#Riot I’m in your fucking walls

[confusedspaceotter]

That’s it? that’s the end? That’s not fucking fair Javik got their doomed yaoi, Caitvi got their sex scene and Jinx stans got this????????

[holylulusworld]

Indifferent (1)

Summary: Your father wanted a bond between you and the Barnes Empire. No matter what.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: arranged marriage, angst, mentions of impotence, arguments, mafia au, hand around throat (no choking/non-sexual), strong reader, mentions of cheating/attempted cheating?

Indifferent Masterlist

He glares at you from across the dining table. His upper lip curls when you dig into the too-dry chicken his new cook prepared for you and your not-so-lovely husband.

“I’m not satisfied��” he leaves open what crawled up his ass today, but you know, it’s not the food. James Buchanan Barnes is bad at hiding he despises you when you are alone.

“You are not satisfied?” You chuckle dryly and drop the fork onto the table with a loud clank. “Why don’t you ask me how I feel?” You get up, chair scarping loudly over the expensive parquet.

His eyes darken when you dare to walk toward the end of the huge table. “What is it that bugs you, love?” He spats the last word as if it burned his tongue.

“You!” You throw your hands up. “This marriage is a farce. If I could, I’d be out and about in the blink of an eye. Everything is better than living with an indifferent, moody, and impotent man!”

“IMPOTENT?” Bucky rises from his seat. He squares his jaw and clenches his metal fist. For a second, you’re scared to the bones, but you brush it off.

“YES! If not I wouldn’t ride a pillow every night,” you spat in his face. “Just you know, I’m going to look for a lover first thing today. And I won’t be subtle about it. Everyone knows by now that this marriage is a bad joke. I refuse to be the butt of the joke, though.”

“You won’t ruin the union of our empires over selfish reasons.” You gasp when you end up pressed into the wall, Bucky’s metal hand wrapped around your throat. He leans closer to brush his nose over your cheek. “Even though, I don’t think you’ll find a lover anytime soon. Who would go for you if they can have some other girl? I’d go for someone else too if only I could…”

He drops his hand from your throat and smirks. Bucky steps away, flashes you a smile, and storms out of the dining room.

You stand there, shell-shocked at his outburst as you rub your throat. His words hurt like hell. You drop your eyes to look down at your body. It’s been a while since you felt this kind of hurt. 

Maybe it’s you. Maybe Bucky isn’t interested in being with you because of your looks.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Bucky barks outside your shared bedroom. “Woman, I don’t have all day. My parents want to have lunch with the two of us. Just put a smile on and come here.”

You walk out of the bedroom with an armful of your clothes. “I think it’s for the best to not keep the act up. We are married, but this doesn’t mean I must spend time with your father.”

Bucky watches you walk toward the west wing of the mansion. He follows you hot on your heels, all the while throwing questions at you. 

“Where are you going? What are you up to? Y/N, answer me!”

“I’ll stay at the west wing from now on. Annie will help me bring my belongings to the west wing. You can do whatever you want to at your wing. Just stay out of my sight.”

You walk away, leaving Bucky stunned and angry. He grits his teeth and calls you names as you slam the heavy door parting the west wing from the entrance hall shut.

“What the fuck!” He mutters under his breath. So far, you suffered in silence ignoring his unbearable behavior, and the openly shown hatred towards you and your marriage. Now you riot and he doesn’t handle it well.

“Where’s your lovely wife?” George cocks his head as his son sits down on their table. “I thought you said she’ll be here too.”

“She’s not feeling well today,” Bucky lies straight into his father’s face. What else can he do? How shall he explain that the bond your parents forced upon the both of you lies in ruins after not even six months into marriage?

“Ah, she finally snapped,” Winnifred remarks while studying the menu. She smiles to herself, while her husband and Bucky turn their heads toward her. “Good for her. I was rooting for Y/N.”

She slowly closes the menu and lies it down on the table. Winnifred doesn’t give away more. She orders her food and a glass of white wine. Your mother-in-law is in the mood to celebrate.

It wasn’t a lie. She was rooting for you to take matters into your own hands. It took you longer than she liked but now, she’ll lean back and watch her son grovel.

“What do you mean?” Bucky and George say in unison. They are surprised at Winnifred’s answer.

“You forced that lovely woman into marriage and didn’t even try to make her feel welcome. Did you at least give her orgasms?” She chuckles. Bucky’s face turns red, he swallows thickly, and uncomfortably shifts in his seat. “I see. The poor woman suffers in silence.” She sighs now. “Alright, I’ll give her the number of our gardener. He’s got a son who will gladly help Y/N take care of her secret garden.”

“What?” George is at a loss for words while his son tries to forget that his mother was asking him about your non-existent sex life. “Mother!”

“What? I’m a red-blooded woman, just like Y/N. If you don’t find satisfaction with your husband, you must look elsewhere. Men do it all the time.” She shrugs before taking a sip of her white wine. “Y/N is a beautiful woman in her best years. Her sexual drive must be over the top after six months of not getting any attention.”

“Winni, stop saying things like that in public,” George snarls. “You are making a scene.”

“I’m not making a scene,” Winnifred bites back. “I try to make our son see that his wife will turn toward someone else in no time if he doesn’t take care of her every whim soon. You’ll weaken our bond, and this will shatter both of our empires. Is that what you want, son?”

Is that what you want? His mother’s words echoed in his mind the whole way back home. Of course, he doesn’t want to weaken your empires. 

The only purpose of your marriage was to strengthen not only his father’s empire but your father’s empire too.

If you turn toward someone else, an enemy maybe to get back at Bucky, the empires could crumble and fall only because he’s too stubborn to let you inside his life.

Bucky enters the mansion, a grim expression coloring his features. If only you weren’t so infuriating and stubborn he could’ve easily settled for you.

But no.

Y/N Y/L/N is the most annoying and bratty woman he ever met.

Sometimes Bucky believes you’re riling him up on purpose.

“Wait—” he stops in his tracks. Bucky furrows his brows as he tries to recall all of your little fights. “Is she doing it on purpose? Maybe she wants me to lose control and just…”

“Where are you going?” Bucky follows you out of the mansion. “Y/N stop being a brat. I asked you a question and I expect you to answer my damn question!”

“Out,” you glance over your shoulder at Bucky. “Your mother sent me something interesting and now, I want to find out if it’s for me.”

“She did what?” Bucky looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. He pants heavily and clutches his fists to his sides. “You won’t leave the ground for the time being.”

You huff. “Try me.”

He closes the distance between the two of you with three long steps to grab your arm. “Don’t tempt me to throw you over my shoulder! You’ll go back inside and listen to what I have to say.”

You laugh in his face. “Make me!”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[alwaysurvalentine]

scary movie marathon - st fic

Written for Day 27 of @steddie-spooktober prompt: scary movies - wc: 1.6k - cw: some cussing

enjoy! 💛

Steve’s idea of a great date night? Scary movie marathon. If you pick the right movies, your date will hide their face in your shoulder and you have an excuse to hold onto them for the duration. If you’re lucky, you might even get them in your lap where you can provide some distraction.

At least, this is how things typically worked when Steve went on dates with the girls of Hawkins High. He should’ve expected that, like most things with Eddie, that wouldn’t be the case with the other boy. When he’d first suggested the movie night, Eddie had assumed it was a group thing and started talking to Robin about what movies she was going to bring. Luckily, Robin can read Steve’s mind, and also his rapid signaling behind Eddie, so she made up an excuse on why she was busy that night. Eddie had shrugged and turned to Steve with a smirk that sent butterflies straight to Steve’s stomach. 

~

The night had come faster than Steve expected and he eyed the movies in his front seat warily when he pulled up to Eddie’s trailer. He knew the other boy would probably like anything they watched, a huge fan of any and all horror no matter how bad. But Eddie also had a habit about seeing Steve more than other people. What if he realized something about him that Steve didn’t mean to reveal? What if he thought the movies he chose were dumb? Or too mainstream to be considered bad enough to loop back to good? This was a terrible idea. Steve’s hand rested on his gear shift, ready to put it in reverse and call Eddie with a fake illness cover story when the boy in question stepped out of the trailer and waved. 

Steve had just gotten used to the black jeans and leather jacket Eddie normally wore, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the cropped Black Sabbath shirt displaying the underneath of Eddie’s chest all the way to his navel. The sunset painted the scars adorning his stomach into a soft pink, like a gentle swoop of a paint brush. Steve’s own matching scars never looked so soft, instead red and angry any time he caught a glance of them in the mirror. Eddie’s grin sharpened as he approached Steve’s car, brown eyes alight with something when he cracked open Steve’s door.

“Cat got your tongue there, Stevie?” 

If blinks were audible, Steve knows his would’ve been deafening. “Whatever Eddie, hope you’re ready to be scared.” He didn’t dare to look at Eddie when he grabbed the movies, scared the older boy would know what he was thinking. 

“Ha! Me, scared? I’m a connoisseur of horror, a weaver of terrible tales, it takes a lot to scare the likes of me!” A cartoonish evil laugh erupted from Eddie as he walked forward, sliding his slippers off at the front door. The trailer felt just as welcoming as it had done all the times before, but now there were orange string lights covering the wall behind the TV and it smelled distinctly of popcorn.

In seemed in the time it had taken Steve to go home and change, Eddie had set up a full array of snacks for them. Popcorn in one bowl, M&Ms in another, even a bag of red vines sat to the side. “I, uh, wasn’t sure what you’d want to drink. We have coke and beer.” Eddie cringes at his words, though Steve can’t imagine why, and he’s already heading to the kitchen.

“I’ll just have what you’re having.” The fridge door opens and Steve sets his movies on the table, eyes catching on the starting menu for The Fly. Eddie comes back with two opened beers, passing Steve’s over by the neck before taking a quick swig of his own. 

“Okay, so we’re starting with one of the best horror movies ever.” 

~

“What the fuck?! Eddie, what the fuck?” Steve can’t look at the screen anymore, the transformation from man to fly sending his stomach into a riot. He’s tucked his face behind his hands and leaned towards Eddie like that’ll save him from the screen. Which is when he notices Eddie’s got an arm around his shoulders and he can feel him laughing against him. How did he not realize Eddie using his own moves against him?

“I know. It’s fucked up isn’t it? And the special effects are so good!” Eddie almost sounds excited, which would be nice if Steve couldn’t hear the sound of Jeff Goldblum’s character losing the last of his humanity. He gags and covers his ears instead, leaning fully into Eddie and turning his head towards the cologne he can smell on Eddie’s neck instead of the screen. 

“It’s disgusting is what it is.” Steve’s breath ghosts over Eddie’s collarbone and he swears he can see the moment Eddie’s heart starts beating faster. Interesting. He’s hopeful so Steve leans closer and feels Eddie’s arm tighten incrementally around him. 

“Steve?” He nods against the metalhead’s neck, newly focused on figuring out just what the older boy smells like under the cigarette smoke that follows him around. “Can I say something crazy?” Eddie’s tense as he talks, arm slipping from Steve’s shoulders so he can reach for the remote. “I mean, maybe it’s not crazy compared to you know, the entire Upside Down and like the last four years of your life. But it’s a big deal to me. Robin said you were fine with her, and clearly you are because she’s like your whole soulmate. Platonic, I know.” 

All of the air is stuck in Steve’s lungs, making his chest tight and he’s just waiting for the pit in his stomach to swallow him whole. He’s opened his mouth to speak a couple of times but nothing is coming out – Eddie’s drowning in a sea of insecurities and he’s doing nothing to help. 

“Okay. I’m just going to spit it out. I’m gay and I have the biggest crush on you.” 

I have the biggest crush on you.

Steve can breathe again. His cheeks are hot and he knows if he looked in a mirror they’d be bright pink. 

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s quiet enough in the trailer that Steve can hear when Eddie chokes on his inhale. 

“..what?” Eddie’s shoulders aren’t tense anymore, and he tilts his head at Steve with furrowed brows. He almost looks like a puppy. 

“Sorry, yeah, totally cool with the gay thing. Even more on board with the crush thing, so can I kiss you?” 

Eddie’s still just looking at Steve with wide, brown eyes. 

Alright, that’s fine, Steve can close the distance. Steve leans forward slowly and brushes the curls away from Eddie’s face, watches his eyes go wide with wonder before leaning in. Their noses bump when their lips first meet but then Eddie tilts his head and Steve’s world with it. Eddie’s hands come up to cup Steve’s jaw, cold rings sending sparks along his face and Steve smiles into the kiss. They part for a moment, matching grins on their faces. After a beat, Eddie leans in again and Steve shifts closer on the couch. 

As soon as he starts shifting, Eddie’s hands start tugging him closer until Steve’s straddling the older boy’s black jean clad lap. Steve boxes him in easily, resting slightly on Eddie’s lap to change the angle again. Eddie nips at his lip, gaining full access to his mouth when Steve gasps at the sensation. The sounds of the movie have completely faded now, Steve more focused on the soft smacking of their lips when they disconnect and meet again. 

The need for air causes them to part, but Eddie doesn’t go far, tucking his face into Steve’s neck. If it wasn’t for how warm Steve was already feeling, he might’ve been able to feel the warmth from the blush on Eddie’s face. Instead he feels Eddie’s lips against his skin as the metalhead murmurs. “Holy shit. Holy shit. Am I dreaming right now?”

“Not a dream, baby. If it wasn’t obvious, I have a huge crush on you too.”

Eddie leans more into Steve’s neck, placing a kiss at his pulse point. A couple more kisses are placed on Steve’s neck and he feels himself melt into Eddie’s lap. He feels Eddie’s hands clench slightly at the movement and then they slip under his shirt, fingertips pressing gently at Steve’s lower back and hips. A gasp escapes him when Eddie nibbles at his neck, teeth pulling at the skin in a way that Steve knows will leave a mark. 

For a moment he imagines the older boy leaving different marks on him and lending him his signature leather jacket for everyone knows who Steve belongs to. But Steve’s getting ahead of himself, this is only their first kiss. There’s no guarantee that Eddie wants this to be a serious thing. 

“Sweetheart?” When Steve glances down, Eddie’s pupils are still blown slightly even though his eyebrows are scrunched in confusion. “Did you hear me?” He must see his answer in Steve’s eyes because the confusion leaves and Steve’s looking at the softest expression he thinks he’s ever seen. 

“I asked if you wanted to be my boyfriend?” There’s an edge to Eddie’s voice and his hands tighten for a moment before loosening again. As though he’s worried about Steve’s answer, like Steve’s not already on the precipice of falling in love with he boy in front of him.

“Only if you let me take you on an official date.” All of the tension leaves Eddie and he grins, leaning up towards Steve again.

“I think I can agree with that.” 

And what else is Steve supposed to do but lean in for another kiss?

[kingkatsuki]

— mean

It’s been so long since I wrote any Kiri I missed him sigh!!

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, Dom!Kirishima, spanking, ruined orgasms (f!receiving), mentioned assplay, fingering, creampie.

Word Count: 0.6k.

No one ever believes you when you tell them that Kirishima Eijirou is mean.

“Oh, he’s so nice.”

“You’re so lucky you’re dating Red Riot.”

“I wish my boyfriend was as nice as him!”

But they don’t realise what he’s really like— not when he’s got you on your hands and knees behind closed doors, smoothing a large palm down your spine as he drives into you with force. His hips bruise your ass with each forward motion as he fucks into you with vigour, your fingers fold into the sheets as you cry out when the blunt head of his cock presses up against your cervix every, single, fucking time.

He’s mean when he asks you if you think you should cum, if you deserve it. Fat tears clump in your thick lashes and blur your vision as you try to respond— it’s like he knows how difficult he makes it as he begins to increase his pace, the crude slap of skin against skin echos in the room as he pushes you forward. His huge, hulking frame practically on top of you as he chases his own end. Because nights like these were for him, not for you.

“Tell me,” He spanks your ass hard, “Tell me if you think you deserve it.”

And it’s all you can do to babble and beg him to let you cum, your cunt clenching pathetically around his cock as he works you towards it regardless of your answer.

“See, I’m not sure you do, sweetheart. Not really.” He disregards you, his balls already seizing as he he gets himself closer and closer to the edge. Using your pliant body for his own needs as he presses the pad of his thumb against your fluttering asshole, “I remember saying only good girls get to cum. Have you been good?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” You chant with each thrust of his hips, feeling yourself teetering on the edge of your bliss. You were so close now you could feel the dopamine begin to seep into your veins, the pleasure ebbing at your core as you heard your lover howl out behind you.

“Best fuckin’ pussy, I swear!” He grunts as he cums, forgetting everything as pleasure captures his consciousness. Strong hands dig into the plush skin of your hips as he spills white hot ropes of his spunk against your velvety walls, canting his hips to fuck it deeper inside you. Panting as he continues fucking you through his release, intent on getting you there too.

And you think he’s taken pity on you, because you feel yourself falling into bliss. His name spills from your lips as the pleasure hits you like a freight train, and as soon as he feels the telltale tremble of your cunt clamping down around him you’re derailed.

Kirishima pulls his cock from your gaping hole as you cry out in frustration, his thrusts enough to get you to the edge and push you over but it’s not enough. It’s not the same pleasure that usually racks through you as your entire body cries out for relief. Your puffy clit pulses with neglect, an almost painful twinge swirls in your abdomen and you don’t even realise tears are streaming down your cheeks until they soak the sheets beneath you.

“You’re not nice,” You pout, burying your face in the sheets as he grips your hips, “You’re mean.”

“Oh my poor little baby,” Kirishima coos, full of condescention as he thumbs your oversensitive clit, reveling in the way you try to scoot away from him “I’m mean? Was that not enough for you?”

The pleasure barely enough to satiate you as you succumbed to the disappointing climax, the dull throb between your thighs even more evident as your thighs began to tremble.

“I’m not mean,” He coos, “I was doin’ most of the work so I get to cum the hardest, fair is fair right?”

You mewled at that, a needy pathetic whimper pulled from deep in your throat that had Kirishima’s cock kicking in response. His thumb pushes inside your abused hole to feel his warm cum plugging you up, squelching it unkindly as he begins to finger fuck you. Grinning at the pathetic way you start to fuck your self back against him in an attempt to fix your ruined orgasm.

“This pussy’s so fuckin’ greedy ain’t she?” He presses, catching you by surprise as he pulls back to land a harsh smack against your needy cunt, “Show me how much you deserve it, and maybe I’ll let you cum properly this time, babygirl.”

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — EIJIROU KIRISHIMA. ribbons, restraint and resolve.

about. eijirou kirishima loves to be tied up and restrained in the bedroom but not for the reasons you may think.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, smut, bondage, ribbon as a restraint, slight!dom / sub dynamics, edging, begging, orgasm control, kirishima is slightly mean, pro hero!kirishima, fem!reader.

kirishima who likes to be tied up. even though you both know that he’s big enough and strong enough to break through any type of restraint that you own. he likes the restriction, likes how you use him all for yourself, likes how you get too tired too quickly and start to cry out for him to move or fuck up into you.

kirishima who gets a little mean when he’s all tied up, faux pouting up at you — his voice a little higher, mocking you, while you whimper and plead. “ah, ah, ah sweetheart,” he sucks his teeth coyly, fighting a smile, his wrists pretending to struggle against the bed posts and red ribbon. “you said you wanted to have your fun with me. isn’t this fun?”

“n-no!” you cry out; punished by the twitch of eijiro’s cock against your silky, arousal lined walls. “please move eiji, please. i-i’ll untie you, i’ll say i’m sorry. just, please—“

leaning forward, kirishima’s arms bulge as they flex against his silken restraints. golden skin stretches over the muscle, blue veins prominent beneath the surface as he tilts his head up to kiss you. it’s slow, calculated and cunning — the kiss is. one that eijirou knows will only rile you up and make you weak in the knees.

it’s the type of kiss that shrouds your brain in darkness and consumes your every thought until all you can think about is your primal desire to please him.

it’s made obvious in the way your tight hole oozes a honeyed nectar down your boyfriend’s monstrously thick cock. if you tried hard enough, moved your hips a little more, you could get his sticky cockhead to press down on the perfect spot to make you cum and lose all ties to sanity.

but you can’t, not without red riot’s help.

