that for all that time, the focus was just on everyone being mad at him....for them....missing him. I just. Ugh. DC. Why are you such a fucking mess on repeat with Dick’s storylines I mean no but seriously WHY. GET SOME NEW MATERIAL).

Anyway. So that’s what I was thinking about while reading the umpteenth million fic where Dick waxes on, all penitent like, for not being around more before Jason died......umm okay then, so what if fic where Jason and Tim spend a paragraph or two thinking ‘oh man, wish I wasn’t always just such an asshole to my now dead brother every time he wanted to just hang out for literally no other reason than because he was my brother and he loved me’ hmmmm?

[ficsnroses]

Movie Theatre Sex - John Wick x Reader

Prompt : “Really, you wanna have sex...here...now?”  requested by anon! 

Summary : You drag John to a midnight screening of a film at your local theatre, however, get slightly distracted half way through.

Warnings : smut. fluff. public sex. x f! reader.

Word Count : 1.7K. 

On a rather boring evening home, John and you had opted to go to the movie theatre for the late night show. Midnight certain, the empty corridors of the theatre hall stood dark, silent; a thick kind of silence that chilled to the bone. Vast and dim, you clutch John’s hand tighter, fingers threading with his in a tight hold with his spare arm juggling a bag of popcorn and sweets.

“There’s no one else here,” You beam, tugging his brown leather jacket firmer than intended, his tall dark frame trailing behind with his voice low, imperative. “Normal people are in bed on a Wednesday night at 12:00AM.” He reasons, matter of fact tone dense through his soft, yet surely apparent smile.

Dragging him to a late night movie or not, John could never reject you. Hence, his dreary yawns and indefinite shakes of head proved insignificant to your glowing eyes when you’d asked. He’d been working on some books all day, found himself fatigued when the sun shadowed down, bidding goodnight to the city planes.

John loves spending time with you; despite his sarcastic remarks and tender eye rolls, he finds himself grateful to be able to enjoy an evening with his favourite person, nonetheless. With his hand squeezing yours a little tighter as you both walk side by side, John quietly smiles to himself.

So appreciative that he has someone who cares, loves him enough to drag him out to a midnight showing of a less than fascinating film, solely to spend time with him.

Sitting down in the far back recliners, your arms immediately find John’s bulky bicep, a subtle kiss placed to the toned outline of his arm when he turns your way, allowing your smaller figure to nestle into him. “It’ll be fun, baby. This film is supposed to be good.” You assure, catching a gleam in his gentle russet orbs, as the previews begin to stream.

You hadn’t planned on being so turned on by the sex scene.

The way his mouth grazed over her skin…

The way their bodies jolted together with plea, spellbound in a frenzy of hunger…

Rest assured, you hadn’t planned on palming John’s clothed member, lips peppering elusive kisses and love bites into his neck, slowly trailing up as you rub his bulge shamelessly. “What are you doing, babe?” John fathoms, whispered voice gruff and smoky to the way your teeth graze his earlobe, gently nipping. Your breath lingers hot on his skin; the feel appallingly sending a wave of rushing blood to John’s mounting erection.  

You had that effect on him. Always.

“Babe,” His hands plant to your shoulders, flustered voice greatly attempting to establish authority. “You gotta stop.” Breath stunned, he eyes the tent in his pants, and you smirk in return to the way his cheeks have grown visibly blushy, dews of colour prominent each time the screen lights shine bright. “If it gets any bigger, it’ll hurt.” He timidly explains, taking hold of your hands, placing them back into your lap, away from his throbbing cock.

You perceive butterflies in your stomach, arousal only growing at the way he’s so hopelessly turned on by your touch, barely able to contain his ruffled voice. “So…” You simper, fingers trailing back and dipping to the zipper of his jeans. “Let me help…”

Staggered, John peers your way, brows furrowed in the dim surround lights. “We’re in public, Y/N.”

“Barely.” You return, undoing his belt buckle, with his zipper fumbling in your fingers, attempts to shield his cock out leaving drunk anticipation throbbing to your center. “There’s no one else here and I want you…” With your mouth tumbling to his girthy cock, barely pulled out his jeans before your mouth engulfs the tip whole, you smirk into the warm skin of his member, massaging delicately to his balls while you jerk his base length. With a pop as you let his heavy girth fall out your full mouth, you smirk. “Feel good, baby?” Hallowed cheeks in fledge, you take him deeper, and deeper, knowing well how much he loves when you deep him.

