#Slender is my new muse apparently

[cinemamind]

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʟᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ᴍᴀɴ

[livefromthedas]

That Time Flirting Accidentally Worked

(Also up on AAO3, here)

Summary:

Rook Ingellvar, famously a dumpster fire amongst Mourn Watchers, manages to fall face-first into dating one Emmrich Volkarin.

Nice.

Notes:

I swear to God I intended to start DATV fanfic writing for my Lucanis/Rook playthrough... but this came out instead. Strike while the hyper-focus iron is hot, I guess.

I tried to write this Rook (F, Mourn Watcher) as vaguely as possible while still making sure she was reflection of the character in my head, so hopefully that works for readers.

Please note that while I'm utilizing quite a bit of canon knowledge about Navarra and Navarran culture, here, there is also a ton about the place that we just do no know, so a lot of information here is extrapolated (aka, pulled directly out of my butt.) I had fun though, at least, exploring more of the place, and creating my own little pocket of extra romance content for Emmrich and Rook as well.

And yeah, this will probably get spicy. Just a heads up.

———————————

Chapter 1: Hot Date for a Hot Mess

The needling fire of over-exertion kept a purposeful momentum in Rook’s stride the entire journey home from their latest magic-riddled battle with the Venatori in Arlathan.

That fight, deep in the autumn hewn forest - an apparent ambush - had been jarring and brutal. Had Davrin not been with them, with Assan to serve as their own surprise attack from the sky, Rook was quite certain that, for all of their combined competency, she and Emmrich Volkarin may very well have met a swift, very bloody end that day.

There had just been so many of them - Scarlet scythe’s crackling with arcane energy, and corrupted magic churning in the air like a turbulent storm. Then again, when it came to Venatori, there always seemed to be a limitless supply.

Rook breathed in deep as she strode through the Vi’revas - the eluvian unique to the Dreadwolf’s hideaway in the Fade - close on Emmrich’s heels. One moment they were in the Crossroads, wild and untethered to reality as it was. The next, they were striding into the cool, dark nethers of the Lighthouse.

“Ugh,” Davrin grumbled, reaching to pull something that looked suspiciously like viscera from his hair as he strode through the eluvian’s surface in the pair of necromancers' wakes, “I’m going to go wash up. See you two at dinner?”

Rook smirked bemusedly - of all of the blood the Gray Warden was soaked through with, Maker forbid a bit of viscera get in the handsome elf’s hair. She nearly went to nod, when Emmrich spun on his heels to face the pair of them.

“Actually,” the Professor poised, hands clasping before him as his bangles glimmered in the unnatural light of the corridor, “Would you be so kind as to let Lucanis know to be expecting two less settings at the table this evening? Rook and I will be dining in Navarra.”

Rook’s eyebrows rose curiously - this was news to her.

“Yeah, no problem,” Davrin grinned. He gestured a hand over one shoulder as he made for the door, “You kids have fun.”

Kids . The word lingered humorously in the air - Emmrich barely stifled a chuckle at it, even in the gray warden’s absence.

“A trip home is a nice surprise,” Rook mused, mischief and curiosity a glint in her eyes.

The senior necromancer, dashing as ever, offered her an arm, and she was quick to place a hand at his elbow as he guided them from the room, and up the stairs.

“Forgive me, darling, I had hoped to ask you properly once we were settled in,” Emmrich said, gloved hand resting warmly upon the slender hand she’d offered him, “Reservations at the Pnemoix are scarce at best this time of year, and I received word of an opening just prior to our departure to Arlathan.”

“Yeah, that got chaotic rather quickly,” Rook admitted, ever as tired, but relieved they were alive to tell the tale at all. For all of her raised hackles that needled up her spine over the ambush in the woods, a tickle of excitement wiggled its way into her belly, “And I’ve heard of the Pnemoix!” Her sudden excitement was palpable. Word amongst her peers back at the Necropolis had it that the Pnemoix was one of the most exclusive- and enchanting - dining experiences in all of Navarra City. It was not far from the city’s main entrance to the Grand Necropolis itself, in fact. Emmrich could scarcely stifle the humorous glimmer in his eyes as the bounce in her step hastened as they strode. He finally slipped a chuckle when her expression then screwed with uncertainty, “Aren’t they ridiculously expensive, though?”

“Hardly any concern of yours, my darling,” Emmrich laughed.

Cresting the top of the stairs that overlooked the Lighthouse’s eerie library, the Professor stopped before the long hall that led to his study. Rook watched curiously as something shifted in his demeanor - warm laughter settling into something warmer still, slender hands and their menagerie of golden rings gracing her arms with an almost reverential care.

“I had hoped, should the temptation arise,” Rook felt a wildfire blush ignite to the tips of her ears at his sudden unusually intimate word choice, before he’d so much as finished his sentence, “We may enjoy the privacy an overnight at home might afford us.”

Emmrich’s grin broadened at the blatant blush that flooded the young woman’s typically cocksure expression, a softness in his gaze despite the hint of mischief that lingered there, “You so scarcely find a moment alone in the Lighthouse, my love. You’ll forgive an old man his selfish desire for attention undivided.”