“i thought you wanted to be in control?” eijirou teases, his tongue pressing up against the backs of his pearly white teeth as he smirks up at you. sinister. “you don’t want that, don’t want me to flip you over, take charge from you. you were having so much fun.”

the condescending lilt to his voice sends a shiver down your spine and the urge to circle your hips straight to your foggy little brain “b-but i don’t! ‘m not… eiji,” comes your desperate, needy little gasp. it’s not enough to have him inside of you, to force yourself up and down his creamy shaft to your heart’s content. you need eijirou to fuck you in that way he likes, deep and hard until you can feel him in your throat and see stars behind your fluttering eyelids. “i can’t… i can’t cum without you. please, eiji.”

his poor little baby, all this begging. is he supposed to feel sorry for you? you’re the one who wanted this. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the thrill of using the pro hero how you wanted, riding him until his chest was heaving and flushed. you enjoy torturing yourself on eijirou’s cock just as much as he likes seeing you suffer above him — keeping you right on the edge while he lays almost useless beneath you.

when all he really has to do is move his hips.

and that’s why he loves it. the pathetic mess you’ve become. the pathetic way in which you’ve worked yourself up by having your way with him when really eijirou kirishima has been the one in control all along. he set you up to feel oh so powerful with the mountainous red riot tied to your bed. but what’s even worse is the fact that your body knows it can’t get off without him, without his large hands guiding your hips and whilst his own (much stronger ones) pound at your tight, sluice pussy.

“too bad,” the redhead tuts in amusement, settling back amongst the pillows — his strong wrists firmly planted against the bed posts, somehow looking dainty with the red ribbon that ‘keeps’ them there. “get back to work, sweetheart. come unwrap your present.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[sophrosynesworld]

The Night Shift (Pt. 4)

Part One:

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains content that may be distressing for some readers, including scenes involving hospitals, blood/gore, vomiting, major caffeine addiction issues and a severely injured child. Also, my only medical knowledge is from tv shows. So enjoy.

A soft, rhythmic knock echoes against the wall, pulling you from the edge of sleep. You squint into the harsh hallway lights, your makeshift nap spot feeling less isolated. "Is someone dying?" you mumble, your voice rasping with exhaustion. A few interns hurry past, giggling at the gurney you’ve claimed as your temporary bed.

"I’m afraid it might be you," Airi’s voice teases. Stepping toward you with her usual mix of concern and humor. She nudges your feet off the bed, and you groan, sitting up as she hands you a large cup. Airi sits next to you, resting her feet. A quick glance at your beverage makes your stomach churn—the murky color and chemical stench hit you before the liquid even does.

"How long?" you ask, hesitating as you lift the cup to your lips. You take a cautious sip and immediately gag, the bitterness clinging to your throat. "Oh, fucking hell. What’s in this?" you sputter, coughing violently as you slam a fist against your chest, glaring at her.

"A few spoonfuls of instant espresso, a can of extra-strength Riot Rush, a splash of cola we found in the breakroom, and I threw in some of my cold brew for good luck," Airi lists off, grinning at your suffering.

Before you can respond, the overhead system crackles, announcing an emergency code orange. Near-capacity. Perfect.

"How long?" you ask again, setting the cup down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Airi glances at her watch. "You had about 45 minutes. I’m sorry, you couldn't sleep longer. We have a unit five minutes out."

You nod, resigned. With a deep breath, you pick up the vile concoction and down it in one go. Airi cheers you on with exaggerated disgust as you finish, your face twisting in discomfort. You slam the cup down, raising your hands in mock victory before sliding off the gurney.

"Let’s go," you mutter, scanning your ID against the door. The lock clicks open, and with a sigh, you step into the chaos that waits beyond.

Airi keeps pace beside you as you enter the emergency room. The beds spill into the hallways, patients lying shoulder to shoulder, a grim sea of bandages, blood, and pain.

"How many?" you ask, though the answer is obvious.

"Too many."

You push through another set of doors, weaving past nurses and doctors scrambling to keep up. You sidestep a young man clutching his side, blood seeping through his fingers, and a mother trying to soothe her crying child despite her own wounds.

Airi notices a man sit up, erupting into a coughing fit. She grabs a blue vomit bag and hands it to him just in time for him to spew black chunks into it.

"Look who’s up from her cat nap," a sneering voice cuts in from behind you. You turn slowly, already dreading the encounter, locking eyes with Haruto. His icy blue gaze holds yours for a second before he dismisses a nurse with a huff and returns to his chart.

"Maybe when you heal as many patients as I do, with the success rate I have, you’ll get to take breaks too," you quip, flashing him a sweet smile. You know it’s salt on an open wound.

His lips twitch with irritation. "Success rate?" he scoffs, stepping closer, his laugh cold. "It’s easy to be perfect when you’re cheating with your little quirk."

"Right. Because your healing quirk is so much cooler than mine," you counter, not backing down. "I don’t have time for this. I’m needed in the pit."

His jaw clenches at your words. "One day, that quirk of yours is going to fail you. And when it does, everyone will see how useless you are as a real doctor."

You force a tight-lipped smile, your pulse quickening. "I’d be more concerned about keeping your patients alive, Haruto." Turning away, you dismiss him, heading back toward the patient area. You can feel his glare burning into your back, but you don’t care. You don't have time to compare dick sizes.

"Incoming!" someone shouts as you break into a sprint, throwing on a yellow PPE gown and gloves, running to the entrance.

Two paramedics rush in, rattling off stats. The boy on the stretcher is small and ghostly pale, a metal rod impaling his abdomen. His mother stumbles in beside them, nearly collapsing as she tries to keep up, tears streaming down her face.

"We’ve got a six-year-old male, impaled by a metal rod," one of the paramedics reports, breathless. "Severe blood loss, BP’s dropping fast, showing signs of hypovolemic shock. Where do you want us?"

"Bay 3," you bark, your voice cutting through the chaos. You help guide the gurney through the crowded hallway, pushing past panicked staff and injured patients.

In the trauma bay, blood soaks the sheets beneath the boy. His face is nearly as white as the metal protruding from his body.

"Stabilize the rod," you order, your voice sharp. "We can’t remove it until we control the bleeding."

A student nurse stands trembling, her needle shaking, eyes wide with fear. “The veins keep blowing,” she stammers. “They’re too small.”

“Think!” you snap, your voice sharp but focused. “You know what to do.”

She hesitates, then asks, “Can I go through the leg?”

“Intraosseous vascular access,” you correct her firmly. “And yes, that’s the right move. Have you ever done one before?”

Another nurse, Coda, steps forward. “I have,” he says without hesitation.

“Good,” you nod, offering a quick smile. “Kaede, watch him closely.”

You glance down at your patient—his pulse is weak, his breaths shallow. Time is running out. You begin to guide the ultrasound across his abdomen, but your quirk hums beneath your skin, begging to be used.

You hesitate for just a second before placing your hands on either side of the wound. Your quirk flares to life, raw energy crackling through your fingers. You’re exhausted, on the verge of collapse, but you don’t have a choice. Not now.

Sweat beads on your forehead as you pour your quirk into his torn muscles, shredded arteries, and ruptured organs, desperately trying to buy him enough time for surgery. His vitals flicker on the monitor, heartbeats struggling to hold steady.

"Come on, buddy," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. "Stay with me."

The damage is worse than you thought. Blood is pooling inside him, choking his lungs. Something you would have noticed with the ultrasound. Your quirk fights to keep pace, but you’re losing ground. Still, you push harder, ignoring the toll it takes on your body. You can’t stop. Not when he’s this close to slipping away.

A scream erupts from the doorway, shattering your concentration. You whip your head around just in time to see his mother living through the worst moments of her life, fighting desperately against the nurses trying to pull her from the room. Her cries are heart-wrenching, and for a brief second, your gaze locks with hers. Desperation floods her eyes, causing your chest to tighten.

The machines suddenly scream to life, alarms blaring as his stats drop. The room erupts into chaos. Nurses scramble, shouting vitals and instructions, but the noise fades to the background as panic creeps up your spine.

Focus.

You tear your eyes away from the mother and force yourself to confront the reality before you—you can feel his heart slowing beneath your hands, each faint thump weaker than the last. His tiny body is fragile, and you can sense the life slipping away from him, barely holding on.

You push harder, willing every last drop of your energy into stabilizing him. Your quirk surges painfully, overextending to the point of exhaustion. Every muscle in your body trembles, but you keep going, fighting against time itself.

With one final, desperate push, the chaotic beeping begins to slow, the erratic rhythm leveling out. You exhale shakily, relief washing over you as the boy’s vitals stabilize.

"Someone find me a surgeon!" you shout, your voice hoarse.

As the nurses prepare him for surgery, you stumble back, the adrenaline draining from your system. Your stomach twists, and before you know it, you’re vomiting near the doorway, gasping for breath.

Rina kneels beside you, her voice soft. "That bad, huh?" She hands you a blue puke bag with a grim smile. Loose red strands of hair escape from her ponytail.

"Worse," you admit, dry heaving.

Rina wraps an arm around you, helping you to your standup. "Come on. You need a break."

She guides you to the break room, where you collapse into a chair. She walks off telling you to give her a second. A few minutes later, she hands you some coffee and medicine.

"Take it easy, you can't be risky like that every time." she lightly scolds before returning to her patients.

As you sip the stale hospital coffee, the TV catches your eye. It’s a live news feed of a hero battle. The city skyline is unmistakable, but what makes your heart drop is the hero on screen—Dynamight.

He’s in the middle of the city, explosions erupting from his palms as he charges toward a massive, grotesque monster tearing through the city. Your heart pounds in your chest, your eyes glued to the screen as he dodges a swipe from the creature, countering with a devastating blast that leaves smoke and debris in its wake.

But something’s wrong.

The camera zooms in just as the monster's arm whips around, faster than Bakugo can react. It slams into him with a sickening force, sending him flying across the road and into a nearby building. Smoke fills the air around him, but nothing happens.

“Katsuki…” you whisper, gripping the arm of the chair. Another wave of nausea rolls though you as the reporter’s voice echoes in your ears.

“It looks like Dynamight has taken a pretty serious hit—he's not getting up. We… we will keep you updated on his condition as we get word."

Your stomach twists into knots, worse than before. You’re frozen, staring at the screen, begging him to move, to stand up, to prove he's alive. But the feed cuts to another shot, the fight continuing without him.

Just as you’re about to reach for your phone, an urgent voice breaks through your focus. “I have a 56-year-old female with 3rd degree burns, are you ready?”

Your head snaps up to see a nurse standing in the doorway, her face flushed. You're not. But there’s no time.

With a heavy heart, you force yourself to stand, grabbing your ID badge from the table. You cast one last glance at the TV, hoping for a miracle, but the screen has already shifted to another scene.

"Nurse, I need another Riot Rush."

Next Part:

Author's Note: I just want to thank you all for the nice comments on my last post. It really meant the world to me. I have so many ideas for the two of you, it's not even funny.

Tags @simplyraeblue @moonfloweronmars @kalulakunundrum @froggy-crystal @msjaeger

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Nine

Summary:

After getting some guidance from Shadowheart and Karlach, you and Astarion sit down for a much needed conversation.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.9k Tags/Warnings: none (for this chapter, see AO3 for a full list)

It's happened. I've left the realm of vampire smut and gone full-on vampire romance. Go check out Zaria for more amazing screenshots of the professor.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

There’s a knock on your office door as you’re packing up, getting ready to leave. Your heart skips a beat before you remember that he’s not usually one to knock. You look up and see Shadowheart in your doorway, long silver braid swinging down her back. You eye her suspiciously.

“It’s an awfully long walk from the Divinity School...” you say slowly, your tone playfully accusatory. She pretends to be affronted, holding her hand to her chest.

“How dare you, can I not drop by my best friend’s office at the end of the day?” she says with an artificial gasp. 

“And just maybe sneak a peek at the hot TD in the process?” you smirk at her and she flashes you a cheeky smile. 

“I mean if we happen to wander past the set... design.. workshop on the way to your car, I wouldn’t say no,” she says in a sing-songy voice, and you laugh at her attempt to correctly name the location where Karlach works.

“The scene shop is in the literal opposite direction, but we can pretend like it’s not,” you quip and gesture to the chair in front of your desk. “Sit, I’m just gonna be a minute longer.” She daintily perches on the arm of the chair while her eyes scan the various show posters on the wall.

“Ooh, Venus in Fur, what’s that one about?” she asks innocently and you scoff as you slip your laptop into your bag.

“Don’t be coy, Hallowleaf. I want details. What happened the other night with Karlach?”

She fiddles with the end of her braid and tries to hide her smile. “Nothing too exciting,” she sheepishly admits. You swing your bag over your shoulder and smugly narrow your eyes.

“Mmm-hmm. Well let’s go casually head over to the other side of the building, away from the parking lot.” You try to suppress your shit-eating grin as much as you can, but you still see the tips of Shadowheart’s ears tinge pink. 

The two of you walk across the lobby of the theater and into the backstage area towards the scene shop. You pass through the wide double doors and see Karlach sitting on a stool, elbow resting on her knee, while she talks to Fytz, the shop supervisor. When Karlach spots you, she puts her arm up and waves.

“Hiya, soldier! Nice of you to visit!” She clears her throat in an attempt to sound cool and disaffected as she adds, “Hey there, Shads. Good to see you again.” You hear a little giggle escape Shadowheart’s throat that you know she will absolutely deny if you bring it up later.

“Hey Karlach, Fytz. How is the build for the new play going? What’s the name of the playwright again?”

“Barcus Wroot. The set has been a nightmare to put together, we’ve never had to deal with so much welding,” Fytz says with a heavy sigh, jokingly wiping sweat from her brow.

“But man is that little freak a riot,” Karlach adds with a bellowing laugh. “He’s been great to work with, I’m glad we chose him for the new play slot.”

“I’m so excited to see it. Shade, you should come with us to opening night,” you say, turning to Shadowheart. “It’s an absurdist comedy called The Tinker, and it’s fucking hysterical.”

“Yeah, you should come with us!” Karlach squeals enthusiastically. 

“Sounds like a lovely time,” Shadowheart says coyly in an attempt to not give away her hand, but you’re fairly certain that her feelings for Karlach could be witnessed from outer space.

“Oh, and soldier, you never filled us in on what happened with Dammon! I saw you two leave together,” she adds suggestively, and the guilty pang returns. You mentally acknowledge it and return your focus to the conversation.

“It’s far less interesting than you think, but maybe this should be discussed over drinks instead,” you say with a smirk. “Fytz, would you like to join us?”

“Oh, thank you for the offer, but I shouldn’t. I’ve got the feller and a little one to get back to,” she replies genially. Shadowheart frowns and fiddles with her braid.

“I’d love to go, but my bank account would be none too pleased with another trip to the Elfsong,” she says, her voice brimming with regret. 

“Well I’ve got some brewskies at my place if you don’t mind sitting on the floor. I’m still waiting for my couch to be delivered,” Karlach adds brightly, and you feel Shadowheart’s energy change very quickly.

“That sounds fine!” she responds almost instantaneously, and you try not to giggle. She hates beer, and you can’t exactly picture her sitting on the floor.

“Great!” Karlach beams and hops off the stool, sending it scooting backwards with a metal screech. “I’ll text you the address,” she adds to you, then shoots a quick wink at Shadowheart, causing her to flush a deep pink. 

***

This is your first time at Karlach’s, and you’re surprised by how quaint her house is. She lives in a little cottage outside of the city with an overgrown garden out front. When you and Shadowheart approach the door, you hear a deep woof from inside even before you ring the bell.

“No, Clive, get back!” Karlach’s voice rises above the din of the dog’s barks. She opens the door a crack, clearly blocking the creature behind her. “I hope you’re okay with dogs,” she shouts. You can feel Shadowheart stiffen; she had a nasty run in with a wolf as a kid, and large dogs still make her nervous. You surreptitiously grab her hand and give it a quick squeeze.

The two of you slide through the narrow opening to keep Clive from running outside. His appearance surprises you; a dark brown chow chow, at first glance you almost think he’s a small bear. He’s jumping up on both of you excitedly and Shadowheart nervously takes a step back. Karlach notices her apprehension and sharply commands Clive to sit with a snap of her fingers.

“Oi! Clive!” she barks at him, and he immediately settles down and stares at you with black beady eyes, tongue lolling out of his mouth happily. “He’s very friendly, he just gets excited to meet new people,” she adds in apology.

“Gee, I wonder where he picked that up from?” you tease, and Karlach throws her head back with a laugh. 

“Go on into the living room, I’ll grab us some drinks. Shads, do you want me to lock him up?” She checks in with Shadowheart, her brow furrowing with concern. 

“No, no, don’t worry about me!” she squeaks out. Then, after taking a moment to compose herself, she continues, “I’ll be fine if he continues to sit nicely like that.”

“Y’hear that, Clive?” Karlach addresses the dog and he looks back at her blankly, not a single thought between his fuzzy ears. “Ya gotta sit nicely or else the pretty lady won’t come back. Oh and Shads, go ahead and grab a dining room chair if you don’t want to get dog hair all over that cute dress.” Karlach flashes a toothy grin and Shadowheart responds with a look that almost makes you feel like you’re intruding on a private moment. 

You awkwardly clear your throat and they both jump slightly, almost like they had forgotten about you entirely. You head into the living room, sitting on the round orange and yellow rug beneath the coffee table. Shadowheart follows and grabs one of the mismatched wooden chairs at the dining room table, bringing it over to where you’re sitting.

“Gods Shade, you must be down real bad, you don’t even like beer,” you whisper, keeping your voice low so Karlach won’t hear you in the kitchen a room over. She shushes you with her hand, nevertheless.

“I’m always willing to try new things,” she responds haughtily, but her wrinkled nose gives her away. 

“At least you can maintain your dignity and not sit on the floor,” you tease, shoving her knee. 

“Hey, I’m a big fan of sitting on the floor. Picnics? Wasting away the hours in a little garden? I’m just not now, because,” she hesitates, eyes darting to Clive, who is still sitting obediently by the door.

Karlach returns with three unlabeled bottles and places them down on the table. You and Shadowheart each take one, and she eyes the dark brown glass warily.

“My friend Aradin makes these in his basement. Well, ‘friend’ might be pushing it, he’s a bit of a twat. But I’ll be damned if he doesn’t make a good craft beer,” Karlach says with a laugh and holds out her bottle to toast. The three of you clink and you take a sip. It’s dark and sweet with a rich finish. Shadowheart takes the smallest of sips and tries to mask her disgust with a smile. Karlach either doesn’t notice, or pretends not to.

“So soldier, fill us in, what happened?” She curls one leg beneath her and rests her drink on her other knee, leaning forward excitedly. You shake your head, disappointed that you’re about to dash her dreams.

“I mean, literally nothing. We kissed, I freaked out, and he drove me home. I feel bad, too, he’s such a cutie and I feel like I led him on.” You frown, his words still echoing in your head. It’s not manipulative to not know what you want.

“Oh, he’s a big boy, he’ll get over it. He certainly doesn’t have a lack of suitors banging down his door,” Karlach says with a laugh. Shadowheart puts her beer on the table and crosses her legs, clasping her hands together around her knee.

“What freaked you out, was it Astarion?” she asks, her lips pursed. You take a big sip to avoid answering the question right away.

“Yeah. It still felt unresolved with him, and that wouldn’t have been fair to either of them. Any of us, to be honest.” You fidget with a loose thread in the spiral rug and you can still feel Shadowheart’s gaze boring into you.

“And now?” she asks pointedly, and you respond with a noncommittal shrug.

“We talked. He apologized. Now I just need to figure some things out,” you reply vaguely. Shadowheart lets out a cackle.

“He owes you so much more than just an apology after the shit that he’s pulled,” she sneers and Karlach snickers.

“A boatload of flowers, at least, and unlimited foot massages,” she says with a nod, taking a sip of her beer.

“I mean yes, he did more than just apologize,” you say, shaking your head. “We talked and realized we weren’t as much on the same page as we thought we were. He thought we were playing a game, we just didn’t actually talk about it beforehand.”

“Seems like a pretty fucking important step, if you ask me,” Shadowheart snarls, and Karlach’s eyes flit over to her, the corner of her lip tugging upwards.

“Is it a game you’d wanna play if you were in on it?” Karlach asks, tilting her head. You let out a heavy sigh.

“That’s the thing, yes,” you say despondently.

“Then why d’you sound so sad about it?” Karlach presses and you curl your knees into your chest.

At some point in the conversation, Clive pads over and sits between you and Shadowheart, the picture of perfect behavior. She doesn’t even register that he’s near her - she’s too focused on you.

“I guess,” you start, scraping your nail along some residual glue on the bottle from the previous label. “I’m working on accepting this new part of me. This thing about me that he discovered before I did.”

“What, that you like it a little rough?” Karlach asks with a salacious wink, and Shadowheart picks up her bottle again to hide her reddening face behind it. Clive shuffles over to her and rests his chin on her lap. She absentmindedly scratches behind his round, bear-like ear.