Rich and honey smooth, John’s lips let out soft moan, hand unwillingly tangling to the locks of your hair as he guides you up and down on his cock, eyes practically rolled to the back of his head in pleasure. “Fuck, babygirl…” He groans, the feel of your warm, wet mouth immorally sloppy on his dick as you pump him, the sounds of your slickness bobbing his cock so sinful as he enters your throat.

To an abrupt pop, you remove your lips from his member, fingers still fondling his full, thick balls. “I want you to fuck me, now.” You assert, voice ridden with confidence when your eyes lock in the faint lights.

“You want to have sex…here…now?” John muses, a slight huff of wit to his tone, before he distinguishes your eyes never faltering; expression stone thick. “Y/N, we’ll get caught and banned.” He reasons, taking hold of your hand. “When we get home, I promise, I’ll treat you real good baby, don’t you worry.” A chaste kiss dotted to your lips.

“No.” You daunt. “You’re going to bend me over these chairs right now and fuck me.” And with your fingers already undoing the button of your jeans, you watch John gaze in shock, surprised to the sudden assertion of tone you’ve conjured up.

“You can’t be serious.” He reasons. “I didn’t bring a condom.” He argues, in attempts to ease your sudden need for action.

Huffing, your eyes roll to his confuting argument. “Since when do we use condoms? You know, for someone in such a confidence certain field of work, you’re being a wuss.” You move in front on him, bending over the chairs on the row before you to allow your peachy ass, striking delectable to his face; so alluring for the taking. “No one’s here, no ones coming. Come on, put it in.” You giggle to the way you’re being so upfront, yet feel a wave of security knowing you can be this way with John.

With John, even your most sinful sides can come out, and you’re okay with that.

His mouth waters, and his cock rises higher, throbbing further to the way you’re sprawled for him. No matter how many times John had had you, he falls awestruck; completely at your mercy each time you fuck.

John draws his eyes around the empty room, cautious with his hand unknowingly stroking his rock hard cock. Finally, defeated, intoxicated to the sight of your tight pussy on display bent over in front on him, he shifts, moving up to line his length with your entrance from behind, palms firmly planted to your hips. In a swift, full and hard thrust, John slips in, hitting your end as the delicious burn starts, both your breaths sighing in relief when his hips begin to move.

Within seconds, John’s arousal is pounding into you from behind, wistful groans and shuddering breaths whimpered into the air as he moves, his cock grinding against your slick walls profusely. Each time, his balls smack into your ass, the sounds so sinfully enticing as he works you, thrusts never faltering.

“Fuck, baby,” He shivers, groaning at the way you clench around him, looking so corrupt, the way you’re bent over for him as plows you raw. With throaty growls, John’s hips buck into you, gritted teeth relishing in the feel of your tight and warm cunt, fitting like a glove around his cock. His hands move to roam your clothed breasts, kneading harshly as he slams into you repeatedly, sinking in and out the beautiful sounds of your whiny moans. He feels your pussy tender, pulsating for him, and the danger of being caught only increases his pleasure tenfold.

You gasp when his cock rolls into you harder and harder, pace fastening greatly as he’s quite literally fucking you senseless, movements erratic and imperative, twitching on the brink of release inside your cunt that grows sorer and sorer by the second to his demanding pace. Yelping, you hear him shudder as the familiar boil bubbles in your mid, your orgasm brought onto you so quick to his matchless talent.

Thrusts so forceful, you feel your body jerk to each pump inside, you feel him shudder within you, twitching and groaning when his hasty hips roll. “You gonna cum for me, John?” You encourage alluringly, becoming sensitive from the overstimulation, yet still so full of John’s heavy member.

So deliciously, heavenly full as he sinks in and out, the feel of him inside incomparable to any other.

“I’m…I’m,” And with his own, piercing moan, stifled to contain, John bursts inside you, hot spurts of his creamy cum coating your walls deep, deep inside. His moans fill your ears, jumbled praises for your cunt punctuated by heaving exhales; the baritone sound of his voice a melody you’d relish in each time he’d unravel this way.

John fucked you so well, so quick; you’re left a sore, empty mess when his thickness leaves your body. You knew; you knew well. You’d feel this one, him, for days.