“I-I… of course,” Rook managed, despite her blush, a dizzying flutter in her chest and her tongue-tie of nerves.

“And the decision is entirely yours,” her breath caught in her throat as he pressed a kiss upon her forehead, one hand affectionately upon the back of her head, “But do consider it, darling, hmm?” He seemed absolutely tickled at Rook’s uncharacteristic shyness as she nodded, green eyes alight with racing thoughts. This was hardly a woman prone to speechlessness, after all. “I’m going to change, and request Neve look after Manfred until we return. Meet me at the Vi’Revas when you’re ready.”

Rook managed a nod before Emmrich swept off airily, stride as confident as ever.

——————-

“Okay… Oookay,” Rook finally managed to breathe again once the ancient chamber doors of her quarters sealed shut behind her. Gaze darting around the dancing light of the aquarium that dominated the far wall, she huffed a ragged sigh, palm to her forehead.

Embarrassment immediately flooded her veins.

“He finally brings it up and you… freeze? Seriously?” She groaned morosely.

At best, Rook was disappointed. It was hardly how she’d imagined reacting to such an opportunity, after all. The Rook of her imagination was unflappable in her confidence - *she* surely would have managed an air of alluring …. *Something* in response to such a proposition. A wicked flirt. A lingering kiss. A clever quip of any make or model at all.

But no. Only overwhelm. Rook had been flooded with a timidness utterly foreign to her usually fearless brogue.

Scythe-wielding Venatori, raging demons, blighted gods… Such larger than life dangers too surreal and too vast to seem anything shy of absurd? That she could handle with a finesse and fearlessness that defied logic. It was precisely why Varric had brought her into the fold in the fight against Fen’Harel to begin with.

“But actually have the fellow you’ve been pining over for the last decade make a pass at you, and your brain breaks ? Maferath’s balls.”

The sordid swear she’d picked up from Varric early in their journeys together at least managed a smile from the woman. She shoved off from the door, kicking off muddied boots and unbuckling the patina’d gloves of her Mourn Watcher gauntlets as she went.

Rook had had little choice but to be honest with the Professor once her shoot-for-the-moon flirtations had, to her own genuine surprise, actually succeeded in swaying his interest so many weeks prior.

This was all… very new to the junior Mourn Watcher. So much of her time growing up had been spent clawing desperately for a sense of self. For the sort of identity that a complete lack of kith, kin or clan denied her for the whole of recent memory. Certainly until one Varric Tethras had swaggered his way into her life and corralled her under his wing.

Something as complicated as dating just never found its foothold with her focus, amid so many years of simply trying to find herself.

She was an elf in a largely human community, a non magic user - despite her endless fascination with the craft - in a society that prized its mages above all. Both facts of which pushed many of her superiors throughout her collegiate studies to blow off and even mock her ambitions towards more magic-focused areas of study.

Rook was an academic at heart - A voracious learner and reader. But for all of her passion, she was still very much an outsider. She was the foundling discovered abandoned deep within the Necropolis - lucky to have been found alive at all - Taken in by a kind and doting pair of elderly Mortalitasi, Gunter and Eloise Ingellvar, who had even gone as far as bequeathing their inheritance to her upon the last of their dual deaths some years later.

But they had gone too soon - Rook had barely been 12 when the old woman had died - and she was once again left as a ward of the Necropolis and its Watchers, who seemed to see less value in an orphaned elf with no magical talents to speak of. Frequently outright denied access to her preferred areas of study due to their prized and limited availability (such courses should be reserved for mages who might make the most use of them after all, and the university’s donors were rife with promising young mages as heirs) she was relegated, instead, to training as a fighter. A protector. A watcher of the Watchers themselves.

Just one extra corpse between demons and the ones whose work actually matters, more like, she thought. She swung open her ornate wardrobe, eyes scanning her limited choice in clothing critically as her thoughts poured from one memory to the next.

Those days were rife with turmoil. Rook had volleyed equally between hours of grueling fight and defense training, classes in basic sciences, necromancy, anatomy, funerary preparations and the Fade, and time dedicated purely to stirring up shit in the streets of Navarra City.

Fights. Petty theft. Stirring up chaos in the market square with a prank or three - one of which had, to her own amusement and pride to that very day, saw a surprisingly large number of bees in a leading role.

Throughout her years of collegiate learning, Rook carried the rage of a clever mind stifled and of dreams dashed, and it had landed her under the threadbare patience and steely gaze of the headmaster more times than she could count. That the Mourn Watch had been tasked with her care as much as her training was likely the only reason she hadn’t been thrown out for good.

It also hadn’t hurt that Rook had proven incredibly adept at combat despite her general lack of interest in the task (outside of a good tavern fistfight, at least.) There was also the curiosity that was her study habits. Her grades in basic courses were passable at best from sheer lack of interest, yet when time and little pockets of determination allowed, she could be found holed up in the Necropolis’s expansive library for hours, even days on end, pouring over every tomb her low-level clearance would allow, creating many tombs further of dense, meticulously detailed notes.