“I mean sure, if you want to be crass,” you mumble, still slightly embarrassed. 

“Wait, but hold on,” Shadowheart interjects, waving the hand holding the bottle. “What about the potion he slipped into your food?” Karlach’s jaw drops.

“Soldier, he spiked your food?” She sounds horrified, and you wonder why it didn’t upset you as much as it probably should have. 

“Listen, I know it sounds bad, but I don’t think it was that sinister. It was a charm person potion, which to my understanding isn’t super potent,” you say as an excuse, but the words ring hollow even to your own ears. You’re not sure you fully understand the effects yourself.

“And what does it do, exactly? I can never keep track of these new potions they keep coming out with,” Karlach asks, and you pull out your phone. You type ‘effects of charm person potion’ into Google and look at the results.

Rhetsim’s Charm Person Potion:  Instantly make yourself irresistible to anyone!  Subdue any who might hold hostility toward you and  make yourself just a dash more charming to them. Effects last for one hour. Potential side effects include dizziness, nausea, and the  drinker might know they’ve been charmed after the effects wear off.

You frown at your phone, possibly even more confused than ever. 

“It seems like the primary effect is to make the drinker... less hostile? I had never shown him any hostility - well, at least not after the first time we slept together.” You chew on your lip, and Shadowheart scoffs.

“Come off it, Tav, you’re constantly hostile towards him,” she cackles and you scowl.

“He still could’ve just talked to me first,” you grumble, unwilling to admit that she’s right. Karlach and Shadowheart speak over each other in enthusiastic agreement.

“Oh absolutely, 100%, he definitely should have.”

“Besides, what kind of damage could I possibly do? Look at me, I’m not very threatening.” You gesture at your 5’2” frame and Karlach laughs.

“Anyone could be threatening enough with a stake,” Shadowheart shrugs and takes a sip of the beer before remembering she doesn’t like it with a face.

“Sorry, what?” Karlach’s mouth is agape, and Shadowheart looks at you apologetically.

“Shit, sorry, do people not know?”

“I genuinely have no idea, I don’t know why it took me so long to get it. I feel like it’s pretty obvious the second you notice the signs,” you laugh. It’s not like he works very hard to hide the bite mark on his neck.

“So Cardigan’s a vampire... huh, I feel like that explains a lot,” Karlach says and you can see her mentally cataloging the same things you did when you first found out. “I guess I can’t blame him for being cautious. We can’t help who we are. Or what’s been done to us.” Karlach’s eyes grow glassy and suddenly she’s very far away. Clive leaves his post at Shadowheart’s side and immediately goes over to Karlach, licking her face. She comes back to reality and laughs into his fur, giving him chin skritches.

“So what’s next for you two?” Karlach asks, setting her beer on the table so she can pet Clive with both hands. “You both want to get freaky, but you just need to talk more?” Shadowheart makes a face of distaste.

“I mean what do you two actually know about each other? How many conversations have you had that weren’t just foreplay?” she asks, and you open your mouth to protest, but quickly close it again.

She’s right. You can’t think of a single conversation that you’ve had with him that wasn’t brimming with sexual tension. The closest you’ve gotten was when you taught his class, but even then you only kept it in check for the sake of the students.

“Quick, what’s the unsexiest date you can possibly think of?” you ask suddenly.

“The museum?” Karlach asks, and Shadowheart looks at her coquettishly.

“I don’t know, I think the museum is pretty romantic,” she says, her voice bordering on a purr. Karlach’s ears flush a violent purple and you clear your throat for the second time that night to remind them of your presence.

“Maybe bowling?” Shadowheart suggests, completely disaffected by the puddle she just reduced Karlach into.

“That’s not a bad idea,” you muse. “It would help if you two were there. Then you can also give me your more candid opinions,” you offer, and Karlach pulls herself together.

“Ooh, group date! I can invite Wyll!” she says excitedly.

“I don’t want him to feel like a fifth wheel,” you say, scrunching your nose as you think. “I suppose I could invite Gale, that wouldn’t be weird, right?”

“No way, the more the merrier!” Karlach lights up while Shadowheart gives you a tight-lipped look. She knows about the weirdness that Gale has caused in your relationship with Astarion, but she refrains from saying anything, at least for now.

“Gods, I haven’t been bowling in ages,” Karlach says, fully oblivious to the silent exchange between you and Shadowheart.

Your phone lights up with a text from Astarion. Your heart leaps into your throat - you don’t think he’s ever texted you before. Karlach and Shadowheart both crane their necks nosily.

You swipe open your phone to see a picture of His Majesty gnawing on the corner of a heavily scratched and chewed 48 Laws of Power.

-He agrees with you on the merits of this book.

You let out a sudden laugh that causes Clive to jump slightly. You turn your phone around to show them the picture.

“Oh my gods, is that his cat?” Karlach giggles, and Shadowheart rolls her eyes.

“Looks like a weird little rat,” she says, and you protectively take your phone back.

“Shut up, I think he’s cute,” you say defensively.

-Clearly he’s a man of good taste.

“Look at that smile,” Karlach hums, and Shadowheart smirks. You stick your tongue out at them and turn your attention back to your phone. You stare at the brief exchange for a moment, take a breath, then text him again.

-Do you mind if I swing by? I have thoughts too big for text messages.

-Most thoughts are. You’re most welcome to.

“I’m going to head out, I wanna go talk to him before it gets too late,” you tell them, hoisting yourself to stand.

“Aww, c’mon, we’re having a great time!” Karlach whines.

“Yeah, and I haven’t finished my beer,” Shadowheart adds, holding up the full bottle.

“Well, Shads, if you wanna stick around, I can always drive you home later,” Karlach says, her voice heavy with suggestion. 

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint,” you laugh, holding up your hands. They both make halfhearted protestations. “Stay safe, you two. Shade, text me when you get home. You know, whenever that might be,” you wink and head out the door. It’s barely closed behind you when you hear the telltale smacks of kissing.

***

You’re unsurprised when he opens the door before you get a chance to knock. Your heart is threatening to jump out of your chest and he’s expecting you. You feel something clench deep in your core when you see him. Hair slightly tousled from a long day, top few buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up just past the elbows. He looks like he could’ve just stepped off the cover of a GQ magazine.

“Come in,” he waves you inside, and you can see the eviscerated copy of the book still lying on the floor. His Majesty is curled up a few feet away, purring contentedly. You sit on the couch, resisting the urge to curl your knees up into your chest.

“Would you like me to sit beside you, or...?” he asks vaguely, and you gesture to the spot on the couch next to you.

“No, please, sit, it’s your home. You should at least be comfortable,” you laugh without much humor. He sits stiffly, almost like he’s afraid to spook you.

“So what are these ‘big thoughts’ you’re having?” he asks, and you force yourself to look at him, despite your discomfort.

“Being with you feels... different... than anyone else I’ve ever been with,” you begin slowly, and he watches you intently. “And I had a hard time dealing with that. And no matter how good you make me feel, it was outweighed by these feelings of disgust and loathing I had for myself. 

“The reason why I was so mad that night after the theatre, besides the fact that it was tailor-made to piss me off-” you throw him an accusatory glance and he shrinks from your gaze. You soften. “Sorry, I-”

“No, don’t apologize,” he says quickly. “Please, go on.” You take a deep breath and continue.

“Because even that was proof that you know me better than I know myself. I couldn’t let myself fully succumb because I was worried about what it would say about me, as a person.

“I’ve never been with someone who is so completely attuned to what my body wants that they know things before I do. And that’s cool! And, like, also terrifying? Almost like there was a conversation happening without me.” Astarion shifts uncomfortably. 

“So, anyway...” you finish lamely, not wanting to say anything else before you give him a chance to respond. His red eyes are round and watery, his brow canted upward into an expression of concern. After a moment, he speaks.

“You are the most expressive person I’ve ever met,” he starts quietly, and you almost need to lean forward in order to hear him better. “You wear your heart proudly on your sleeve, and that’s something I admire about you. I’ve never been very good at genuinely expressing emotions, even before...” he trails off, but the meaning is clear. Before he was turned.

“I’ve carefully constructed the persona that I show to the world. Centuries of crafting the person people see me to be so that I’m always in control. And you saw right through that. Immediately. And I believe you hated me because you could see how disingenuous I was at all times.”

“I didn’t hate-” you start to say and he looks at you over the top of his glasses pointedly. “Okay, well. I think that was as much about me as it was about you, if not more.”

“And because I’ve spent so many years desperately trying to control how people see me,” he continues in spite of your interruption, “I find it rather freeing when I have the privilege of controlling you. I’m able to stop worrying about myself for once, and just focus my energy on you.” 

His lip quivers and he takes a shaky breath. “That only works, I suppose, if you want me to take control. I thought you did. I’m so deeply sorry.” He looks away from you.

“But that’s the thing,” you place your hand on his chest to call his attention back to you. You feel a flutter of motion, his blood moving slowly through his unbeating heart. 

“That’s the thing,” you repeat yourself softly, your gaze fixed on the point of contact. “I did. I do. Want that.” Your eyes flit up to his face. “I’m just... coming to terms with it.”

The two of you sit together for a moment, your hand pressed to his chest, until his skin has absorbed its warmth and they’ve reached the same temperature.

“It’s just nice to not have to think for a bit,” you finally say, pulling your hand back into your lap and he lets out a small shudder at the loss of contact. “To let my brain go blank. To not have to make a decision. To just... be.” The words feel new even to your own ears. Without thinking, you kick off your shoes so you can bring your knees up into your chest. 

You look back up at him, your expression suddenly cold and serious.

“But I need to know I can trust you, Astarion.”

The two of you stare at one another for longer than you can count. He finally breaks your trance with a steady nod.

“I understand. And I’m willing to do what it takes to earn that trust.” He hesitates, then takes off his glasses to really look at you. “You... you’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

“I do too. More than anything,” you respond quickly, and you see the tension in his brow melt away.

“And maybe what ‘real’ looks like, at least for now,” he says, his voice much more steady, “is to be together without sleeping together, for as long as you need.” You sit back on your heels and chuckle.

“You know, that almost sounds like a challenge,” you say a little breathlessly. You want nothing more than to tear at his button down, for him to flip you on your back and to fuck you mercilessly. But he’s right. If this is going to be real, whatever that means, then you need to discover what the relationship is outside of sex. And more importantly, you need to figure out what exactly it is that you want, and how to communicate it.

“You don’t need to figure it out all on your own, you know,” he says, and you snap your attention back to him.

“You did it again. That thing where you’re basically reading my mind,” you pout slightly, but soften at his sheepish grin.

“I told you, you’re very expressive.”

The two of you sit in silence again, and you wiggle your toes absentmindedly against the goldenrod couch cushion.

“I probably shouldn’t ask if I can kiss you,” you murmur, paraphrasing his words from the other day.

“Whatever it is that you want, darling,” he says, and you look up at him mischievously. 

“Well you tell me, you’re the expert. What do I want?” you taunt, feeling emboldened by the conversation. He smiles dangerously. Suddenly his hand is twisted into your hair, holding you but not pulling, and his lips graze the sensitive skin below your ear.

“I can think of a few things, love,” he purrs, his nose tickling your earlobe and his fangs barely scraping your artery. Your breath hitches and you shiver audibly. You let your body arch into him, yearning for contact. He lets out a low chuckle. “But perhaps what you need is a different story.”

He holds your chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger and kisses you gently. Your hands move to cup his face, your left pinky lightly skating over his scar. He breaks the kiss but keeps your face close to his as you steady your breathing.

“I hate it when you’re right,” you rasp in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Something you’ll have to get used to, I’m afraid.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and lets you go. Your mind flits back to the conversation with Shadowheart and Karlach. You need to have an opportunity to get to know him in an environment where you won’t end up like this, barely able to keep your hands off one another.

“Do you want to go bowling?” you ask, and he blinks at the sudden shift in tone.

“What?”

“Bowling. With Shadowheart and Karlach, and some other friends. And me, of course,” you mumble the last part, almost embarrassed by the instinct to clarify.

“I- I suppose. I don’t know if I’ve ever been,” he says with a frown, and you suppress a laugh.

“You’ve never been bowling?” you ask incredulously. He glares at you.

“Can you possibly imagine me in a bowling alley?” he scoffs, and the laughter bubbles out of you. You break down into a fit of giggles at the mental image of someone as refined and sophisticated as Astarion in a dingy, sticky-floored bowling alley.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” he mutters and playfully pushes your face away. Your giggles eventually subside, and the two of you are back to sitting in slightly awkward silence.

“I should probably leave,” you finally say with a sigh, slipping on your shoes. He nods and stands up to walk you to the door. You linger for a moment longer in the threshold.

“Yes, darling?” he asks as though you have more to say. You do. So much more. But the words are swirling around your head in a jumbled mess, and you couldn’t make sense of them even if you wanted to.

“Nothing. I’m just... thinking.”

“I’ve noticed, you’ve been doing that a lot these days.”

You scrunch your face in annoyance and he smiles. He kisses your forehead again, and you lean into his touch. You look up at him and your breath catches in your throat, and before you can stop yourself you’ve flung your arms around his neck and started kissing him hard. He presses his hand into your lower back and you whimper into his lips. You finally wrench yourself away, panting, and you admire his puffy lips and dazed expression.

“Right. Bowling. I’ll text you,” you say breathlessly.

“Bowling. I... look forward to it.” The lie makes his voice sound stilted. You flash him one last smile and tear yourself away from his doorway before you do something you regret.k

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #30: More Uxorio

Prompt: two heads are better than one || Master Post || On AO3 (coming in October)

---

“Your wife is already a menace, absolutely nothing good can come from her collaborating with that woman,” Estinien growled into his coffee, even as he kept scratching behind Tyr’s ears.

“Synnove is not my wife,” Aymeric said automatically. He turned his attention away from his lady and Krile doing something with arcanima and pictomancy on the other side of the stone wall that delineated the yard of the Cedarwood house and its riot of a garden from the rest of the property, giving his battle brother his full attention.

Estinien lowered his cup, setting it on the table with a sharp clink, and stared at him. (He paused, too, in petting Tyr, and the topaz carbuncle looked up in irritation.) His brother always had a certain intensity about him, but now Aymeric keenly as if he was beneath the heavy regard of Vidofnir or Vedrfolnir, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

He could also quite clearly hear in his mind Estinien calling him an idiot.

“You have lived together with her, in both her house and your own, for five years now, almost six,” Estinien said, raising his hand with his index finger extended.

(Tyr sighed and rested his chin on Estinien’s knee. Want my scritches, he grumbled.)

“You have two children together, carbuncles though they be,” Estinien continued, raising a second finger. He also began scratching behind Tyr’s ears again, causing Tyr to purr loudly, the vibrations rattling the whole deck.

“I’m not sure that counts when the adoption seems to have been done the other way around,” Aymeric muttered.

Estinien ignored him and held up a third finger, saying, “You have proven yourself worthy in combat by fighting by her side.”

Aymeric blinked. That…was not something considered when establishing a common law marriage in Coerthas back when Ferndale still stood. It was not something considered now.

His brother glanced down at Tyr. “Close your ears.”

The carbuncle immediately loafed, ears pressed down against his head and front paws held securely over his ears, and began a loud hum. Nope nope nope I can’t hear anything nope nope nope…

“And have you not fucked her within an ilm of her life multiple times?” Estinien said.

Aymeric sputtered, nearly dropping his mug of tea, the sudden heat on his cheeks the tell-tale sign he had turned a brilliant crimson. “Is that really—”

“Yes,” Estinien said, dry and flat, though with a suspiciously smug twinkle in his eye. His brother did so enjoy getting one over on him.

“…Yes,” Aymeric admitted at last, clearing his throat and fighting down his blush with little success. Frequently. And with great mutual vigor. Just last night even, not that Aymeric would ever actually say that. (And never mind that Estinien’s oddly sensitive nose probably had picked that up as soon as he had sauntered into the kitchen.)

Estinien gently nudged Tyr with his foot, and the carbuncle popped back up, glaring at the former Azure Dragoon. You said gross things about my mama, didn’t you? Tyr said, ears still flat with his displeasure.

“Oh, don’t pull an Ivar on me, boyo,” Estinien said, then turned his attention back to Aymeric. He held up a fourth finger, then pointed directly at him. “Thus, married.”

“Not in the eyes of the Holy See or the Republic, though,” Aymeric grumbled. So many of his and Synnove’s issues with the nobles could be solved by the city-state acknowledging common law marriages as legitimate, but no, of course not. That would be simple. And the both of them metaphorically broke out in hives anytime anyone mentioned a ceremony.

“Fuck the lot of them,” his brother said, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. “They aren’t the ones that matter.”

“I should make you tell Synnove about the draconic requirements for marriage,” Aymeric said. Then, remembering an earlier part of Estinien’s comment, “And she is not a menace!”

Tyr’s head suddenly swiveled, looking out towards where Synnove and Krile were spell-testing, and promptly dove under the patio table. Unfortunately, neither Aymeric nor Estinien had time to react themselves, and a roar of aether echoed across the cliffs of the Cedarwood. Magicked paint slammed down onto the deck, splashing up along the sides of the house, onto the roof, and out across the yard and garden, leaving it all a rainbow mess. The chocobos warked loudly from their stable.

Aymeric sputtered for the second time that afternoon, and slowly raised his hand to swipe his paint-covered hair out of his eyes. Not that he had much luck—everything about him was covered in paint. As was the table. And Estinien.

His brother was a multicolored pillar of cold affront, glaring at him. He slid gaze to the side, and Aymeric followed.

Synnove and Krile were just on the other side of the stone wall, hands over their mouths and eyes huge. “Sorry,” Krile squeaked, dropping her hands so she could be more clearly heard. “We underestimated what Rainbow Drip could do when augmented with elements of the Necrotize array.”

“S’a fun looking boom, though,” Aymeric heard his lady mutter. Krile made a choking noise that sounded suspiciously like a bitten-back snort of laughter.

Aymeric slowly looked back to Estinien. His brother pointed at him again. “As I said,” he hissed, “menace.”

Aymeric’s shoulders began to shake and his laughter only increased at the outraged disgust he could see in Estinien eyes as he said, “As if I’d have her any other way!”

[extrashotodepresso]

Fake Dating Series:

KirishimaXFem!Reader

(ft. Ex Hawks)

Warnings: SMUT AHOY! (Actual smut- like DNI if under 18) , a bit of Yandere Hawks at the end (can’t help myself), angst, pure filth, cheesy, cheating mentioned

I had an idea a while back about a little fic series around the beautiful cliche trope of fake dating. Overdone you say? YUP! But it’s so tasty I can’t help it! Needless to say, all characters in my fics are 18+. In this one, MC and Kirishima are in their mid to late twenties.

So this is the first one!!! Feel free to reblog if you want, I literally write these for myself but if you like it lemme know if there’s anything else you wanna see!

Summary:

Hawks shows up at the agency and tries to get back together with you. You try to blow him off but he’s pushy. Getting irritated you say you’re dating someone. When he asks who, Kirishima walks over and you get an idea.

“Just go with it.”

“What?”

You pull Kirishima by the harness on his chest and bring him in for a short kiss; what you weren’t expecting was for him to kiss you back.

“Um… still here, (Y/N).” Hawks clears his throat uncomfortably, while you are stuck staring up at Kirishima’s face.

“Wanna get out of here, pebble?” He asks with a sly grin.

“You have no idea.”

You had felt your phone incessantly buzzing in your back pocket all day. You prayed silently that this meeting would end soon; you could hardly pay attention to it anyway.

“Everything okay, Jumper?” You heard someone call out to you. When you looked up it was none other than Red Riot, your coworker and acquaintance. You rubbed your neck nervously.

“Yeah- just have a lot on my mind I guess.” You looked up at him with a soft smile before standing- even if you were tall for the average woman, he stood easily a foot and a half above you, though he was less intimidating than his appearance would suggest.

“Well if you need anything, let me know.” He smiled again kindly, then offered you a small stack of papers. “Notes. From the meeting.” You took them gingerly, looking up at him with a raised brow. “Seemed like you missed some of the info today, wouldn’t want you falling behind.” His face was almost bashful as he said this, his mouth opening slightly like he was preparing to speak again.

“Riot!” Dynamight called out for his friend suddenly and Red Riot gave you a small wave before walking away, leaving you a little dumbstruck. Sure, Red Riot was nice- he had even been dubbed the new gentlemanly hero- but something about the gesture gnawed at you. Unfortunately you didn’t have much time to stare after him in bewilderment as your phone began ringing. Again.