Collecting yourselves, John falls out of you, hastily tucking himself back into his jeans after he pulls up your bottoms to cover your modesty. Disorderly and satisfied, a baffled John falls back to his chair, stunned at what just happen. Perplexed, astonished, his gaze stipples to the screen, mind completely blown to what you’d just done. You bring out the best, wildest of him he’d never think to channel; it’s why he’d fallen so deeply in love with you. As you fall beside him in your chair, your arms move to wrap around his bicep, drawing in closer to place a gentle, sneering kiss to his bearded cheek.

“Wanna go home, big guy?” You giggle, fingers lacing with his again when you cuddle close, secure to his bicep; and he nods stunned,

moving pictures and mindless images on the theatre screen,

          long forgotten to bid attention to.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglists will be posted in reblogs from now on. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from either this series, or the permanent!

[fanfictiongreenirises]

Winter Nights and Winter Mornings

Summary: A few months after Spyral, Dick still doesn't fit back in.

A/N: wrote this instead of starting any of the four asgs i have due ;~;

Some of Dick's thoughts about certain things that happened surrounding this whole Spyral arc are,,, negative and self-blaming. These are entirely his own and don't reflect mine ^~^ I also should note that there isn't outright Bruce bashing in this, but I do acknowledge Nightwing (2011) #30 (as well as all the Grayson issues lol) and therefore Dick's thoughts regarding Bruce are influenced by those.