You whipped your phone out of your pocket, turning towards the elevator and making sure you were alone before you hit ‘answer’.

“What do you want?” You spat out, hand smashing the down button as you looked behind you in a paranoid fashion. You prayed as you waited for the doors to open that no one would follow you.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that little bird.” The voice that came over was saccharine and sweet, the syrupy tone making your stomach turn. You waited until you were inside the elevator with the door closed to respond.

“Don’t call me that, Hawks.” Your teeth were grinding.

“I’m downstairs.”

“What? Downstairs where?”

“At your agency. Let’s go for dinner or some coffee- you know you can’t-“

“I’m not going anywhere with you. Fuck off and go away.” You hung up the phone, practically slamming it in your frustration.

Two years. Two years of your life you had dedicated to that insufferable, egotistical, bird brained— ugh! And three months ago, you found out he had been cheating on you with some young up and coming sidekick. You closed your eyes, exhaling deeply before collapsing on the cool elevator wall. When the doors opened, you were in the hallway to the lockers.

You had been throwing yourself into your work since you had broken up with Hawks. You had spent the past few months pulling shift after shift- and now you were being forced to take the weekend off. This was especially frustrating to you at the moment; if Hawks didn’t leave like you asked, you wouldn’t have a good excuse to lose him, and the man had a way of getting what he wanted. You made it to the showers, cleaned yourself then changed into civilian clothing, praying that he had the decency to finally listen to you on your elevator ride back to the lobby. Though, if his incessant harassment the past three months had anything to say about the likelihood of that happening… the doors opened and you steeled yourself, trying to visualize an undisturbed path to the exit.

As you approached the front desk at the lobby, your heart sank. He was still there, casually leaning on the marble counter, blatantly flirting with the receptionist.

“Well I would be crazy not to want that back.” You muttered, rolling your eyes before trying to walk as quietly as possible past him.

“Baby bird!” He called out to you and you stopped, feeling your shoulders hunch over.

“I told you to fuck off.” You spoke through your teeth. He walked over to you, opening his arms as if wanting a hug, then after seeing your expression lowered them slowly.

“Look- I know that-“ he actually looked remorseful as he paused, “I messed up.”

“You messed up?” You barked out a laugh. “Did you mess up the first time when you fucked her in your office? Or the tenth time when you fucked her in our bed?” Your glare was seething now, and his face was heartbroken. As much as the part of you that had loved him wanted to reach out and make him feel better, the part of you that he broke rejoiced seeing him in pain.

“Yes, (Y/N). I fucked up. And I’ve regretted it every single day. I miss you, can’t we just talk about this?”

“No, we can’t.”

“Why not?” Just then, the pinging sound of the elevator caught your attention and you looked over your shoulder to see— the perfect distraction.

“I don’t think my new boyfriend would like it.” You lifted your chin haughtily before you heard the heavy footsteps approaching.

“Boyfriend?”

“Hey! Jumper, Hawks, how’s it goin?” Just as you expected, Red Riot approached the two of you at the desk, smiling brightly, completely unaware he was about to be the perfect decoy.

“Hey babe!” You called out enthusiastically before trotting over to him. He was still in his hero gear, no doubt going for a last patrol on his way home. He looked down at you with a slightly quizzical expression before you whispered so only he could hear, “Just go with it.”

You grabbed his shoulder harness, pulling him down to you and before he could react or protest, kissed him. It was meant to be a quick peck on the lips, nothing too showy but the second after you pulled away, you felt his hand reach behind your head, fingers threading in your hair as he brought you back for more.

His lips were softer than you expected from the hardened hero, more experienced too. His lips moved along yours with a delicate fervor, quickly you lost yourself in him. Your hand that had been wrapped around his harness tightened and you pulled him ever closer, practically whimpering into his open mouth as the kiss heated. His tongue probed your bottom lip, requesting entrance and without a second thought you allowed it.

“Um… (y/n)? I'm still right here.” You heard Hawks behind you and it brought you back to the present. Pulling away, you attempted to gather your breath as you looked up at Red Riot.

He was looking at you with a hunger that made your thighs clench together. You didn’t know what you had expected when you kissed him, probably just an awkward joke and maybe an offer to walk you home, but this was… carnal. He was smirking down at you, sharpened teeth glinting in the fluorescent light.

“Wanna get out of here, pebble?” His voice was gravelly, thunderous and you bit your lip as you nodded.

“You have no idea.” You managed to whisper as he wrapped his arm around your waist.

“Sorry we couldn’t catch up, Hawks.” He spoke, still looking into your eyes as he did. “Looks like my little pebble needs to get home. I’m sure you understand.”

With that, the two of you left, leaving Hawks standing dumbfounded behind you.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” Riot finally spoke again as the two of you entered the parking garage.

“Not really.” Your mind was still spinning, “Thanks for the help, Riot.”

“It’s Kirishima.” He said, softly as you approached your car.

“Kirishima.” You tested it out. It was foreign on your tongue, but not unwelcome.

“You want me to go home with you?” He asked and you felt a blush bloom across your face before you looked at him dumbly.

“Huh?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a blush creeping up on his cheeks as well.

“I mean- to make sure you get there safely and everything.” He cleared his throat, suddenly breaking your gaze. You smiled, your stomach feeling flutterings you hadn’t experienced for almost two years.

“I’m a hero too, you know.” You said, teasingly.

“O-of course, I just thought-“ you giggled, he was too easy to tease.

“I’m happy to bring you back to your place- it looks like you were planning on one last patrol though.” He finally looked back at you, his eyes trying to read your expression. It was stifling, that look and you cleared your throat before rambling on, “I suppose I do owe you a bit of an explanation. It’s the least I could do to give you a ride as thanks.”

“I was planning on another round but it’s late… so if you’re willing to drive me… what I’m saying is…” he stopped himself, “I’d like that.” He muttered.

You nodded, then walked to your driver's side, sitting down and trying to not scream internally as he sat next to you. Your car adjusted with his weight and you felt suddenly self conscious about the state of your car- would he judge you for the smell of stale coffee or the miscellaneous straw wrappings on your passenger side floor? If he did, he didn’t say anything, he just casually provided you his address for the GPS. For the next few minutes, the only sound that could be heard were the incessant directions of your car, taking you on what felt like the longest drive of your life.

“He’s my ex.” You said, suddenly, to break the silence the two of you had lapsed into.

“Who?” He looked over at you, and though you trained your eyes on the road, you could detect surprise in his tone.

“Hawks.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” You said almost curtly. “Broke up a few months ago.” You readjusted, feeling his gaze on you was a little uncomfortable.

“Why did you—“ he let himself trail off, then caught himself. “Actually, I don’t need to know, I’m sorry that was-“

“We have different definitions of fidelity.” You interrupted him. “I think it means you stay loyal to one person, he thinks if someone else wants you and they’re super hot, sleeping with them should be acceptable.” You smirked as you shrugged, though saying it out loud hurt you more than you would like to admit.

You hadn’t talked about the break up with anyone. Not even your best friend. All she knew was you were done, and you didn’t want to go back. Kirishima was now the only one who knew the truth.

“That’s so unmanly.” He said, as solemnly as possible and you barked out a laugh. “What? What did I say?”

“Nothing-“ you said through giggles as you pulled up to his apartment. “It’s just-“ more giggles “unmanly?” You bit your lip, finally turning to him as you parked.

“So… he’s the one that was calling you all day?” Kirishima changed the subject. You sighed, resting your head on the seat as you turned toward him.

“Yeah. He wants to get back together. Doesn’t seem to understand the phrase ‘fuck off’.” You smiled, though it didn’t quite meet your eyes.

“And you think that kiss will be enough to keep him away?” He asked, almost incredulously.

“I would think so-“ you looked at him through your lashes. “It was a pretty great kiss.” You chewed at your bottom lip subconsciously and you watched as his eyes followed the movement.

“I don’t think he’s gonna stop until he really gets the message.” His voice had changed again, all low and sexy and you felt those butterflies again.

“So what do you suggest?” You swallowed, your mouth was suddenly completely dry. He leaned over to you, his massive hand caressing your face and covering half of it.

“Make the message so loud, he can’t ignore it.” He brought his face to yours, eyes looking in yours then to your lips to give you plenty of time to change your mind. In response, you leaned in to close the gap, brushing your lips against his just barely.

He increased the pressure, exhaling in relief as you permitted him to continue kissing you. The two of you quickly became a mess of tongues and teeth- though as things became more heated, the tiny space of your car was hardly accommodating.

“Would you like to-“ he broke the kiss to ask you a question, though you didn’t let him finish.

“Fuck yes, let’s go.” He smiled at this, chuckling as his thumb caressed your cheek.

“I was going to say come up for a drink, but I have a feeling you have a little more on your mind.” Your face reddened in embarrassment.

“A d-drink would be nice.” You swallowed. “I’m a little thirsty.”

“That’s one way to put it .” He said with another smirk and you pushed his chest, smoothing your hair and trying to catch your breath when you heard his rumbling laugher as he exited the car. The sound of it was enchanting. He walked around and opened your door, ever the gentleman, and you unfastened your seatbelt before grabbing his hand and following him inside.

Kirishima had a massive penthouse apartment, with all new everything and expensive furnishings.

“So this is a top hero’s apartment, huh?” You asked as you looked around wide-eyed. “You probably spend in a month what I do in a year.” You mused out loud as he walked over to his massive kitchen, grabbing a couple bottles of water from the fridge.

“I’m comfortable.” He said with a slight chuckle. “But it helps that I split the rent.” He walked towards you, offering you a water before gesturing to a large U shaped leather couch by a fireplace.

“You have a roommate?” You watched him nod, then sat on the edge of the couch, watching him walk away before your eyes continued to drag themselves around the room “Who? Wait, you’re not-“ he shook his head.

“I’m single, don’t worry.” You let out an exhale you didn’t know you were holding. “Bakugo and I have been roommates since college.” Your brows raised at this.

“Dynamight?” You asked incredulously. “Lord-Explosion-Murder—screams-at-children-number-two-hero—Dynamight is your roommate?”

“Yep. Hey, do you want anything harder than water?” You heard him call out to you, apparently in your awe he had returned to the kitchen.

“You bet your ass I do-“ you muttered, then louder; “whiskey, if you have it?” You looked back at him and watched him nod, his back to you as he rifled through the kitchen, moving surprisingly swiftly to grab a glass and some expensive looking amber fluid in a crystal container.

You had been staring into the fireplace, still oscillating between several levels of shook before you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. You looked up, and Kirishima was smiling at you, handing you a glass of whiskey.

“Do you mind if I go clean up?” He asked with almost an apologetic expression. “I haven’t had a chance yet to change and-“ you nodded

“That’s fine, I’ll just be out here…” you gestured to the couch. “Waiting.” You offered what you hoped was a sexy smile, not missing the way he swallowed before he straightened up.

“Five minutes. Promise.” He was almost childlike as he scampered off, leaving you to collapse into the couch in wonder at the situation you now found yourself in.

What a bizarre series of events. Not even an hour ago, Red Riot was a coworker you barely knew. Just someone who you would idly chat with in the mornings, occasionally fight beside on patrol- now you were in his apartment, drinking whiskey, watching a fire and waiting for him to— you took a drink, hoping the alcohol would calm your nerves.

Kirishima was an incredibly attractive man. Maybe not by super traditional standards; with his spiky teeth and even spikier hair, but there was always a kindness to him you found intriguing. Not to mention, he was absolutely ripped. Nearly seven feet of carved muscle and rugged angles, a sharp contrast to his normally shy and kind personality. Your nails tapped on the glass in your hand as you stared into the flames.

What if this was a mistake? You didn’t know exactly what was happening tonight, though you knew what you had hoped for. He was really too nice of a guy to be a rebound…

As you lost yourself in your thoughts, feeling the pleasant warmth of the fire and the hum of the whiskey making its way through your bones, you were snapped out of your reverie by the sound of a door closing.

“Hope you didn’t wait too long.” His voice echoed out and you looked up, letting out what could definitely be interpreted as a moan.

Freshly showered Kirishima was a god. His hair which was usually styled sharply fell into his face softly, just passing his shoulders and you could see a hint of his black roots at the top. It was weirdly sexy to watch as he pulled his hair behind his face and tied it in a low ponytail, his bangs falling into his face gently. He was wearing a black sweater that did absolutely nothing to hide his hulking muscle and a casual pair of jeans that seemed to strain against the sheer bulk of his thighs. As he sat down, the smell of his shampoo or body wash enveloped you; sandalwood and something earthy- like the smell of rain. You wondered now what you had been so concerned with before, the idea that you had an important thought being the only thing you managed to grasp.

“You alright?” His voice was soft, sweet, as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. You blindly set your glass on the table beside you before leaning in to kiss him again.

It felt so right to kiss him. Losing yourself in his taste was so easy, so comfortable, so— as he pulled you onto his lap, gripping your thighs with his massive hands you moaned into him. His contagious smile could be felt on your lips as the sound escaped you and it almost bothered you how calm he was. You wanted him to feel the same as you, feel this untethered. You brought yourself down to sit fully on his lap, grinding the apex of your thighs against him.

When you found the hardened flesh there eagerly waiting and heard his breathy little groan you finally smiled back before pulling away from the kiss.

“I’m fantastic.” You managed to croak out in response to his question, looking at him to see a darkened expression over his features.

“(Y/N)-“ your name came so easily from his lips, you hadn’t realized he had actually known it until now.

“Yes, Kiri?” You kissed along his jaw, tilting his head to find his exposed neck, kissing him gently before biting the flesh at the junction of his throat and collarbone. His grip on your thighs tightened in the most delicious way when you did, and you licked at the flesh before returning to his lips. But he pulled away.

“What do you want?” He suddenly asked. You paused, over him.

“What do you mean? I want you.” You sat back, studying his expression. He groaned, bringing a hand up to his face.

“I mean- what do you want from this? I’m all for us hooking up to make Hawks jealous and everything-“

“Who?” Your genuine surprise seemed to astonish him. For a moment, you had forgotten what had brought you here, to this man’s couch, practically begging for him to take you.

“Seriously.” He sighed. “I think we should probably talk about what you actually want from this before we-“ you brought your hand to his lips, silencing him.

“I kissed you back at the agency for a distraction. Sure. But-“ you looked around the vast apartment. “I don’t see him here now, do you?” You smiled down at him. “If this was just to piss him off, I would call him while you were breaking me in half so he could hear what a real man can do.” Kirishima blushed at your words. “And while that might be fun to do some other time…” You leaned back, pulling off your shirt to reveal your chest covered by a padded sports bra you had put on that morning when you had no idea you would be straddling one of Japan’s top ten heroes. Kirishima didn’t seem to mind as he swallowed at the sudden exposure of your flesh, “Right now, I’m only thinking about you. And I would have thought,” you gave another experimental grind of your hips, delighting in the almost tortured sound he made, “that what I wanted was obvious.”

Kirishima studied you for a few moments, searching in your expression for the truth in your words. He must have found what he was looking for as he kissed you, immediately opening his mouth to tangle his tongue with yours.

It was sloppy, steamy and downright indecent, but gods if it didn’t spark your need for him. He brought his hands back to your thighs, caressing them before grabbing handfuls of your ass, landing a harsh slap that caused you to shriek into his mouth.

“You’re a naughty little thing, pebble.” He purred. “I didn’t expect you to be this-“ you brought your own hands to the hem of his shirt, dragging them up along his toned abdomen to rest on his pectorals, clawing at them before gesturing you wanted the shirt off.

“Forward?” You finished for him. He pulled his shirt off, then returned to your lips, hardening his grip before standing up, carrying you around like you were made of air.

“Bedroom?” He panted into your mouth. You nodded and kissed him back.

The way to his room was a bit of a blur. He stopped a few times along the way, pressing you up against the walls, letting his hands explore every dip and curve on your body. You thought, distantly, that you might have heard things crash to the ground at some point, but had a sinkhole opened in the middle of Mustafu, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. There was nothing but him. His touch, his lips, his sounds, it was all that mattered right now.

When your back met the plush of his bed and he crawled over you, you felt another moment of awareness at the sheer size of him. He seemed to even block out the light in his room, his face was nothing but shadow. He pulled back again, finally allowing you to see his tortured expression, his hand brushing your cheek as his eyes seared into you.

“Are you sure you want to keep going?” He asked, his voice strained like the idea of you saying no was physically painful. You leaned up to kiss him, your hands trailing down the expanse of his chest to stop at the button on his jeans. You let them sit there for a moment, playing at the hem, enjoying the feel of where the elastic on his briefs beneath his pants met his skin.

“Are you sure you want to keep going?” You mirrored him. “I’m not the one who keeps stopping.” You were smirking, but your heart was racing. He set every nerve you had on fire, you couldn’t remember ever feeling like this.

“Are you kidding?” A lopsided smile graced his face. “You’re all I think about, (Y/N). I’m still not convinced this is real.” Your eyes widened. Did he really feel that way? A blush spread across his face. “Sorry.” You didn’t know how to respond to his sudden confession so you kissed him again, finally allowing yourself to unbutton his jeans and try to wriggle them off his hips.

He seemed to understand your hint and helped you out, standing awkwardly and shuffling his pants down his legs. He stood then, almost bashfully when your gaze was immediately sent to the large tent in his boxer-briefs. Chewing at your lip again, you swallowed. Everything on this man was giant. You slid your leggings off your legs, throwing them unceremoniously to the floor before motioning for him to return to you. He moved quickly, his lips finding your neck and every sensitive point on it as his hands wrapped their way around your torso, arching your back and bringing you as close as possible to him.

“May I?” His fingers were playing at the back of your bra and you nodded, turning your face to him again, finding his lips once more. He unclasped your bra, having to lean up from you to pull it off, one arm resting beside your head. He pulled back a little more, looking over your body with a sort of reverence. A small whimper left you at the seriousness of his expression, which he seemed to take as you missing his lips on you (not that he was entirely wrong).

“You’re so damn beautiful.” He whispered into your neck, kissing down your collarbone and sternum before dragging his tongue over your breast. He found your nipple with the wet appendage, circling around it before bringing it into his mouth with an sultry suck. You gasped, hands tangling into his hair. He continued to lavish you with his lips and tongue, and when you pulled out his hair tie so you could run your fingers through his hair, he bit down on the top of your breast, causing you to shriek at the suddenness of it. He pulled back.

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean to-“ you threaded your fingers to the base of his scalp, tugging harshly.

“Stop apologizing Kiri.” Your voice was stern. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like something. But I’m not going to break.” He still looked unsure, so you tugged again, eliciting a small moan from him. (Hair pulling kink unlocked) “I mean it.” You swallowed, “Do whatever you want.” A choked sort of sound left him, and he kissed your lips again.

“You…” whatever he was going to say, he didn’t. He bit your bottom lip, the sharpness of his teeth caused a slight sting but it felt so good. Kirishima moved down your body again, littering bites and kisses wherever he went.

He crawled down the bed, stopping between your thighs. He sat up then, spreading you before him, staring at the apex of your thighs with a hungry expression.

“Anything I want?” A devious smile formed on his face. You nodded, for the first time a bit unsure. “You might regret sayin’ that, pebble.” He lifted a hand, using his quirk to harden his arm. Your heart was racing as he dragged a sharpened finger down your torso, not hard enough to draw blood, but strong enough to feel dangerous. He hooked his finger into your panties, quickly moving his hand to shred them off of you and expose you fully to the room. He deactivated his quirk, then removing the offending scraps off your body, lowered his head.

He bit your hip harshly, and you twitched at the feeling, legs immediately trying to close but he held you open with just one arm. He kissed the spot he bit, running his tongue over it to soothe the ache before moving to your thighs. He kissed and sucked the inner flesh there too, and you felt yourself clenching on nothing, the part of you he had exposed was yet to be touched and it was driving you insane.

“Kirishima please-“ you whined. He looked up at you, like you were disturbing him from enjoying himself. A switch had definitely been flipped at some point; where he had been eager to please, now you were his plaything.

“It’s Eijiro.” He said with another well timed bite.

“Eijiro! Please!” You begged again. He didn’t make you wait this time, bringing his face to where you wanted him most, he licked a long stripe up your folds.

“Delicious.” He muttered to himself before he began devouring you with a fervor. His tongue dove into your weeping heat, fucking you open with the thick appendage and you moaned, gripping his hair again like your life depended on it. This egged him on, as he brought a finger to your folds and pushed one inhumanly large digit inside you.

You were already so close, it was embarrassing. His tongue moved to your clit, circling around, writing out incantations that had you ready to cream any second. You managed, just barely, to look down at him. His cheeks were flushed, hair mangled by your hands and his eyes were burning into you with a sincerity you’d never seen before. He pushed another finger inside of you, scissoring and curling them to stretch you out, hitting your spot absolutely perfectly- and that was it. With a loud shriek you came, and he eagerly lapped up every bit of you, letting out a satisfied hum that vibrated your core. His fingers slowed their pace to work you through your orgasm, his tongue gently caressing you.

Out of breath, you tapped on his shoulders, trying to communicate to him that you wanted him to return to you. He understood and almost hesitantly, crawled back up your body, kissing you without a word, feeding your taste to you with his tongue.

“Eiji-“ you moaned into him “I need-“ again, he seemed to understand what you meant without words as he slithered out of his boxers, the weight of his manhood slapping against your thigh when he was freed. Your hands glided from his shoulders down the broad expanse of his back, raking your nails down his chest before you wrapped a hand around him.

He was thick. The thought of it had you drooling a little into his kiss. A small, inhuman sound left your lips when you dragged your hand up his length and felt the beads of pre already weeping from him. He broke the kiss with a moan, looking down to see your hand struggling to wrap fully around him while you angled yourself uncomfortably to try to pump him. He thrust into your hand, eyes practically rolling back before he stopped himself entirely.

“Hold on-“ he let out with a hiss before stopping your hand, grabbing it with his and pinning your arm next to your head, threading his fingers into yours. With his other hand he lined himself up with your entrance and slid up and down your slit, lubing himself with your slick.

It felt heavenly. The head of his cock kept barely catching on your entrance, then would move up and kiss your clit. You ground into him, trying and failing to just line him up with your core; though the feeling of him fucking your folds was pleasant, you wanted more.

“Slow down, pebble.” He moaned out into your neck, his voice like liquid velvet against your skin. “We’re gonna have to take it slow.” You wanted to protest, but even just the action of him rubbing against you was sending you toward another release. “Holy shit, are you gonna cum again for me, pretty girl?” Your eyes rolled into your head as your hips increased their pace, you thought you nodded but you couldn’t be too sure. There was something so primal about this experience. The need you felt for him was entirely animal. He chuckled darkly into you, then finally, agonizingly slowly, he began to push inside you.

The second his head made it past the first ring of muscle, you nearly blacked out. It was a stretch far beyond the familiar.

“F-fuck-“ he groaned, trying to keep going slowly but his hips were sputtering like he was trying to hold back.

“I told you-“ you angled your hips up to take another inch in- the stretch was incredible, “I’m not gonna break.”

You would one day wish that you could find the words to describe his expression, or the sound he made at your revelation, but you registered nothing as he lost complete control inside you. With one sharp thrust, he buried himself in at the hilt. There was no pain, just the immediate burst of pleasure you felt as he finally filled you. Your back arched off the bed, toes curling in his sheets while your knees squeezed his sides closer- like he could get any deeper.

“Y-y-you’re-“ he was stuttering, his every movement completely halted at the feeling of you pulsing around him. “Fuck it’s like you’re sucking me in-“ he pulled out agonizingly slowly before returning to you, thrusting tentatively at first before gaining confidence and speed.

His lips returned to yours, kissing you and refusing to separate any inch of himself from you. You were completely enveloped in his body, distantly experiencing the feeling of your damp skin clutching onto his. You couldn’t decide where to put your hands- they traveled from his hair to his shoulders to the sheets back up to his hair and you were sure that you could die in this moment and be completely fine. You were building up to something again, another gloriously dangerous crescendo that threatened to tear the fabric of your being apart.

“(Y/N)-“ he moaned into you, “I’m gonna- I can’t-“ his words were just as wrecked as you felt, and you nodded against his lips.

“It’s okay, Eiji. Let go.” You whispered the last part and he growled, pistoning his hips into you before there was a hitch in his movements, a moment where with a grunt, you felt a warmth spread through you. The feeling of being so intensely full, of being whole and still getting more finally sent you to your final release. Your head fell back, trying to bury itself in the sheets beneath you and as his movements sputtered and slowed he kissed your neck. He was grunting like the sound was being forced out of him, like he did whenever you were in a really tough battle and the thought sent heat over your body.

It was all too much.

Finally, the room seemed to still, the two of you were a collection of broken gasps and whimpers. He continued kissing your neck and face until you felt him soften and slip out of you. With a groan, he rolled himself away, leaving you stunned and a little cold.

You simply stared at the ceiling. The gentlemanly hero, Red Riot had just fucked you to the point that you saw stars at the edge of your vision. The thought made you smile. For a moment, you almost felt insecure that he left right afterwards until you heard a faucet in the distance.

Still catching your breath, you tried to drag your head to look at him when you heard his steps approach.

“How you feelin’, sweetheart?” He asked gently as he sat next to you, his massive form dipping the bed as you felt something warm and wet between your thighs. He was cleaning you up. Gentleman indeed.

He kissed you, rubbing the thumb of his unoccupied hand across the plane of your cheek. You smiled at him, kissing him again.

“Ethereal. You?” He chuckled into you, tossing the washcloth in the general direction of his hamper.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He laid himself down on his bed, opening his arms in an offer to cuddle and you obliged, not minding the fact that the two of you were still a little sticky with sweat. His arm pulled you into his side, draping your leg over him and holding you there while his other arm rested behind his head. For a few moments all you could hear was the heartbeat in his chest; strong, calm, dependable.

“Did you mean it?” You asked him. His thumb, which had been idly petting your thigh suddenly stopped and he looked down at you.

“Mean what, pebble?”

“When you said I’m all you think about.” It was embarrassing to even ask, it was probably just something said in the heat of the moment. Hawks was like that, he would say all sorts of things when you were in the bedroom and when you were done…

“Of course I did.” He responded without any hesitance. He was blushing when you looked up, which was insanely cute.

“For how long?” You bit your lip. It felt like you were digging your grave here, but you couldn’t help it.

“Dunno. Just sorta noticed one day that you’re all I notice.” He said this so casually, like it was just an irreprochable fact. “I uh… I was actually about to ask you out. You know, before we uh…” he trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.

“I’m so glad it was you that got off that elevator.” You said, seriously. He let out a laugh before kissing you.

“Me too, pebble. Me too.” The kiss that followed started soft, but was starting to heat up as he rolled back over you, his hand cradling your face like you were precious. As your need started to reignite for him, you heard a loud slam.

“Oi, shitty hair! I brought dinner for your dumb ass.” The familiarly violent voice of Bakugo rang out through the apartment. Kirishima groaned into your neck, and you chuckled. “Why are all the pictures knocked down? What the fuck?” As the ferocious blonde started stomping towards his room, Kirishima reached for the covers on the bed, pulling them over you.

“I’m really sorry for what’s about to happen.” He said to you apologetically before rolling out of the bed with a groan. He pulled on his jeans with haste, still jumping trying to wrangle them on while he made his way out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him gently. “I have company, bro! Chill out, you're gonna scare her.” Though he tried to whisper, the urgency in his tone caused his words to carry through the door.

“What the fuck kind of-“ Bakugo’s footsteps stopped. You continued to giggle. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Muttered conversation that was unclear reverberated through the space.

“I didn’t get enough food for a third.” You heard Bakugo yell towards the room, “So if you want to eat you’ll have to feed yourself.”

***

Across the street, on a rooftop that was positioned perfectly to look into a certain Pro-Hero’s bedroom sat a blonde hero with wings crimson as blood and a heart shattered beyond repair. A feather gently floated toward him and he grabbed it, clenching it with all the rage he felt.

He had seen everything. Heard every word, every demented moan. She had never been like that with him.

Though Hawks knew the reason he lost her was his fault, he still felt she belonged to him. His eyes narrowed as he set off, flying high above the city, eyes burning. He wouldn’t lose. Not to him.

His resolve, crumbling as it was, still spilled fire through his veins. He would find a way to get her back, even if it meant hurting her again.

[strawwritesfic]

Joel x Female!Amputee!Reader: (Don't) Hold Your Breath [Ch. 5]

Summary: You’ve made a lot of monumental mistakes in your life. Cutting your arm off isn’t even at the top of the list. Now you’re about to learn a lot of life lessons at the hands of your savior and her brute of a guardian–and they’re not about to let you learn them the easy way either.

Challenge: "#32 in His Rulebook" by Edible Heart Monster on Lunaescence Archives

Rating/Warnings/Tags: M (post-The Last of Us; excessive swearing; sexual references; violence against children; infected children; references to abortion; references to cannibalism; references to starvation; references to riots; implied domestic abuse; implied grooming; implied sexual relationship between an adult and a minor; death of a parent; violence; gore; blood; gun use; ableism; amputee!Reader; enemies to lovers; not canon compliant)

Pairings/Relationships: Joel/Female!Reader; Tommy/Maria; Reader/Male!OC; Ellie & Reader; Ellie & Joel; Ellie & Maria & Tommy

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Master List (with important note!)

Rule #5: Don't touch anything.

It wasn’t the clicking that bothered you about later stages of the infection. You could easily tune out a sound. Besides, when you wanted to pay attention to it, their signature sound made them easier to look out for. No, what you didn’t like, what truly frightened you about clickers, was the way they moved—the way their limbs floundered, the way their heads whipped back forth, the way their feet scuffed along the ground beneath them.

When a clicker came for you, you got a front-row seat to all that movement. This one lurched and stumbled towards you at an alarming pace. With your back pressed against a tree, you had nowhere to run. All the noise coming from its broken maw would probably draw the rest of the swarm. All your nights of staying huddled inside a tree hollow, waiting for them to migrate, were for not. Soon you would feel the snap of chipped and rotting teeth against your neck.

Both of your hands scrabbled through the moist earth around your tree. Maybe you hadn’t tossed your pistol into the forest behind you, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away to look properly at the area surrounding you. The clicker drew closer and closer, closer, until it kneeled in front of you, its head still twitch madly, the clicking still sputtering from its throat.

You whimpered, but all that did was draw the clicker’s dirty, broken fingernails toward your face. The thumbs dragged slowly up your cheeks until both were pressing hard into your eyelids.

“You let it take my eyes,” came the familiar voice a young child. “Can I have yours?”

Pain shot up once more through your missing arm, and you rocketed upward in fog of cold sweat. Your breath swooshed in and out of your chest as your eyes, still thankfully whole, darted around your tiny prison cell of a room. There was a window, but all that did was pump warm afternoon light inside. Still, you felt cold and clammy with residue of your nightmare sticking to your skin. How many times were you going to have that one before it lost its shock value? For fuck’s sake, it had been years!

Your arm gave another nasty throb; you clapped your remaining palm around it. Despite your recent nap, you felt more lightheaded than before. A quick look about your sleeping space told you why: Blood was smeared across the wall. Apparently, you had been thrashing in your sleep. How fucking mature of you. That would certainly get the others to respect you.

“I’m not waiting around! Get the hell up!”

Along with someone shouting those word came a banging on your door. From the sound of it—and the echoed banging in your head—they’d been at it for a while. Maybe that had been what woke you up. Not that you were complaining. You appreciated getting torn away from that particular dream before the eye gouging started in earnest.

“What?” you demanded when he didn’t speak.

He’d changed his shirt, you noted. Plaid, still, and a different color, but at least less dirty. Looking down at your array of clothing only made you feel angrier. The fabric underneath your missing arm was crusty and red-brown with dried blood.

“Infirmary,” he answered shortly. “Now.”

“Huh?” Slowly, one of your eyebrows lifted. The other soon followed. “Where’s Ellie? Wasn’t she supposed to come get me for dinner?”

“Ellie’s busy. She remembered that no one had changed your bandages.”

“So?”

“So,” Joel rolled his eyes, looking the most casual you had ever seen him, “she insisted I come and take care of that for you.”

“Tell her thanks but no fucking thanks.”

Casual Joel did not mean casual banter. That became very clear shortly thereafter, when his mouth set and he looked back down at you. His eyes slid down, all the way to your stump, which was hurting quite a bit more than it had since Ellie had made you a better tourniquet. You tried to step back inside your room to hide the worst of it, but Joel had already spotted the blood. He looked angrier than ever.

“Infirmary,” he said again, and took your still-existing arm. “Now.”

He yanked, and before you could protest, you were tripping after him. Joel released you immediately, maybe afraid that you had fucking fungus cooties on your skin. At least you had worn your shoes to sleep. Splinters littered the hallway, something you had not taken note of on your way in.

Joel was not much of a talker. Several people met the two of you on your way out, but shied away as soon as they spotted Joel. He didn’t seem to notice, and didn’t greet those that did hazard throwing greetings his way. A few times, his walkie-talkie—he must have picked one up during your nap—gurgled, but he ignored it. You weren’t sure why, as a few of them sounded a little frantic.

Maybe he was taking you out to pasture.

Cold fear flooded through your body at the thought of being killed. You were so close to having made it just a little farther. You couldn’t die! You just couldn’t. But if Joel noticed your sudden panic, he ignored you as he led you outside and through the maze of cement corridors.

The thought of running off occurred to you. Tommy seemed like an absolute idiot when it came to judging people. He wouldn’t let Joel murder you—unless that whole charitable persona from earlier had actually just been a persona. They might have just been waiting for Ellie to become preoccupied before delivering a headshot. Your breath stuck to your throat; your head spun; a painful pulse drummed in your missing limb.

Joel pushed a door ahead of you open. He stepped aside to allow you a good look at a slightly larger, more light-looking room inside. You took a half-step backward, tensed to run. In the same moment that Joel seemed to sense your intention to flee, to snap to attention so he could run after you, two gunshots sounded from somewhere within the compound. Distracted, Joel turned toward the source of the noise. Distracted yourself, you didn’t take the opportunity to spring away.

“We have word that an infected has been brought into the facility,” came Maria’s voice, crackling over Joel’s walkie-talkie. “Repeat, we have infected inside the facility!”

“Shit!” In a flash, Joel had lifted the device to his mouth. “Any idea where it is?”

“No. These morons shot the messengers before we could get that much out of them. Sounds like they brought them in a couple days ago. It won’t be a clicker, but we might have a runner, if they change before we can take it out.”

“I’ll check things out. Do you have Ellie?”

“She’s right here.”

Joel nodded, even though Maria would not be able to see him. Meanwhile, your cold sweat had returned in full force. Your head swiveled about, clicker-like, as you tried to take in your surroundings. Runners didn’t give you much warning before they came for you. A bell rang out across the grounds; people screamed; and Joel took several running steps past you before he turned back with a grimace.

“Get in there! And don’t fucking touch anything!” he said.

He was gone before you could answer. For a few tense seconds, you stood there, looking around with fear gnawing at your thinking process and your heart throbbing in your palms. Maybe—just maybe—Joel was right. At least inside the infirmary building there was only one exit, and if you closed the door, why would any runner have a reason to come after you? You pelted inside as quickly as your drained legs could carry you, then slammed the door shut, turned about, and slid down the flat surface, panting.

Then you heard the grunting.

Hesitantly, hardly daring to believe it, you looked up. Two beds were stationed in the sun-lit room, and one had twisted, dirty sheets sitting in tangled mounds across the mattress. An equally twisted, dirty man stood next to it. His eyes and shoulders rolled. A strangled moan broke from his busted lips. His face stretched to a horrifying degree as he stared down at you.

Newly turned. You knew that look anywhere. Fuck if that did you any good. Even if that man knew what was going on, that wouldn’t stop him from ripping your throat out—or worse. The best you could hope for was to appease him long enough to get the fuck out of there. With as smooth and slow a movement as you could manage, you rose from the floor.

“Look—”

Some wordless burble tore out of his mouth as the man threw himself at you. You jumped backward. Still unused to your new weight, you flailed upon landing—and knocked over several metal shelves holding medical supplies. The resounding crash bothered your assailant not at all. One shelf dug into your shoulder, but you stepped away quickly enough to avoid going. Your body swiveled around to try to make it toward the bed, but you tripped, forcing you to use your single hand to scrabble for the sheets.

All the while, the man screamed incoherently. How the fuck no one else had heard, you didn’t know. Really? Joel’s first thought hadn’t been the fucking infirmary? Or maybe he knew it was there, and he just wanted your death to look like an accident.

The man’s gait might have been no better than yours, but the next time he ran for you, he made it. You tumbled backward across the mattress and landed with your shoulders against the tile floor. His filthy teeth snapped at you again and again as you scrambled to get back on your feet. His clawed hands swiped through the air right in front of your face as he drew closer and closer to the upper half of your body.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you shrieked as your legs kicked wildly and uselessly in the air behind him. You threw your shoulders from side to side to no avail. You were going to die in a shitty fucking infirmary because of a fucking runner! The only thing you had was a fucking pair of scissors and—

—and why the fuck weren’t you using them? You twisted around, still kicking, beating the man around the face and head with your stump of an arm as you withdrew the scissors from your pocket. The movement caught the man’s attention. His mouth snapped closer to that arm.

“Not my other arm, motherfucker!” you shouted, and thrust the blades into his neck.

They weren’t exactly sharp. He didn’t stop moving. His hands crept around your neck, but you’d made a dent. Without waiting for further prompting, you stabbed again—and again and again and again. Blood splattered your face, but as long as you kept your mouth and eyes shut, you didn’t have anything to worry about. More worrying was that the man kept squirming, and your stump wasn’t doing much to hold him down. “Stay down, you—”

A single gunshot rang out in the room. The man fell still. Then he rolled off you, landing with a thud on the floor at your side.

Joel stood in the doorway, illuminated by the light outside. The barrel of his rifle leaked smoke into the air, and one of his eyes remained looking straight down it until the runner gave a final, great twitch. You could hardly breathe. Every single fucking part of your body hurt.

He was kind enough to let you catch your breath.

“I think I need those new bandages now,” you said breathlessly, after several minutes had passed.

Looking distinctly disconcerted, Joel paused before putting his gun back up and walking inside to scoop up a wad of bandages left on the floor. “Yeah,” he said as he bent down to help you get onto the nearby bloodstained bed. “I’ll get right on that.”

[xiaq]

Steddie Time Travel Fix-it: Pt.9

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8

It’s 2am and Eddie is sitting alone on the front steps, knife still in one hand, when Hopper’s truck turns into the cul-de-sac. Steve is leaning out the window, grinning. He’s got one hand pressed to the side of the cab, his hair a riot in the wind, and it feels like Eddie can catch a full breath for the first time in hours.

The truck has hardly stopped and Eddie has hardly managed to push himself to his feet before Steve is shoving open the passenger door and stumbling across the lawn to––‘hug’ seems like a woefully ineffective way to describe the way that Steve slams into him. The way that he pulls them together, desperate and aching, like he wants to merge them into a singular entity. It’s a collision of a gesture. Chest to chest. Steve’s arms are tight and undeniable and a little bit violent around him. His hands are fisted in the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. His face is in Eddie’s neck.

“You’re ok,” he says, and Eddie is reminded of that first, baffling, meeting in the bathroom, when Steve couldn’t seem to stop himself from touching, from reassuring himself that Eddie was real and whole.

“I’m good, man, but I’m really fucking confused.” He tries to pull away. Steve doesn’t let him. Eddie isn’t going to fight him about it. “Are you ok?” he asks, mostly into Steve’s hair.

“I’m fine. We won. And we’re alive. And we’re all—everything is going to be fine, now.”

“That is great news, but I still need an explanation and, whoa, hey.”

There’s a wetness smearing on his chin and Eddie realizes that despite Steve’s claims of being fine, he’s definitely reopened the line of stitches on his temple and one of his arms is seriously jacked up.

“You’re getting blood on me,” Eddie points out.

Steve lets go.

“Sorry,” he says, reaching up to try and wipe it away. His fingers are just as gory as his face, though, maybe even worse, and he looks a little panicked at whatever he’s done to Eddie’s jaw. “Sorry,” he repeats. “Oh jeez—here, let me––”

“Steve,” Hopper says, slamming the driver’s side door of the truck. “Can you have your touching reunion inside?”

There’s a kid Eddie hadn’t noticed before with a shaved head, blood all down her lips beneath her nose, getting out of the back seat. A bearded man and Joyce Beyers follow her, and there’s another car pulling up to park behind Hopper’s truck. Nancy is in the driver’s seat, and Robin and Jonathan and a couple other people he doesn’t recognize are piling out, bloodied and weary-looking, but all smiling. When a third and fourth car, both black, government-y vehicles arrive, Eddie looks to Steve who still has one disgusting hand wrapped around Eddie’s wrist, like he’s afraid to let go of him.

“Inside,” he says.

Eddie agrees that’s probably best.