Disclaimer: I don't own DC

Ao3 link

~~~

It was a painful crawl back to his safehouse, but Dick somehow managed it. His torso screamed at him as he shuffled slowly up the fire escape, and his body outright balked at the thought of bending over to enter through the window, so Dick compromised and fell in a crumpled heap right then and there.

He didn’t know how much of it was acquiescing to himself and how much of it was a genuine inability to move any farther, and he was, truth be told, entirely too tired to care to distinguish. Dick sat there and leaned against the grated railing, tipping his head back until it met one of the cold, iron rods.

It was a clear night. He didn’t know why he was surprised by that, but he was. Maybe it was because he’d spent the entire patrol far too preoccupied with himself, and then with fighting. Maybe it was because he’d spent these last few weeks so very deep inside his own head that he hadn’t really paused to take in his surroundings properly, and really notice them beyond a risk analysis.

But it was a clear night. The stars were as bright as they could be, what with the city’s light pollution. Dick knew if he tilted his head a little more to the right, he’d be able to spot the moon, but he could barely find it in himself to keep his head upright and his eyes open, let alone turn his head.

They reminded him of Spyral. They reminded him of Helena and Midnighter and Tiger and all that he’d tried to leave behind. It stuck to him like a stench on his soul, those long days and even longer nights as a spy. He’d hated it then, and he hated to think about it now, but what he hated even more was that there was a not small portion of him that… missedit.

He didn’t even know what he was missing. There were two things that Dick had absolutely despised about Spyral: the ends that outweighed the means, and the constantly shifting allegiances. He hadn’t understood, not really, just how very tiring it was to always be on alert, to never be able to entirely trust that your partner would have your back.

It was a spy agency, though. Dick couldn’t verbalise any of this, because what else had he expected? It had been so naïve of him to have thought otherwise.

A cold breeze blew right through Dick, and he gasped as he shivered, the involuntary movement shifting his broken ribs inside him. He’d thought he’d stemmed the blood flow from this particular gash on his thigh.

Should he move? Dick was rather content sitting out here breathing in the smoky air, watching the stars. No one would be out for another hour or so – he still had time. And people found blood on their fire escapes all the time – just another tasteful feature of Gotham. No one would bat an eye at that, let alone call the cops.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was even more alone now than when he’d been in Spyral. And he’d been very alone in Spyral. Those first few calls to Bruce he still winced at when he thought about; he’s been dripping loneliness and so desperate for some sort of solid anchor to grip onto after the Syndicate… It was embarrassing to think about how many times Bruce had had to cut him off when he’d began speaking to him of personal things, of the amount of reminders he’d needed before he’d only stuck to the mission related briefing.

The wind was picking up speed. Maybe Dick shouldget inside now; he didn’t want to freeze to death out here, left to be found by some unfortunate resident, probably unmasked once more, undoing Helena’s favour and putting his whole family at risk once again. But the mere thought of picking his body up and moving it into the apartment was akin to climbing Mount Everest.

His eyes were drooping shut, and some part of him knew that that was bad. Dick’s grip on his bleeding wounds had slackened at some point, and he blearily tried to press back onto them in a last-ditch effort at self-preservation. The pain of the pressure on his gaping flesh jerked him out of the haze of blood loss and pain, and Dick had to bite down on his lip hard to swallow the sound that was on tip of his tongue.

He’d survived – and died – for far too much to give in after just some mere patrol that he’d been distracted on. Dick would die one day, and it might just be some mere patrol that took him out, but he’d be damned if it was this one.

Dick didn’t have much hope of reconciling with Tim and Jason, but Damian… he couldn’t die again, not when Damian was still counting on him to be at his art show and that award ceremony in a couple weeks. Maybe he’d wait, until Damian was a little bit older, a little bit more settled in, and then he’d be able to just fall asleep on a cold fire escape without any lingering regrets.

One knee bending. Boot scraping against the iron grates of the platform.

Maybe it was because of how Tim and Jason had reacted when he’d gotten back. It was really only now, in the midst of so much physical pain that he was practically numb, that he could admit to it without it being utterly crippling. He’d clung to a few anchors the whole time he’d been undercover: Bruce, his family, and to some degree, his friends.

Hand lifting off the knife wound in his torso to grip at the cold, cold railing. It was rough with age; Dick could feel its coarse edges through his gloves.

Losing Bruce had been like being tossed out into the deep end all over again, with no way of knowing what had happened or what he had done to warrant being shut out like that. He’d known, deep down, that Bruce had sent him to Spyral as a means to an end – he’d become a liability, and this had been Bruce’s way of making the best out of a bad situation. Dick would rather it be him than the others, and after seeing the amount of data Spyral had on the superhero community, he’d more than understood, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d felt like he was drowning.

He couldn’t pull himself up – he didn’t have that kind of strength in him. Dick rolled to his knees, and this time, the whimper escaped out of him before he could stifle it.

It was rather pathetic of him that holding Damian was the first time since he’d died that he’d felt any semblance of alright. The world had stilled the moment he’d spotted him, and hugging him, feelinghim in his arms… all the taunts he’d been plagued with since he’d hallucinated Damian in the desert had stilled. So many details he’d forgotten, and so much time that he’d once again missed.

It took him far too long to undo the latch and perform the retina scan that would undo the second lock. Not for the first time, Dick was glad he hadn’t installed that third fingerprint lock, because there was no way he could manoeuvre his hand into position.

Dick could barely remember the last time he’d patrolled with someone. The need to touch someone, to feel the warmth of another person beside him, was overwhelming at times. That was when he’d meet with Damian, take the kid out to get ice cream or something, and count it as a win if he got Damian to smile for even a quarter of the time they spent together. But really, it was his own doing – he could put in more effort to make up with Tim and Jason, to go to the Manor and tell Bruce that…

What, exactly, would he tell Bruce? That despite everything, he missed the man, and he missed the sense of surety and safety he still associated with him, and part of him despised himself for it?

One knee, then another. The windowsill dug into Dick’s shins as he dragged himself into the apartment. At this point, it probably was just sheer luck that he hadn’t been spotted.

Dick kept first aid kits as close to each entrance as he could without them being in plain sight, and the couch always had a thick sheet covering it, because Dick knew from experience that sometimes the bathroom was just a bit too far away. Like now.

He collapsed onto the couch, and counted it as a win that he’d gotten this far. And then he pinched himself, right beside where a bullet had grazed his upper arm, and that got him awake just enough to take in his situation. Funny, how once you passed a certain level of agony, hurting yourself would bring clarity rather than disorientation.

There was nothing he’d be able to do about the ribs – he had more pressing matters to think about right now. After the first few rounds of being injured with no one to help patch him up, Dick had modified the Nightwing suit to be able to take it off easier. That didn’t mean it was any less painful, especially since Dick couldn’t exactly raise his arms beyond a certain point right now, but it was doable.

That was what he told himself as he worked off the upper half of the suit, and then finally let out a groan as he removed the pants to pool around the tops of his boots. He couldn’t bend forward to undo the straps holding them together, and right now, it wasn’t a priority. Dick would only be conscious for so long – the pinching thing had both pros and cons.

Even the graze needed stitches, but there was no way Dick could stay awake through that. And he could read his own body well enough to know that he didn’t have anywhere near the amount of coordination it took to stitch himself back together.

Dick thought, with a pang, of the Titans. Of being on a team that wasn’t so much a team as it was a family. Even this morning, he’d scrolled through the contacts on his phone and his finger had hovered over Roy’s name, over Wally’s and Donna’s and Garth’s and Kori’s and Vic’s and, hell, even Raven and Gar’s. But after the reception he’d gotten from people who were his family, legally, he… couldn’t. He couldn’t announce to them that he was alive and that he’d been alive when his funeral had been held, because if they reacted the way Tim and Jason had, then he didn’t know what he would do.

After wrapping the graze on his arm, and the wound on his thigh and his torso, and glancing at the gash on his calf and determining it to be inconsequential, Dick slumped over on the couch, with a stack of cushions beneath him, and pulled the sheet off the back of the couch and over his shivering body. He’d linked the heating system to his phone, but fat lot of good that did when his phone was nowhere to be found.