Steve is met in the foyer like a conquering hero. The kids fling themselves at him with hugs and questions and shouts of dismay over the state of his bloodied face and his mangled arm, which under the entryway lights looks far worse than it did in the yard––like something had been chewing on it. Something big. Steve and the others spend a solid five minutes just repeating that they won, it’s over, they won, it’s over, while Eddie and Barb and Chrissy stand on the fringes and share confused looks.

When it becomes clear that no one else is in any hurry to take care of Steve’s injuries, Eddie grabs him by the arm that doesn’t look like it’s been stuck down a garbage disposal and drags him down the hall to the bathroom. He knows where the first aid kit is, now.

“Sit,” he tells him, nodding to the toilet.

Steve sits.

And then he’s looking up at Eddie, all wide-eyed and appreciative like some kind of triumphant but humble gladiator awaiting his reward for a battle well-fought. Eddie wants to punch a wall or something because he should not be endeared by this. He should not.

And yet.

“Take off your shirt,” Eddie says brusquely. “Or do you need help?”

“My ribs are still pretty fucked up from before,” Steve murmurs, “so I won’t lie, lifting my arms above my head isn’t great.”

Eddie benevolently does not point out that haring off to fight interdimensional creatures, or whatever the hell Steve was doing, probably hasn’t helped with the broken ribs situation.

“So, help?” Eddie says.

“Yeah, please.”

And he should have seen that coming. He offered, after all, but Eddie is stymied for a moment before he moves forward, leaning over Steve’s back to get to the hem of his shirt so he can pull it forward over his head and off without making him lift his arms. 

It forces them close again. Eddie can smell him: sweat and blood and whatever nameless viscera is smeared on his clothes. It’s disgusting.

And yet.

“New plan,” Eddie says, tossing the shirt onto the floor and then kicking it further away for good measure. “Shower first, and then we’ll patch you up without worrying about secondary infections.”

“I don’t have any other clothes,” Steve says.

“Well, I’ve got a bag full of clothes in the car and you’re not that much bigger than me. Also, at some point you’re going to start explaining things. Feel free to start now.”

“Well,” Steve glances at the closed bathroom door. “The others are probably filling in Barb and Chrissy right now, if you want to join them.”

Eddie drops to his knees to unlace Steve’s boots. “No,” he says, slapping at Steve’s hands when he tries to do it himself, wincing. “I don’t want the others to tell me, I want you to tell me. I want you to explain why your personality has done a 180 and you’re suddenly best friends with Buckley and Nancy,” he cups one hand around the back of Steve’s knee so he can pull off his boot with the other, “and why you’re basically parenting a dozen middle-schoolers and why you’re afraid of DnD monsters and have a trunk full of weapons and lose your mind when lights flicker and why there’s some sort of portal in my living room ceiling and why you keep looking at me.”

“I—I don’t look at you,” Steve says, fucking looking at him. “How do I look at you?”

“Like that,” Eddie shouts, gesturing at Steve’s face with his own dirty sock. “Jesus.”

He pulls off the second boot, the second sock, even dirtier than the first, and tosses them aside. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve exhales. “I don’t mean to. And I don’t know where to start. I’m not—none of any of this sounds believable.”

“Well, I was thinking time travel at first but now I’m leaning toward alternate dimensions, so I feel like I’m good with whatever you want to throw at me, here.”

“Alright,” Steve says. He leans forward, gritting his teeth around a grimace, to brace his elbows on his knees. “Honestly, it’s a little of column A, and a lot of column B.”

“Fuck. Okay. Give me the like, two minute version.”

“So there’s an…alternate dimension of Hawkins,” Steve starts. “Like, it’s still Hawkins, just. Wrong. We’ve been calling it the Upside-Down. And there are places where the dividing line between between our reality and the Upside-Down is weak. And those places can turn into gates where people or things can move back and forth between the two. There was one in your ceiling.”

“And Lover’s Lake,” Eddie says. “There was one there? And your…pool?”

“Yeah.”

“Following you so far. You said ‘things’ can move back and forth. What uh, dare I ask what populates this Upside Down version of Hawkins?”

“Monsters, mostly,” Steve says.

“Figured.”

 “The kids named the monsters we’ve been fighting after D&D characters. Which is why I get weird about shit like demogorgons and mind flayers and stuff.”

“Okay, alright, so much is making sense right now. So there aren’t any people there?”

“Not really. There was one guy, an evil guy, I guess. Vecna. Who was responsible for the Upside Down going bad. He lived there. Sort of.”

Steve ducks his head and scrubs a hand through his hair with his still-operational arm. “I feel like I’m not doing a good job explaining this, you should really let one of the others––“

“You’re doing great,” Eddie interrupts. “We’ve got an alternate reality tenuously separated from real life, inhabited by an evil villain and his monsters. What else?”

“El, the girl with the shaved head? She came from a lab—the Hawkins lab––where they were doing experiments on kids. Giving them superpowers. And also finding out how to make gates to the Upside Down. The bad guy in the Upside Down was also one of the kids from the lab, a long time ago. They can both open and close gates.”

“Okay,” Eddie says slowly. “So El is the heroine and he’s her villainous foil in the story.”

“It’s not a story,”

“No, I know, I’m just, this is how I’m contextualizing, sorry. How did all the kids get involved?”

“By accident, mostly. Will––the nice one with the bowl cut and enormous eyes?––he ended up trapped there for a while. There was a gate in his shed. But he made it back, obviously.”

Eddie tries to place him but struggles. There are a lot of kids running around.

“The others are all friends with him,” Steve continues. “And also they found El in the woods when she escaped from the lab. They’re all pretty great, honestly. Even if they’re annoying as hell.”

“Where does the time travel bit come in?”

Steve’s attention drops immediately to his hands. His nail-beds are black. It’s going to take forever to get him clean and apparently Eddie has signed himself up for that task. He should probably be dreading it.

And yet.

“In our timeline,” Steve says, “it’s 1987. Or it was when we left. Things went really bad with Vecna and people died. A lot of people. Hawkins was pretty much destroyed. And we didn’t think we’d be able to stop him at all, his reach was just going to expand and get worse and worse until one of the people from the lab came to talk to El. Told her she could basically open up a portal in the Upside Down and go back in time. And prevent all the shit that happened from ever happening. So she did and we all went through with her. Except the first couple times we tried we only went back a few months and it wasn’t enough. Vecna still won every time no matter what we changed or how we tried to fix things. So this time we went back years instead. To stop him at the beginning. When he was unprepared.”

“Wait,” Eddie says. “Why don’t I remember this then? You all act like you know me, so I must have been involved in this shit at least a little, right?”

“Right,” Steve says. “No, you were. But it was only the people there in 1987 who went through the portal that remember.”

“Only the people there. What does that even mean? Where did I go?”

He might be a little bit of a coward, but there’s no way he would have abandoned a bunch of kids and Steve Harrington to fight monsters alone. He doesn’t think.

Steve’s attention is so forcefully on his hands, fingers now curled tight and painful-looking around his knees, that Eddie reaches up to stop him before he hurts himself.

Oh, he realizes, thumbs tucked between Steve's palms and his knees.

Oh, no.

“I fucking died, didn’t I?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says.

Well. That’s…sobering.

“So,” Eddie says, rocking back onto his heels, feeling winded. “Time travel. Parallel worlds. Bad dude. Monsters. Kids with superpowers. My untimely demise.”

“That’s about the shape of it.”

“And this Vecna guy. You said—when you first got back tonight you said it was over. Is it, though? Like, over over.”

“I think so. We won this time. And El thinks he’s gone for good and she’s closed all the gates but one. We’ll do a couple of patrols over the next few months to make sure, before we close the final gate permanently. But we’re pretty sure it’s over. Finally.”

Steve’s eyes are dark and wet and huge in his dirty face when he finally meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Well,” Eddie says. His hands are still wrapped around Steve’s. “I guess I should thank you for saving my life, then.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, then winces. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Sounds like it was a little bit of a problem. Just a smidge.”

“Worth it,” Steve says. 

He shouldn’t be attractive like this–smeared in dirt and grime and his own blood. Leaning a little to one side to take pressure off broken ribs.

And yet.

Eddie clears his throat. “You really need to take a shower so we can patch you up.”

Steve is still looking at him. 

The same way he’s been looking at him.

Eddie is starting to understand the depth behind it. He’s starting to have questions about the depth of it. Questions that are probably more wishfull thinking than anything else but also––

“I’ll need help,” Steve says evenly. “With showering. Because of my arm.”

“Right,” Eddie says. “Well, I’m…here.”

“You’re here,” Steve agrees.

It sounds like he means something else. Something more.

Eddie swallows.

He lets go of Steve’s hands.

He slides back the shower curtain and turns on the faucet.

Pt. 10

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Fuck It Friday

I have pulled myself from the exhausted hellscape in which I reside because @princessfbi and @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove tagged me and so, I bequeath you with this:

“You love being the guy who fixes things,” Sean says. If anyone else said that Buck would either bite their head off or hunch his shoulders inward, retreating, shamed. When Sean says it… there’s something soft underneath. Something Buck feels like he can hold onto. Fixing people is hard. And a lot of the time, there’s nothing you can do. Buck knows. He’s tried. His parents. Abby. Maddie. But cars? Cars you can fix. You can’t save a person’s marriage, or their mom, or make them love you, but you can tinker with the engine and adjust the axel and rotate the tires, and then at least you’ve fixed one thing. Buck shrugs, because what’s he gonna do, deny it? “Bobby seems to think I’m good at it.” Bobby also wishes Buck would stick to the garage and not go out racing, though, because Bobby thinks he’s made of fuckin’ china. Sean frowns at him. “You know he loves you, right?” Buck rubs at the back of his neck. “I totaled his car.” “I once scratched our car up,” Sean notes. “I was a kid and my mom was in labor with my little sister. Adriana. Dad was at work, and so I panicked and I got into the car, I figured it couldn’t be too hard, right? I drove it into the wall.” Sean laughs, rueful. “You know what my dad did?” “Read you the riot act?” “But good.” Sean shakes his head. “My ears were ringing by the time he was done. He yelled about the house, about the car, about my mom. You know what he never once did?” Buck waits. “He never once yelled at me about me.” Sean stares out into the distance, at something Buck can’t see. Maybe he’s peering through time. “He never once asked if I was okay, or told me I could’ve hurt myself.” Buck’s throat feels tight. His whole chest is tight. “My dad loves me. I know that. He’s not great at showing it. I moved to L.A. for a reason.” Sean shakes his head like he’s dusting away cobwebs and looks Buck in the eye. “I heard you and Bobby, and I’ve heard about the crash, and not once, ever, has Bobby mentioned his car. Anything about it. The only thing he ever talks about is you. I don’t think he cares that you’re a good or bad racer or what you did or might do to a car, Buck, he cares that you almost lost your fucking leg.”

*crawls back into the hellscape*

[kingkatsuki]

— sleazy

Everyone thinks Red Riot is such a nice hero, but really he just loves fucking his cute, unsuspecting fangirls.

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, not proofread, non-con/dub-con, implied!drugging but could just be seen as intoxication, unprotected sex, teeny tiny bit of assplay, Kirishima promises to wear a condom but doesn’t, creampie, public sex.

Word Count: 2.5k.

“You’re so lucky!” You heard the voices around the table when the Red Riot had offered to buy you a drink.

Suddenly finding it difficult to speak when you gave him a nod in response, grateful that he’d looked down at your glass of wine as an indication of what to order you because you weren’t sure you would’ve been able to answer if he’d asked.

You felt hot as it seemed as though every set of eyes in the vicinity were on you now— from the women who wished that he’d picked them, to the men that he’d come in with standing around the bar. The angry blond more formerly known as Dynamight seemed to be glaring at you from across the room, shaking his head slightly before downing the rest of his whisky.

“Don’t worry about him,” Kirishima grinned softly at you as he handed you a glass, “He always looks like that.”

Kirishima had this perfect way of making you feel at ease, the friendly tone to his voice paired with kind eyes made it easy for you to melt into him. Silencing any objections you’d usually have if a guy leaned down to tug your chair closer to him, or wrapped their arm around your waist during a first date. It was different when it was Red Riot— you felt like you already knew him. From your television screen to the huge billboards that were up all over the city to promote his latest collaboration. The man that you followed on social media and religiously liked his posts, not that you’d told him that— although with another few drinks inside you, you might.

“You look gorgeous tonight, you know,” His warm lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans closer to talk to you over the loud bass of music in the club, “I just had to come and talk to you.”

You don’t even question it when he lays a huge palm on your bare thigh, his thumb disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. Ghosting against the lace of your panties as you give another glance around the bar to see if anyone is looking— the only set of eyes that match your gaze are the same crimson ones from earlier, Dynamight still watching intently as he nurses his drink.

The fact that the Red Riot has asked for your number, bought you countless drinks and given you his undivided attention has you bursting with glee. Certain that none of your friends will believe you, instead wishing they’d come to the bar tonight to see for themselves when you tell them that you’re courting the number twelve hero.

“It’s so loud here,” His palm squeezes your inner thigh and you can’t stop your heart from pounding against your ribcage, making it difficult to breathe as his warm breath fans your skin, “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

“Yeah, sure.” You find yourself nodding as he helps you stand, certain you weren’t this drunk before.

“Whoops—” He grins as he grabs your hips, his fingers brushing the curve of your ass as he keeps you upright, “I’ve got you.”

And it’s that moment you feel his hard bulge pressed against the small of your back. Even in heels he dominates your size, towering over you as a pure wall of strength and muscle as he guides you through the crowds. Stepping down a quieter hall that leads towards the bathrooms as he presses you against a wall, large palms still planted firm on your hips.

“I’ve wanted you all night,” He sighs, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses against your neck, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“This is too fast,” You mumble, already feeling his fingers dipping beneath your skirt to grab your ass.

“Aw, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” He seems so sincere when he looks down at you with worried eyes, “Shall I call you a cab home? I just thought you wanted to have some fun.”

“I do, but—”

“But you’d prefer Dynamight or someone, huh?” His eyes droop, “I get it, that always fucking happens when it’s someone I really like—”

“No! I like you too,” You panic when he takes a step back, trying to step forward as you stumble into his arms.

“You do?” He coos, holding you tight, “I’m so lucky I found you.”

It’s embarrassing when he tugs you into the men’s bathroom, sets of eyes watching you with knowing looks from the urinals as he opts for a stall. Locking the door as he presses you against the sink, allowing you to look at him through the reflection in the mirror as he pulls your top over your breasts.

“You’re fucking stunning,” He groans, cupping your breasts as you grind yourself back against him. Alcohol inebriating your senses as he strokes your body, wondering whether you should just tell him to slow down now.

“It’s too much,” You mumble, unsure whether he put something in your drink as your head pounds.

But this is Red Riot, he wouldn’t do that, would he? He’s a Pro-Hero tasked to protect you from sleazy people like that, to make sure you’re safe.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He coos, “I’ll take good care of you.”

“We shouldn’t,” You slur, “Not here.”

“Oh? But I bought you all those drinks,” He mumbles against your neck, “I thought you liked me.”

“I do!” You panic, catching the forlorn look on his face.

“You do?” His eyes immediately brighten, “I’m glad because I like you too, sweetheart. A lot—”

He has you feeling like a giddy, lovesick schoolgirl as he reaches under your skirt to pull down your panties. Letting the fabric settle around your knees as he works on unbuckling his jeans. A large palm splayed on your back to push you over the sink as he guides the leaky tip towards your slit.

“Wait,” You mumble, trying not to slur your words, “Condom.”

You miss the look of annoyance that flashes through Kirishima’s eyes in his reflection in the mirror as you turn to look back at him before that same smile spreads on his face.

“Of course, sweetheart. What do you take me for?” He’s cooing at you as he reaches into his wallet to retrieve a large foil packet, ripping it with his teeth as he leans down to put it on, “Safety first, yeah?”

And the tip of his cock nudges against your ass, feeling the slickness of lube from the latex smear against your bare ass as you cling to the porcelain. Holding on as you watch him in the mirror as he slides the condom onto his cock.

“There,” His hand smooths along your ass, rubbing the lube against your skin to get it off his hand as he pushes his hips forward.

He’s big. The swollen tip enough to have a lump in your throat as you forget to breathe, wiggling your hips in a feeble attempt to reduce the ache.

“Shh, baby. I know, I know.” He coos, pulling back to fist his cock, “Let’s try again, yeah?”

But you don’t notice the devious smirk on his face, or the way his eyes glint with intent as he slides the annoying latex off his thick cock. Discarding it to the floor like trash as he wraps his cock in a large fist again, tapping the leaking tip on your slit before sliding it through your folds. Letting it catch against your tight entrance again as he can finally feel you without a latex barrier.

“Is this okay?” He hums, keeping his tip pressed against your quivering hole.

You nod in response as you try to remember to breathe, taking in large gulps of air as you feel him slowly push his hips forward.

“I’m gonna need to hear you say it, sweetheart.” He pushes.

“Yeah, I want it.” You groan as he immediately pushes forward, feeling the tightness between your thighs.

“Oh, shit.” His eyes roll back as he groans at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He’s far less kind now he can truly feel you as he cants his hips forward without a moment for you to adjust, the pain comes sharp and fast as he stretches you out on his cock.

“Ow,” You choke, your head lolling forward as you try to breathe, the ache between your thighs throbs sharply as Kirishima feigns sympathy.

Telling you what a good girl you are for him, what a good job you’re doing, that you’re his favourite. Clever lines he’s rehearsed time and time again, and it just so happens that they’re working on you just like they have a hundred times before on other girls.

You think you’re special, and in this moment you are. He’s picked you.

“God, your pussy feels so fucking good.” He grunts, warm palms heavy on your ass as he spreads you apart to see his cock buried deep inside your walls. The messy tuft of hair at the base tickles your skin as he pulls his hips back to give an experimental thrusr, “Taking me so well.”

You’re a mess as he fucks into you, your tits bounce with every rough buck of his hips as he presses you into the porcelain sink, your cheek leaves a messy streak of foundation against the mirror as he sets a brutal pace. Telling you it’s because he’s worried someone could come in and see you like this, that he wishes he could have you for longer to really take care of you.

And you believe every line.

“God, sweetheart. Your pussy feels amazing,” Kirishima groans, his thumb brushing the tight rim of your ass as your body jolts in surprise. Embarrassed and terrified at the same time.

“Not there, please—”

“Oh god, baby. I would never.” He shakes his head, but presses down harder against your tight hole, “Relax, Red Riot’s got you, yeah?”

His words are soothing as you try to focus on the pleasure, trying to block out the sound of footsteps outside and the way your cunt clenches around him every time someone rattles the door handle.

“Fuck, you’re clamping down on me, sweets,” He slurs, drunk on pleasure, “You’re tryin’ to milk me.”

He sucks air sharply through his teeth as he bends his back to watch his cock disappearing inside you, the slap of his balls against the swell of your thighs sounds inside the dingy bathroom as your legs shake. Balancing yourself in heels as you try to stop the sink from digging into your hips uncomfortably, certain you’ll have bruises in the morning.

“Gonna cum, shit— gonna fill this little pussy up.” He groans, and you’re certain it’s just words. Dirty talk to help get himself off as he prepares to cum inside the condom, “You want that, baby? Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” You find yourself playing into it, your walls throb around him as he works you towards your own release.

“That’s my girl,” He grins, reaching around to press messy circles against your puffy clit, “Gonna stuff you full of my cum.”

“Oh my god,” You repeat, clinging to the sink to keep yourself upright as you feel yourself on the edge of your release. The familiar pleasure building between your thighs as Kirishima leads you into bliss, “Kiri—”

“Red Riot, call me Red Riot—” His fingertips dig into you bruisingly as your cunt begins to convulse.

“Red Riot!” You mewl, “I’m cumming, Red Riot—”

“Oh shit, you want the entire bar to hear you, don’t you?” He grins, spanking your ass as your cunt spasms around him.

Kirishima fucks you through your climax, roughly thrusting into you as you feel the tip of him as deep as he can go. Kissing your cervix with each forward motion as he focuses on his own pleasure, his own desire.

“Hurts,” You choke out as you try to ignore the throb between your thighs or the way your skin digs uncomfortably into the porcelain.

“I’m almost there, sweetheart. Almost there—” He groans, ignoring your pleas, “Gonna fill you up.”

It doesn’t take him much longer to find his own release, his balls tightening as they begin to empty warm, hot spurts of cum into your pulsing walls. His hands smoothing down your back before reaching around to palm your naked breasts before pulling back.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groans when he pulls out to see strings of your slick connecting his softening cock to your folds.

And that’s when you feel it.

Warm globs of his cum slowly seeping out of your quivering walls, dribbling down your inner thighs and dropping onto the dirty floor.

“Did you— the condom?” You ask in confusion as you turn your head to face him, noticing the shiny gleam of his cock in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom as he gives you a cheeky grin.

“Oh, it must’ve ripped,” He shrugs, sticking himself back into his boxers with no care about how messy he is, “Sorry about that, sweetheart. You’ll be okay, I’m clean.”

Kirishima has just enough manners to pull your panties back up, even though you don’t have a chance to clean yourself up. Feeling his warm cum continue to drool out of you and collect in the lace of the crotch as you shuffle uncomfortably. Tugging your skirt back down as you fix your top, hearing Kirishima buckle his belt again as he checks himself out in the mirror.

“I’ll call you yeah, sweetheart?” He presses a lingering kiss to your cheek before unlocking the door to the men’s bathroom stall and stepping outside. Leaving you standing alone in the room as you stare back at your disheveled reflection.

It’s only when you look down at the ground where you notice the drops of his cum that had fallen to the floor, and beside them the discarded condom still in the perfect roll from the pack.

That he hadn’t even bothered to put on.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Blood Moon Rising"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky x Steve

Tags: shrinkyclinks, werewolf au, omega Steve, Alpha Bucky, prison au, dub-con, non-con, werewolf sex, knotting, oral (m!rec), hand jobs, held hostage, age gap (40/26), mating, violence, bonding, Dom/sub elements

Summary: Steve gets a lot more than he bargained for when a prison riot breaks out and he becomes the captive of an Alpha werewolf.

Part 1 - "Captured by the Alpha"

“Boss. What are we supposed to do with this one?”

Steve stumbled as he was dragged into an open cell, the only thing keeping him from faceplanting into the floor being the henchman’s meaty grip on his upper arm. They stopped—fucking finally—and Steve panted as he regained his breath. He kept his head down and looked around nervously. A handful of prisoners had gathered there. None of them looked friendly.

(But that was kind of what Steve had expected, being dragged into the wrong side of a prison riot.)

“Who is he?” a deep voice asked from the shadows, and Steve looked up.

The man holding Steve shifted his grip. “A civilian, boss,”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Sorry, Alph—Bucky.” He gave Steve a jostle by his arm. “Found this shrimp in the visitation rooms. He was trying to stab Batroc with a pencil.”

“Ooh, a tough guy, huh?”

Steve’s eyes widened as the man in charge looked up from the shadows he was sitting in. The light hit his eyes and made them flash an inhuman yellow as he leant forward.

The man addressed as “Bucky” was a massive and dangerous-looking guy, with muscles for days, dark hair knotted back, and gang tattoos all over his arms and neck. He sat leisurely on the bed that was attached to the cell wall, slouched and with his thighs spread wide, looking like a menacing king on his throne, holding court. He wore the orange jumpsuit as many of the other prisoners did: with the top half unzipped and tied about his waist. The remaining white undershirt more than showed off his strong body … and it was impossible not to notice that it was marred with a splattered line of somebody’s blood.

Steve gulped as he clocked the prison guard’s belt that was slung around “Bucky’s” hips, and the pistol holstered there. Beside him on the cot was a pump action shotgun, and there was a large knife in his hand, which he was twirling as he assessed Steve cooly through steel blue eyes. Steve jutted his chin out, determined not to cower in front of the man. If he was about to be killed, then he’d go out with dignity. “‘Bucky’,” he said, throwing the name out with disdain. “What kinda name is that for a werewolf?”

The man grinned. “Oh, so you know what we are.”

Tight-lipped, Steve’s eyes tracked down to the distinctive tattoos on the man’s shoulders. “Haită de lupi” he said, figuring it would surprise him.

It did, his gaze sharpening with interest. “You a cop?” he asked, leaning forward a little. Then his gaze went mocking and he smirked at Steve’s diminutive stature. “Sorry. Dumb question.”

Steve felt his face heat in indignation. He was small and he hated being made fun of for it. “Criminology major,” he said tersely. “Psychological profiling specialty. I’m aiming for the bureau in the fall. Their organized crime division. So I know all about your gang, and your little werewolf tattoos.”

Bucky’s smile became more predatorial, and Steve considered that it might not have been the smartest thing to mention any association with the feds while he was being held captive in the middle of a prison riot. Outside the cell they were currently in, the cell block was a mess of hollering and thuds, violence all around them. This one room seemed to be the only place where things were calm. The king and his men.

Steve shifted in place, wondering if there was any way he got out of this situation alive. Probably not. His hands were cuffed in front of him, his arm ached with the promise of bruises from being dragged by the henchman called “Dum Dum” through the halls, and his jaw was still smarting where he’d taken a punch from one of the other prisoners. “I study people like you,” he told Bucky. “So yeah, I know what you are.”

“Study, huh?” Bucky considered Steve’s form. He nodded at the man who was holding onto his arm. “He’s fine, Dugan. Let him go for now.”

The man gripping Steve’s arm released him, stepping to the side but not leaving the cell. Steve fought the urge to wince from the pain his body was in. He’d fallen awkwardly when the rioters had broken into the visitor’s room, and he was pretty sure that he’d twisted his ankle back there. But the eight men standing around the cell didn’t look pitying at all. They looked pissed.

“So you study us.” Bucky tilted his head at him. “A college student, then. You’re just a kid.”

“Grad student. I’m twenty six,” Steve said stubbornly. It only made Bucky laugh at him.

“Good for you, kiddo. I’m pushing forty.”

Steve sneered, and Bucky narrowed his eyes in consideration. “You’re pretty nervy for such a little guy.”

“I’m not afraid of thugs like you.”

“You should be,” Bucky warned lowly. “You’re lucky I told my men to bring any remaining civilians in here, otherwise you’d be dead by now, right along with the guards. You do realize that?” He waited for Steve’s response, scoffing when he got nothing but another defiant look. “You said you ‘study’ us? Then you’d know a pack is so much more than a common gang. If you’re bothering to memorize the lingo then you should understand its meaning, don’t you think, piele legată?”

Steve stayed resolute, though he couldn’t keep his eyes off the knife in Bucky’s hands. Being called the werewolf slur for humans was the least of his worries, right now. “I wasn’t aware you guys killed with anything but your teeth,” he said, his wavering voice betraying his nervousness.

Bucky shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“You gonna carve me up?”

Bucky made a considering face. “Mmm, I could. Or I could shoot you.” He tapped the shotgun. “Or … I could keep you. Keep you as a pet, like the humans used to do to us.” He smirked at Steve’s widening eyes. “What’s your name, little guy? I’m not sure you fully understand the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“... Steve,” Steve said, hesitating for only a second in giving his name. It surely wasn’t anything this beast of a man could use against him. “And I understand perfectly. Your men are rioting, killing. You’re probably going to kill me.” He stood tall (or as tall as he could). “So does that make you the pack Alpha?”

Bucky nodded. “It does.”

“How long’ve you been in for?”

“Oh, a few years.” Bucky’s answer was evasive, and he twirled the knife and pointed it at Steve. “This escape has been in the works for a long time.”

“Riot,” Steve corrected.

“Escape,” Bucky growled back, sounding pissed for the first time. Steve gulped and Bucky didn’t miss it. He went back to smiling. “I’m sorry, Steve, but I can’t allow you to get in the way. Once you’re tangled in pack business, you’re tangled in pack business. It’s as simple as that. I tried to organize everything to minimize casualties. There weren’t supposed to be visitors today. I had assurances of it.”

“... They changed my appointment last minute.”

“Mm. Well that’s very bad news for you, unfortunately.”

So they were going to kill him. Steve took a deep breath, trying to be brave. He knew there wasn’t much he could do. He was surrounded by violent criminals. They were all armed and he wasn’t. Plus, they were preternaturally strong and fast, and could transform into wolves at the drop of a hat. (It hadn’t escaped Steve’s notice that none of the rioting prisoners were sporting their trademark iron shock collars.) “You won’t get away,” he promised. “Prison security is too good these days. They’ll shut you down.”

Instead of getting mad, Bucky actually looked quite gleeful. He purred low in his throat at Steve—an inhuman noise that had Steve inhaling with fear. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Bucky said, letting his teeth show a little more when his smile widened into something vicious. “Like I said: this has been in the works for a while. We know what we’re doing. And we have plenty of outside help.”

“Boss,” Dum Dum looked alarmed that he was spilling secrets.

“Be quiet.” Bucky snapped.

He went silent. Steve was left to wonder just how powerful this man was, that he commanded such obedience. But he wasn’t a man at all, was he? He was a wolf, a shapeshifter. And that made him infinitely more dangerous than any regular prisoner. Werewolves had a storied history steeped in crime. They were bad news. That was why so many of them were locked up. Steve had no doubt that the huge man in front of him had done plenty to earn his time in a federal penitentiary. “You’re fighting a losing battle,” he warned. “It’ll go better for you if you surrender.”

Bucky laughed at him. “You’re a know-it-all, huh little man?”

“Stop calling me that.”

Bucky sat forward, elbows on his thighs. “I’ll call you anything I like, sweetheart.”

Steve once again felt his cheeks heating. He considered the other things that might happen to him, if this Alpha werewolf was so inclined. Designation wasn’t so important in human society anymore, having nearly gone dormant with most people born beta; but he knew that it wasn’t so with the wolves. They were still born alpha, omega and beta. And they held on to their old fashioned ways—Animalistic ways.

In class and at home, amongst his friends or his coworkers, Steve was usually the odd one out, the only omega, and even though his stature was pretty much a dead giveaway, he’d worn two sets of scent blockers underneath his clothes that day, knowing that he’d be visiting a prison full of violent criminals and not wanting to be taunted for his designation. He was supposed to be interviewing the worst of the worst, the Alpha werewolves who were doing hard time; sitting down across a table and psychologically analyzing gang members and murderers. He’d been waiting for the guard to bring one of them in the interview room when the riot had started.

Now he was up close and personal with the Alpha werewolf, apparently. The tattoos alone told Steve plenty: epaulette on his left shoulder, marked with theive’s stars indicating a General’s rank. He had the rising sun on the back of one hand and numerous ring tats on his fingers, manacles on his forearms. The double headed griffon and it’s ever watchful eyes fanned out across what bit of his chest Steve could see above the shirt's neckline. They were all clearly prison tats, which meant that Bucky had served a lot of time.

But it was the snarling canine oskals at either side of his neck that were the most alarming of the bunch, because that was a tattoo that Steve knew only one man was allowed to get. Bucky was marked as the Lupului of the Romanian-American Bratva.

There would be no guards or shackles or guns to protect Steve from him, here. No metal table between them. It was beyond too close for comfort. But he supposed he should just give up on comfort for the foreseeable future. He was a captive of these dangerous men, and now he could only hope that the other men standing around the cell were enough to keep this Alpha werewolf’s paws off of him.

“Well what’s your plan, then?” he asked. The more he could know, the better chance he stood of being able to save his neck in this mess.

“Mm, not your concern, Steve.” Bucky was teasing him now. “You need to worry about convincing me you’re worth keeping alive.”

Steve gulped. “Well … I know the layout of the prison.”

“So do we, pal.” He tapped the walkie talkie on his stolen belt. “And from what I hear, we’ve got everything but C block, now, and closing in on that fast. Administration and the other blocks are ours. Communications are jammed.”

Steve’s eyes widened, alarmed. “That’s … that’s not possible,” he breathed. He knew the security of the facility, had studied it. There was no way a bunch of imprisoned criminals could overtake such a system, even if they were supernatural creatures. “You’re lying,” he said. It only made Bucky smirk at him again.

“You’re cute. I told you, Stevie: we have outside help.”

At that very moment, a person walked through the cell’s cinderblock wall, and Steve all but jumped out of his skin. “What the fuck?!”

A few of the other men startled enough to flinch, but Bucky only laughed and waved the newcomer over. “Oh, that’s just Ava. She can do that.” He winked at Steve’s shocked face. “We like to call her Ghost.”

“Ava” had a suit on that completely covered her face. The mask reminded Steve of a sort of robotic spider, and he found himself not quite knowing where to direct his eyes. “Figures,” he just mumbled, thinking that it was just his luck that these werewolves would have a bunch of super powered people aiding them in their escape. If they really had taken over as much of the prison as Bucky said they had, then Steve’s goose was truly cooked. He looked back to Bucky, trying to think of something that he could offer to prove his worth and preserve his life—at least for a little while longer. “I know all their protocols,” he said. “I’m familiar with hostage negotiations. When they come to negotiate with you—and they will—I can speak for your side, arrange an exit plan for you and your men.”

He was lying, of course. No hostage negotiator in their right mind would allow a bunch of hardened criminals to escape after such massive violence; certainly not for one puny wannabe FBI cadet. But Steve kept his expression steady, determined to seem confident in his promises. “It might not be worth much, but I’m worthless dead. You need at least some bargaining power, just in case. The more people you kill, the harder they’re gonna come down on you.”

Bucky looked peeved at Steve telling him that anybody was going to stop them, but he didn’t dismiss him outright, which was good. “We’ll see about that,” he said, relaxing back into his seat on the prison cell’s bed. After a moment of smug consideration, he flicked his head at Dum Dum. “Undo his cuffs.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Bucky ‘tsked’ and flicked his hand. “Get ‘em off.”

Dum Dum looked highly uneasy, but he did as his leader commanded, coming forward to unlock the handcuffs from Steve’s skinny wrists, before taking them and stepping back to the wall.

“Thanks,” Steve said, forcing himself not to rub where the metal had bitten into his skin.

“You can thank me by getting on your knees,” Bucky said, pointing at the floor just in front of himself with the knife. “Go on.”

Steve gulped. He didn’t like it, but what option did he have? Reluctantly, he went to his knees.

“Not quite, boy. Come a little closer,” Bucky purred, waiting with dark eyes until Steve gradually shuffled up to where he sat. The Alpha parted his legs wider for Steve to come between them, and though it was mortifying, he was the one who held the knife, so Steve obeyed.

“You gonna make me suck you off, is that it?” he asked bitterly.

Bucky smirked. “Not quite yet, little guy.” He traced the side of Steve’s face with the blunt side of the knife. “You just sit tight and behave, and you might make it out of this okay.”

Steve hoped so, but he wasn’t feeling overly optimistic about it. Especially when in the next moment, several more men came into the room. (These ones at least came through the open bars of the doorway and not a solid wall). Their presence made Steve flush all the harder for where he was positioned suggestively between the Alpha’s thighs.

“Alpha,” several of them greeted Bucky.

The one in the front of the group nodded his head respectfully, barely sparing a glance down to Steve. “It’s done. We’re just waiting on your command, now.”

Bucky nodded, and despite not knowing what “It’s done,” meant, Steve felt his stomach sink with dread at the satisfaction that Bucky seemed to express at hearing this news. “What?” Steve asked, anxious. “What’s he talking about?”

“The Warden,” Bucky said, almost flippant about it. “They have him. Ready to execute.”

Steve tensed. Holy Shit. “You really shouldn’t do that,” he warned. “It’s bad enough that you’ve killed so many guards already. You’ll have nothing left to make your way out of this, if you kill the Warden.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I told you: we aren’t going to need any negotiations. We have outside help.”

Steve frowned, still not knowing the extent of what that might mean. But if the woman walking in through the freaking walls was any indication, then he figured he should probably take Bucky at his word. Who knew how many werewolves and other mutants—or metahumans, or whatever—these guys had working for them from the outside? Bucky sure seemed confident of their imminent escape. Still, Steve persisted. “Well you shouldn’t kill him.”

“Oh really? And why is that?” Bucky was looking down at Steve like he found him highly amusing.

Steve squared his jaw. “The Warden’s just a man,” he argued. “He’s just doing his job. It’s not like he’s got a vendetta against you. Prisons exist for a reason. You can’t hold that against him. He didn’t invent the system.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “No, I suppose you’re right. But he does comply with the system—a system that does nothing but oppress my people.”

Steve shrugged. “Do the crime, do the time.”

Bucky laughed and wagged the knife in his face. “Don’t get smart with me now, little boy. Or I’ll have to put you in your place a lot sooner than I’d like.”

“Sooner?”

Bucky just leered and leaned in close to where he was kneeling, thankfully whispering his next words: “I know what you are, Steve. You think I can’t smell you?”

Steve paled. His eyes shot up to Bucky’s, and he saw a dark interest there that made things low in his belly stir against his will.

“What the fuck were you thinkin’, coming into a place like this, little one?” Bucky murmured. When Steve had no response for him, he sighed and sat back, speaking normally again. “And for your information, I’ve never been convicted of a crime … Well, not a felony anyways. Most of the wolves in this pen haven’t.”

Steve froze, then scowled, refusing to believe it. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s true,” Dum Dum said from over by the wall. “Arrested, indicted. But never convicted. They’ve tacked a bunch’a stuff onto the old RICO laws, stuff specifically aimed at us that allows ‘em to throw us in prison indefinitely until they scrounge up some farce of a trial.”

“Which almost never comes to fruition,” Bucky supplied. “And they treat us like shit. Like animals. Because that’s how they see us.”

“They throw away our mail,” Dum Dum said angrily, and one by one the other wolves standing around added their own grievances to the pile:

“Deny visitation.”

“Deprive us of basic necessities.

“Force us to do shit just to humiliate us.”

“Goddamn unconstitutional.”

Steve gulped, not sure he wanted to ask just what humiliating ‘shit’ they were forced to do. He could practically feel the anger radiating off all of them. It made him want to inch closer to Bucky for protection.

“Okay, but … but those RICO laws are on the books to protect the general population,” Steve argued, though his voice came out weak. “And they’re probably tough on you because … um … well y-you guys can do things humans can’t. It requires special circumstances.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “Like throwing all of our rights out of the window?” When Steve remained tight-lipped, he growled down at him. He reached out and carded his hand through Steve’s hair, messing it up in a mockery of a caress. “I told you to be careful, boy,” he warned. “Rioting inmates tend to get pissed off kinda easy, you know?”

Steve shivered, unable to stop it. He licked his lips and muttered a quick, “Sorry,” lowering his eyes in a show of submission that would hopefully satisfy the Alpha. He heard Bucky hum, which he took as a good sign.

“Boss,” Dum Dum said, shifting uncomfortably. “Let me handle him. He shouldn’t be in here. Morita and Jones’ve got the Warden. I’ll take him over there, put ‘em both out of their misery.”

Steve shivered and looked up at Bucky with pleading eyes. He’d made up his mind in the beginning not to beg, but that didn’t mean his body had gotten the message. Because when Bucky leaned forward and freaking scruffed him with heated eyes and a low rumble of consideration, thumb digging into his glands, Steve lost control and felt a sudden gush in his underwear.

Was that … release??

Steve froze, shocked and humiliated. He didn’t want to believe it, but even without looking down at himself, he could feel it, he could smell it; the wetness on the front of his pants—not urine, but the fluid from organs that he’d always known (in theory) that he had inside him. Steve breathed open-mouthed, trying not to let the scent get past his nostrils. Holy shit. Now everyone would know. Shit. He whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, panicking. He’d never wet submissively like this before. He’d thought he had better control of himself than that! Oh, God.

His eyes shot open when Bucky’s hand cupped his jaw, warm and large. Instinctively, he tilted his face into it. Bucky’s thumb stroked over his cheek tenderly. Steve saw him looking down at the dark spot on his slacks, and he wanted to sink into the floor and die.

But Bucky’s eyes weren’t mocking or disgusted—They were lit with excitement. “Oh, Sweetheart,” he breathed, continuing to cradle Steve’s face in that way that felt inordinately reassuring. Steve fought not to slump further between the Alpha’s spread thighs. Bucky chuckled darkly at the reaction. “Oh, yeah. You’re gonna be fun.”

Steve was put in a cell by himself, which was honestly the best outcome he could’ve hoped for. If he was lucky, the prisoners would just make their escape and leave him there for the rescue squads to find later. That was, if the prison complex wasn’t surrounded by SWAT personnel already. If that was the case, then this whole hostage crisis situation might go a lot worse for him.

He grimaced as he shifted in place, forced to feel the cold wetness left behind from his release. Bucky hadn’t let him change. He’d told Steve that he wanted him to stay in the soiled clothes, to feel and smell the evidence of his own submission. He claimed it would help keep him calm, but Steve seriously doubted that. The Alpha was just being a jerk and trying to humiliate him further.