~~~

When Dick woke up, he had to admit to himself rather painfully that a large part of him had truly thought he wouldn’t. His whole body made itself known to him in aches and pains and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but there was something off about this whole situation that made him alert.

His eyelids felt heavy and crusted when he tried to open them, but he forced them to cooperate anyway, and for once, they listened to him.

He was still in the safehouse – he’d recognise that horrid popcorn ceiling anywhere – but now he was in one of the bedrooms. He turned his head a little to the side, the movement relying on gravity just as much as muscle movement.

There, on the bed beside him, sitting cross legged, was Tim fiddling with a Rubik’s cube. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to it at all, because Dick knew that Tim had had a rather intense Rubik’s cube phase and he’d gotten down to solving two at once in under a minute before he’d finally moved on to a new interest.

Dick must’ve made some sort of sound, because there was suddenly all sorts of commotion around him. Tim scrambled upwards, the cube in his hand forgotten as he leapt towards Dick’s still body. His mouth moved and his eyes darted towards the other end of the room, so he must’ve said something, because then there were heavy footsteps coming towards them.

Hands, everywhere. Dick wanted to know whosehands they were, because they were familiar but unexpected. Tim’s and another’s hands were behind his shoulders, lifting him upright as he coughed and coughed and that set off the blinding pain in his ribs and pulled at… stitches?

A small glass was placed in front of his mouth, and he held in a cough to swallow a mouthful of water. It travelled harshly down through his system, cold all the way. Dick was so tired of being cold. He kept his eyes down, avoiding looking at the helmet that sat on the chair in front of the bed.

Finally, when Jason moved the glass back, and he and Tim propped Dick up on a few more pillows to alleviate the pressure on his ribs, Dick asked the question that had been preying on him since he’d woken up.

“Why’re you here?” he rasped, voice sounding like it’d just gone through a cheese grater.

He didn’t know if he regretted the words, but he did know that it was better to get this out of the way than to take advantage of their pity or sense of duty until the inevitable. Maybe they were here because Oracle had seen Dick through the cameras. Maybe Bruce had sent them after Dick; if anyone was invested in keeping Dick alive, it would probably be Batman.

Dick had asked Jason this question only once before, much before, and he’d faced Jason’s anger at the thought of Dick being allowed to take care of him, and not the other way around. It’d been at a strange point in their relationship, in Dick’s defence – he’d had no idea where he’d stood with Jason. He still didn’t.

“We thought you were dead,” Tim burst out, and when Dick lifted his head to look at him, it was like a glimpse into the past, at a tinier, younger, version of Tim, who looked at Dick like he had all the solutions in the world.

Don’t worry, Timmy, I’m not that easy to kill, was what thatDick would’ve said, and Tim would’ve smiled at him with relief that Dick was well enough to make light of the situation. He didn’t say those words now, because he really was that easy to kill, and he didn’t know if he had it in him to reassure Tim otherwise at that moment.

“Uh, sorry?” Should he be the one to apologise for that? “I didn’t think either of you knew about this safehouse.”

Jason had gotten busy fiddling with some sort of bandage on Dick’s leg. His hair was in his face, and Dick couldn’t tell what he was thinking when he said, “You’re damn lucky we did.”

Dick blinked some more. “I’m confused,” he admitted.

“That’s what happens when you lose almost enough blood to die,” Jason snapped. Was it strange that Dick felt much more surety when Jason was mad?

“I…” Black spots suddenly filled his vision, and Dick impatiently waited for the buzzing in his brain to go away before he tried to speak again.

“Hey, c’mon,” Tim was saying, crouching beside Dick on his knees. “You need to save your strength, okay? You can ask questions later—”

“But why’re you both here?” Sue Dick if he was still confused.

Jason looked at him, and then glanced away. “Tim went through your safehouses and fitted them with sensors after… a few months ago. We thought someone had broken in.”

Oh. So they’d been unintentionally saddled with the responsibility. At least Dick knew where he stood now, and the knowledge settled into his bones and made him feel all the more weighed down.

“Why didn’t you call for backup?” It seemed that Tim was only capable of speaking in short bursts of emotion. “You—If we hadn’t gotten here when we did, you would’ve died.”

And how was Dick supposed to respond to that?

When he didn’t say anything, Tim opened his mouth, and then closed it again. In one solid movement, he was off the bed and stalking out of the room. Dick watched him go apathetically, and then came back to himself when he felt the mattress sink a little.

“No matter what sort of shit you think you’re in with us,” Jason said in a low voice. “And I am speaking for the kid, because I know he feels the same. It doesn’t matter if you think we’re angry at you, or—”

“Jay,” Dick interrupted, before he had to listen to the rest of this. “Look, it’s okay, alright? You guys are understandably angry. I don’t expect you to play nice now just because I got a little roughed up.”

“A little…?” Jason let out an incredulous scoff. “You almost died, again, and we wouldn’t have even known about it, again, because you don’t check in with anyone on your patrols and you’re in a safehouse I’ve been in barely even once.”

Dick sighed. “I never used to check in with anyone on my patrols before, either, Jay,” he said tiredly. “And the two of you don’t do it now.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should. Maybe we all should.” When Dick raised an eyebrow in amusement at his words, Jason shuffled uncomfortably. “It wouldn’t be an issue if you called for backup. Or if you fucking told someone you were injured.”

Dick tried for a shrug, but his shoulders weren’t in a cooperative mood. It was at that moment that Tim re-entered the room and saved Dick from having to figure out some sort of answer.

“Here,” he said. “You need to eat something. You’ve been out for about two days.”

Dick grimaced at the assortment of food on the tray in Tim’s hand. “Tim, I’m really not that hungry…” He sighed when he saw the look on Tim’s face, and a tiny speck of amusement grew inside him. “I’ll do my best, but only if you’re both eating, too.”

Jason excused himself to go to the bathroom, blinking hard as he left. Dick stared at his back in confusion, wondering whether it’d been something he’d said or done, but was distracted by Tim settling back into his position beside Dick.

He plucked a biscuit from the tray and broke it in half, staring at the piece in his hand. “You can’t just say shit like that,” he muttered. Dick was a little more focused on the swearing, the tangible evidence that Tim had been hanging around Jason a tad too much. “Not after how we’ve been acting.”

Dick was silent. There was nothing for him to say, really. He could pretend he didn’t know what Tim meant, but he didn’t have the energy for that, to act as though they were exactly as they’d been before.

“Because we’ve been angry for… for completely dumb reasons,” Tim was continuing, his voice thick, the cookie almost mush in his tight grip, “and we have no right to be—”

“Tim, you have every right to be mad at me.”

Tim shook his head, twisting so he could look Dick in the eyes, his own wide and beseeching. “No, we don’t. We can’t be mad at you for the Syndicate, for dying. And Spyral wasn’t even your fault.”

Dick sucked in a breath at that. Had they somehow found out about the Cave, that sparring session?

“What he means to say is,” Jason said, entering the room, “we were absolute assholes to you for far longer than the situation warranted it.” There was a loud whistling noise that made Dick wince, and Jason jerked his head towards the doorway. “Tim. Kettle.”

Tim glared at him but got off the bed and made his way to the kitchen, muttering something to Jason as he passed him that made Jason snort.

“Look,” Jason said to Dick. “It was an all-round shit time when you… were dead. And when you got back, we were so angry that we didn’t—we tried not to think about it, because being angry was easier than to admit that it sucked that you died, but finding you here, mostly dead again?” Jason opened and closed his mouth a few times, frown deepening as he tried to articulate properly, and finally shook his head. Dick distantly thought that he resembled a fish.

“I have tea,” Tim said as he returned, with yet another tray. Dick hadn’t realised this safehouse had any of this stuff.

“I’ll have tea if it means I don’t have to eat any of this other stuff,” Dick offered, to be met with two glowering faces. “I think it’s a fair bargain.”

Jason handed him a steaming cup of tea, hand hovering to make sure Dick’s grip on it was secure. Dick held it cupped in his hands, the heat from the water seeping into his bones. He wasn’t warm, not entirely, but he was getting there. And while one conversation – and a very confusing one, at that – wouldn’t fix things, he suspected that it might begin paving the way.