The cell’s bed was a concrete bench with only a thin sleeping mat on top of it. Steve sat there and tried not to think about the uncomfortable clothes he was stuck in. He could’ve stripped himself, then maybe tried to cover his privates with his shirt. But he’d be damned if he was going to take anything off in front of these people. He was just lucky the other werewolves had delivered him to his cell unmolested, and that he was being left alone. … For now.

He sat there for a while, loud noises still echoing from different places in the cell block and beyond. But in general, the commotion was dying down. Steve didn’t think that was a good thing. He still couldn’t imagine how Bucky and his men had pulled something this elaborate off. Bucky didn’t even seem to be involved in the action. He’d just been lounging in his cell like the friggin’ queen of Sheba. Steve scoffed. How typical: Big man in charge, making everyone else do the dirty work for him. They’d probably be the ones to come back and execute him, as well. The man named Dum Dum had clearly been in favor of doing away with him.

Steve was more than a little surprised when the Warden was dragged by—alive—and placed in the cell next to his. Apparently Bucky was choosing not to execute him yet either (the key word there being:“yet”). It was clear that their situations could change at any moment.

Time passed. Maybe an hour, then maybe two. It felt like much longer. Steve and the Warden couldn’t see each other, but they talked back and forth a bit to ascertain their respective conditions. The Warden said he’d been roughed up and stabbed in the leg with a shiv, but was otherwise doing okay. Steve was unsteady on his feet and sore, but likewise had no critical injuries.

He’d met the Warden earlier that day upon his arrival, but their interaction had been brief, and Steve didn’t know the man. “You think we get out of this?” he asked, head leaned back against the wall between their cells. He figured the Warden must be sitting right there on his bed on the other side, too, because his voice carried easily. It sounded weary when it came through the bars.

“You might make it. I don’t think I will.”

Steve frowned. “I told their leader not to kill you,” he offered, feeling bad for the guy. Most of the werewolves probably wanted to rip the Warden’s head off. “He didn’t seem sure either way. Not even about me.”

“Bucky?”

Steve was surprised that he knew the Alpha’s name. “Yeah,” he said. “How did you—”

“Oh, we’ve had talks, he and I.” The Warden laughed humorlessly. “I keep close tabs on all the gang leaders in my prison. And the more dangerous they are, the more attention they get. We’ve got a little bit of everything here, unfortunately, from the mild to the worst of the worst. Got the Kings, the Mexicans, the Black Gorillas, Crips, Sicilians, Aryans, Bloods , MS13. … And then there’s the Wolves.”

“Jesus. You really put ‘em in that order?” Steve had seen confidential police photos of the shit MS13 did to people. Stuff so bad that it wasn’t shown to the general public for how gruesome it was. He couldn’t imagine how a gang could get much worse than MS13, but the Warden was ranking werewolves above them. “They can’t be that bad,” he hedged.

“Yeah? And how many werewolves do you know?” The other man shot back, probably satisfied when Steve didn’t have an answer for him. “They’re the most dangerous people I’ve ever dealt with, Steve. And I say that as someone who specializes in dealing with some really dangerous fucking people.”

“Yeah,” Steve said quietly. He sighed and looked down. The wet spot on his pants confronted him again, humiliating, reminding him of what deep shit he was in now that he’d revealed himself. If he was being held by a bunch of human prisoners, it probably wouldn’t have mattered much. A bunch of human betas would know, but they wouldn’t be tempted. Unfortunately almost all the prison’s werewolves were alpha—in designation, if not title. Steve was sure that even the beta Warden could smell it from the negligible distance between their cells. “... Did you know I was O? I mean, before. This morning when we met?”

The Warden was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t,” he said. "But now ..."

It was a special kind of humiliation, to know that everyone around you knew right away that you had recently wet yourself in submission. At least the Warden was polite enough to refrain from saying it. “I doubled up on blockers,” Steve told him glumly. “Not like it did me any good. He still knew.” He didn’t say who “he” was, but figured the Warden could probably guess. “He knew right away.”

“Werewolves have a better sense of smell than we do. Like dogs.” He said it kind of meanly, and Steve squirmed in discomfort at the bitterness in his tone. “Want my advice?”

“... Sure.”

“Just do what they say. Don’t fight them. Don’t insult them. Try not to cry in front of them. Don’t submit until they make you. The thing is, you want to get them to respect you as much as possible, but without doing anything to challenge their dominance. Whatever you do, don’t do that. Pecking order really matters to these guys.”

“I know that,” Steve huffed. “I am a criminology major, ya know.”

The Warden scoffed. “Yeah, but that’s a world away from the reality on the ground. And we’re … in a unique situation.” There was a long pull of silence, and then, more somberly and quietly he said, “This is really bad, Steve. Really bad. I don’t think any of the staff made it out. Some of my officers are dead. I saw the bodies. I haven’t seen any other hostages.”

Steve gulped. He hoped that wasn’t true. “M-maybe they’re just locked up somewhere,” he said weakly, realizing that he was grasping at straws.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He could hear in the Warden’s voice, how much he didn’t believe that. “I don’t understand,” Steve murmured. “With all the security in place, all the safety measures and controls, I just don’t see how they could’ve—”

“They must’ve had help. A lot of help. It had to be from people on the outside, and from officials inside the prison. Somebody betrayed me.” He scoffed bitterly. “Probably several somebodies.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t. But it’s the only way they could’ve gotten access the way they did. And you should’ve seen how quickly they did it. The whole thing started over in administration. Alarms disabled, comms out. Hell, even our talkies stopped working. They had all communications jammed from the start, then their collars started fallin’ off their necks all at once.” He growled. “Once their bodies were free there was no matching ‘em. Bastards were able to take over the system in one goddamn hour. I even think they might’ve used an EMP.”

“Shit,” Steve whispered. “... This has never happened, has it?” he said, kind of dejectedly, because he pretty much knew the answer.

“No. Nothing like this. Even Attica in ‘71 wasn’t this bad. And riots like that just don’t happen anymore, because they can’t.” He huffed. “But somehow these fucking freaks figured out a way. And as far as I know, they’ve got complete control. Nobody on the outside knows what’s happened. It could be hours, maybe even a day or more before response teams come. If the wolves haven’t executed all the employees yet, I think they will soon. Animals. They don’t have any self control,” he gritted out. Then he scoffed. “Hell, I’m probably enemy number one. They hate me. Blame me for their miserable lives, think they’re not treated fairly.”

Steve thought of what he’d been told earlier, remembering Bucky’s pack and the near-the tangible rage that’d been in the air amongst them. “Um ... They were tryin’ to say that they weren’t convicted of any crimes,” he said carefully. “Before being locked up. Said that the expansion of RICO keeps ‘em here with no set date for trial? That’s not … I mean that’s not true, right?” On the other side of the wall, the Warden was quiet, and Steve’s heart sank. “That’s … that’s violating at least three of their civil liberties, Sir.”

“I’m not the one who made the rules,” the Warden snapped. “Federal standard. Justice comes for them eventually, but the system is overtaxed and it takes time. They’re just a bunch of dumb brutes who don’t like waiting.”

Steve didn’t know if he believed that, especially since the Warden seemed to have a heavy bias against werewolves in general. “They also said other stuff.”

“What ‘stuff’?”

“... That they don’t get basic necessities, stuff’s withheld, the guards throw away their mail, do things to humiliate them.”

“They’re a bunch of liars,” The warden hissed. “They behave like beasts and they’re treated accordingly. Are you honestly gonna put stock in what those murderers say?” He huffed like he was disgusted with Steve. “Jesus.”

Steve bit his lip, still bothered by it. “... Those shock collars you make them wear,”

“Are for everyone’s safety! The guards, the staff, and the other prisoners; visitors like you. Hell, they even protect them from themselves. They’re a deterrent, Steve. A failsafe to shut ‘em down quick.”

Steve bit his tongue to hold back any more prying questions. He could tell that the Warden was pissed at him. The poor guy was likely going to be executed soon, and Steve figured that he shouldn’t rag on him anymore about the shitty management of the prison’s were population. Not in what might be the last hours of the poor bastard’s life. “Well none of it worked,” he just mumbled. “Maybe you should’ve tried something different.”

The Warden sighed and didn’t speak to him again. Eventually Steve gave up on talking and lay down on the cell’s bed, exhausted from the intensity of the past few hours. He closed his eyes and shot off a few foxhole prayers that he wouldn’t be murdered in the very near future.

Lying on a concrete bed, he was able to fall asleep surprisingly fast.

Masterlist

Part 2

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup. It's a big part of what allows me to take time to write. Thanks!

@stuckyversebingo

card: sarahyellow / sarah-writes-stucky

Square A5: on your knees

[dandelionprints]

In The Rain⛈ - Tommy Shelby Headcannon

Just a little headcannon I’ve thrown together! It contains fluff and mentions of smut but no actual smut, I hope you enjoy!

⛈ dark grey clouds fill the skies, threatening to spill out the heavens

⛈ the sound of water dripping from drain pipes echos around you from the houses along the street

⛈ Tommy walks beside you, a cigarette between two fingers and his other hand holding yours

⛈ children play in the puddles created by last nights storm

⛈ the shriek of their laughter bounced off the walls

⛈ “looks like no riding today, eh?” He turns to look at you, a questioning look on his face

⛈ “I think not, looks like we’ll have to find something else to do”, you frown

⛈ “oh, I think I could find some other kind of riding for you to do”, a coy smirk appears on his lips, a quick wink added in

⛈ you blush - which is ridiculous! You’ve been together for years yet this man still has the ability to make you weak at the knees

⛈ he hands you a cigarette, lights it between your lips and you take a pull on it

⛈ the wind has started to pick up, making the breeze around you cold and bitter

⛈ he takes off his coat, wrapping it around your shoulders, the thick material giving you instant warmth

⛈ throwing his cigarette onto the ground, a sizzle can be heard as it lands in a puddle, burning it out

⛈ Tommy wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into him as you continue walking

⛈ you feel a drop of rain hit your cheek and flinch at the touch of the water

⛈ “shit, my hairs going to get ruined”, you mutter, wiping away the rain from your cheek and throwing away your nearly spent cigarette

⛈ “c’mere”

⛈ he takes the coat from your shoulders and gives you one end of it before taking the other

⛈ he lifts it in the air, enough to cover both of your heads

⛈ “who says you need an umbrella, eh?”, he chuckles, leaning over to give you a quick kiss on the lips

⛈ the rain begins to pour down onto the streets of Birmingham, bouncing off the cobbles along the ground

⛈ the sound of it hitting Tommy’s coat above your head fills the space around you

⛈ again, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, this time encouraging you to walk a bit faster

⛈ the unmistakable sound of thunder roars around you followed by a flash of lightning filling the sky

⛈ “c’mon, we’re nearly at Pol’s”, he says, removing his hand from your waist and instead grabbing hold of your free hand, pulling you behind him slightly down the street

⛈ “Tommy I can’t run that fast!”, you shout as you struggle to keep up with his pace, the coat above your heads nearly slipping from your fingers.

⛈ he laughs as he continues to pull you along, the childhood memories of you running riot as kids in all weathers floods your mind

⛈ you lose your grip on his coat and shriek as the cold water hits you

⛈ “Oh fuck, I’m soaked!”

⛈ Tommy comes to a stop and turns to look at you

⛈ you stand in place, feeling the cold seeping through your clothes

⛈ “I think you’re a bit wet there, love”, he chuckles, that toothy grin you can’t resist appearing on his lips

⛈ you throw him a comical defeated look in response

⛈ he drops his coat down to his side letting the downpour cover him until he too has water dripping off every inch of him

⛈ “looks like we’ll both have to get dry and find a way to warm up now”, he hints, the grin now turning into a smirk

⛈ your smile spreads slowly until you find yourself grinning

⛈ Tommy walks towards you and stops directly in front of you, dropping his coat to the ground and reaches his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks

⛈ “I think a nice cup of tea ought to do it”, he jokes, wanting to get a reaction out of you

⛈ you roll your eyes

⛈ “I mean if all you want is tea then that’s fine, I thought you might like to see the undergarments I had delivered to your aunts house in discreet packaging this morning, but I guess not”, you shrug figuring two can play at that game

⛈ you begin to walk off, his hands once again dropping to his sides

⛈ “hey!”, he turns to grab you by the wrist and spins you so that you’re facing him again.

⛈ his hands return to your cheeks

⛈ “I think I’d much prefer seeing what you had delivered, especially if you show me what they look like on”

⛈ “hmm, I suppose if you’re lucky then I might be tempted to try them on, but tea…” you begin

⛈ he cuts you off with a finger to your lips

⛈ “tea can fucking wait, I’ve got an image in my head of you now that won’t go away, I need to see it physically, standing in my bedroom”

⛈ he leans closer and brings his head towards yours

⛈ the rain is still crashing onto the cobbles around you, bouncing off the stones

⛈ your lips meet, soft and gentle

⛈ he tries to speed up the pace, hungry for the taste of you

⛈ you pull away and disappointment spreads across his face

⛈ you smirk, “as you wish, Thomas Shelby”

————

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @peakypoet @moral-terpitude @lyarr24 @cillmequick @mrkdvidal1989 @shelbydelrey @alasya16 @tommystargirl @elenavampire21 @adaydreamaway08 @bluesongbird @zablife @cljordan-imperium @look-at-the-soul @rangerelik

[steampunkagumon]

It's Not the Reaper That I Fear (Survivor's Guilt AU)

(AO3 link)

Instead of Riot, someone else dies during that fateful moment.

“Aw, I thought I was gonna die, too~”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"̶I̴n̸t̶e̶r̶e̴s̶t̷i̵n̸g̶ ̵i̴n̵g̶e̶n̴u̴i̵t̵y̴,̶ ̷u̸s̵i̶n̴g̴ ̴t̸h̸e̷ ̵F̵i̷r̸e̵w̴a̶l̷l̷s̶ ̵a̶s̷ ̵a̸ ̶s̵h̸i̴e̵l̵d̶.̸ ̸B̵u̵t̵ ̶l̸e̴t̴ ̴m̴e̴ ̷a̸s̶k̴ ̵y̵o̵u̷ ̵s̶o̴m̶e̷t̷h̸i̷n̷g̴:̸ ̸W̵h̸o̶ ̵d̶o̸ ̶y̷o̶u̷ ̶t̴h̴i̶n̴k̸ ̴d̶e̸v̸e̶l̴o̴p̸e̷d̷ ̵t̷h̴e̴ ̸F̴i̶r̸e̷w̴a̸l̵l̸s̶?̵.̷.̵.̵"̷ There is a rush as HiAndromon blitzes across the room.

“That is a 22 for the Fight check. Riot, give me a Flight or a Brawn check.”

Riot - Brawn - 3

“That is SO much lower than a 22!” “Hear me out! Hear me out: Reiner’s gonna use Protective on that, and try to push Riot out of the way.” “But he’s supposed to be gone so I can focus on myself.” “No, see, I'm thinkin' we get rid of MY character, and then I can take over for you.” “And what brought this on? I thought we all agreed to this already.” “I’m just thinkin’ about how… I dunno, cruel it would be to spend the whole campaign goin’ “Oh, when’s Riot gonna die?” and then ACTUALLY kill him, y’know?” “Huh. Guess I hadn’t thought of that.” Nick shrugged. “I mean, I’ll allow it. Pyro?” Pyro conceded.

* * *

“Riot, look out!”

Flight check: DC 3

[Protective]: +3

Reiner - Flight - 9

Brawn check: DC 22

Reiner - Brawn - 3

+1 Adversity to ERROR ERROR ERROR

Riot felt Reiner’s hands shoving him back, then the cold metal wall behind him, then a splash. He wiped off his cheek. When he pulled his hand back, his fingertips were stained with a red liquid.

“Oh shit…”

***

As he laid in the darkness, a light began to shine its way through, and he heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, kid.”

“Uncle Will?... Is that you?”

His uncle held a hand out to him. “It’s time to go.”

“Then... I wasn't strong enough to protect everyone?”

“Of course you were. But sometimes, it doesn't matter how strong you are. Sometimes, it's just not meant to be…”

“Wh- what about Sammi?...”

“Well, she has your friends to look after her, right? I’m sure they won’t let you down.”

With a heavy heart, Reiner reached out and took his uncle’s hand.

***

Everyone watched in horror as Reiner’s body collapsed to the ground in front of their friend, blood pooling from a gash so deep it almost split him in two. HiAndromon huffed, flicking his hand and splattering the blood across the wall. "̷O̸n̵e̸ ̷d̵o̶w̴n̴,̷"̷ He glared at Riot. "̷F̵i̷v̸e̷ ̴t̷o̶ ̴g̸o̶.̷.̶.̷"̸

“If Reiner had died, I would’ve broken my one rule and grabbed the gun.”

Sammi’s blood boiled. Without thinking, she charged forward, swiping one of the Anthonies out of Sistermon’s hand. All she could think as she took aim was that her brother was dead.

“Repent, you motherfucker!!!”

Sammi - Fight - 4

HiAndromon - Brawn - 11

+1 Adversity to [Sammi]

HiAndromon didn’t react as the bullets ricocheted off of him.

Riot’s breath heaved as he looked down at the fresh corpse of his friend, and only a single thought raced through his mind: that was supposed to be him.

They were brought to the Digital World for a reason, and for him, it was death.

He was sure, with the look he got from the Cyborg Digimon, that HiAndromon wouldn’t stop until he had killed him specifically. So, if he was fated to go out, his friend’s sacrifice at least gave him a chance to go out with a bang.

This one’s for you, Reiner…

Riot let out a cry, one of sheer rage and terror, as he swung his hammer full-force.

Explosion: 12

Riot - Fight - 21

HiAndromon - Brawn - 9

HIANDROMON’S SHIELDS DOWN

He struck HiAndromon square in the face, cracking his visor and causing him to stumble back a bit. “Do us all a favor:” Riot huffed, “FUCKING BE DELETED QUIETLY!!!”

In an instant, HiAndromon dropped his act, forming his hand into that lightning blade again. "̸O̸h̴,̶ ̶y̸o̶u̷ ̷t̷h̴i̵n̴k̶ ̶y̴o̶u̵'̸r̷e̵ ̵t̸o̶u̸g̸h̶ ̷s̵h̴i̸t̷,̸ ̴h̶u̷h̷?̷"̶

“Agunimon Duskmon, it is… hard to watch, as you see another moment that can go so badly. You look over to Riot Reiner, and you can only think one thing: Never again. NEVER AGAIN! And you feel a dark energy within you begin to rise up.”

Duskmon moved forward, pace increasing with each step. As his foot landed in the puddle beneath Reiner’s body, darkness swallowed up both him and his fallen partner. There was yet again a rush as the shadow dashed out from the spot, leaving behind no blood or body. Holding HiAndromon’s hand back was no longer Duskmon, but instead a being of pitch black rage. Someone who would not stand idly by while their comrades continued to fall. Before them stood…

“BAALMON!”

Baalmon - Fight - 16

Adversity expended

Baalmon - Fight - ???

HiAndromon - Brawn - 14

“Tribunal Blast…”

Baalmon raised his shotgun arm point-blank to HiAndromon’s midsection and fired, blowing him back. Towards the far end of the room where he had landed was a tram system of some sort. Broken and battered, HiAndromon looked up, his visor flickering in front of his eyes. "̷E̴n̶j̵o̷y̵ ̸t̷h̸i̷s̵ ̶v̷i̵c̴t̶o̶r̸y̷ ̵w̸h̷i̶l̷e̵ ̴y̷o̴u̶ ̷c̸a̸n̵.̸ ̵Y̵o̷u̸’̴l̶l̴ ̸n̴e̶v̵e̷r̵ ̵m̸a̸k̶e̶ ̸i̶t̶ ̸t̸h̸r̴o̷u̸g̴h̵ ̶m̸y̷ ̵T̴e̸r̷m̸i̴n̶a̶l̷,̷ ̸e̷s̶p̸e̷c̴i̴a̶l̶l̴y̸ ̷n̴o̵t̸ ̸w̵i̴t̸h̷o̴u̸t̷ ̸a̷n̷ ̷A̵d̴m̶i̸n̴’̶s̸ ̵h̵e̴l̵p̸.̸ ̴S̶o̴ ̴l̸o̵n̶g̴,̶ ̶f̸a̴l̷s̸e̷ ̸D̵i̸g̷i̵D̶e̸s̴t̷i̵n̷e̶d̸…̴"̶

“We may not be the DigiDestined you remember,” Sammi barked back, “but your time is over…”

The train rumbled loudly as HiAndromon took off, and the doors slid shut behind him.

Grit check all: DC 20