She was at least trying, in her own way, her superiors knew. And where their interest in her full potential failed her, her own thirst for learning minded the gap. Even if she was denied the chance to pursue her major of choice… lectures in the Grand Necropolis’s halls of learning were as free and frequent as the availability and seating of its various expansive lecture halls would allow.

Those educational sermons were hardly for the faint of heart or feeble of mind. They required many dedicated hours, copious notes, and a level of existing understanding of necromancy, the occult and Navarran history as a whole that *should* have been enough to bar a student of Rook’s study tract access by sheer lack of access to advanced classes alone.

But Rook had done the work. Had soaked up every scrap and parcel of knowledge she could, entirely on her own. And in each and every lecture, perched dutifully in the shadows at the back of the room, she soared.

Which was precisely where the good Professor had graced her peripherals, time and time again.

Even nearly a decade prior, Professor Emmrich Volkarin was something of a legend on campus. Prodigiously intelligent and equally skilled in both oration and genuine fondness for the eager young minds he fostered, Rook was hardly immune from the childish swooning over the otherwise utterly unattainable genius that captivated his students with every speech and demonstration.

“Volkarin’s hangers-on.”

Johanna Hezenkoss’s recent jeer at Rook’s expense still made her cheeks run hot. Rook had never been that - certainly not as the insult Hezenkoss intended.

But Rook and Emmrich were both well aware of whom the half-Litch referred to.

Hair a little darker and warm eyes a little bit brighter then, The Professor was too clever and adept at reading people around him to have remained oblivious to the fact that not only were the large majority of doe-eyed students trailing him from office to lectern and back largely of the female variety, but they were also almost always a bit more coy than was comfortable to be sharing a room with for too long. It was always impressive, then, to Rook, just how coolly and kindly said attentions were quite unanimously blown off by Emmrich himself.

He was never once cruel or condescending, but ever the consummate professional. He paid his students’ motivations no mind outside of whatever question he was fielding, or what knowledge he wished to impart, either.

Rook later overheard whispers among a gaggle of gossiping young mages in the privy that, apparently, “half of the fun” of flirting with the man to begin with was trying to “find a crack” in their charming yet unflappably stoic Professor’s perfectly tailored facade.

Of which there was nary a one, as far as Rook knew at the time. The man simply did not budge.

Which was why, despite never having had the stones to so much as approach Professor Volkarin with a question before meeting with him in the catacombs with Bellara months prior, and with nearly ten years of confidence that only incredibly hard work and some life experience could provide, Rook was genuinely floored when her own good-humored and (mostly) unserious swings at flirting with the man *actually worked.*

Rook had only dared shoot her shot with the man with the full confidence that in all likelihood (and at absolute worst) he would simply glance past the attention with his usual jovial kindness. She took a swing at it for younger-Rook, who would have thought it the coolest thing ever, future-Rook finding the sort of confidence her younger self found so foreign.

And the man actually expressed interest. Just fully (warmly as ever but with a degree of coyness Rook had no idea actually existed prior) stated that if, in fact, her projected interest went beyond mere flattery… he was down.

“Hell of a bullseye on the first draw, there, Ingellvar,” she had mused to herself and inevitably shared with Emmrich multiple times since, much to the Professor’s amusement.

Rook pulled the only pretty, non-Mourn Watch related article of clothing she owned - a deep purple gown and its immaculately tailored overcoat - from the wardrobe, before clipping the doors shut with her heel.

Naive shock aside, it wasn’t as though Rook hadn’t been equally delighted by Emmrich’s unexpected response. She had become even more enamored with the fellow in the past many months, as he spoke with her not as a student but as a colleague. An equal.

He adored her thoughts and her intellectual curiosity, and had said as much - often. He was ever the academic, as enthusiastic about answering any question she had as she was to learn the answer. But he was also genuinely interested in all of the knowledge she had gathered in the past ten years - Her interests in Navarran archeology within the ever-ancient Necropolis halls. His in Necromancy and the Fade. It had become a frequent, deeply adored line of conversation between the two of them, in fact - just how often their individual fields of study crossed in application.

Emmrich Volkarin was every bit as charming as his passionate yet professional demeanor would imply. But what Rook came to learn very quickly upon reconnecting with the man was that, on a personal level, he was one of the most compassionate individuals Rook had ever met. He cared deeply, about everything - particularly, it seemed, about the ragtag troop of adventurers she and Neve had since managed to assemble. At 52 years of age, he also, as it turned out, had zero qualms about dating someone - regardless of gender persuasion - over 20 years his junior. He’d simply taken his work as an educator far too seriously when he was young enough to find any interest in university students, let alone misuse the power dynamic between teacher and pupil - and they had, decades later, well since lost their appeal.

So, now, here she was. Two months into the most absurdly romantic courtship she could imagine, given the sheer chaos that surrounded them otherwise.

Fancy dinners. Time spent exploring the Necropolis to feel more grounded - that little bit of home going a long way to keeping them both fixed on the battles that just kept on coming. A recent night stroll through the streets of Navarra City during the ancestral pageants, their darkly artful city glistening with lanterns and wisps.

Emmrich Volkarin was ever a man of his word, too. Early on, when a bashful Rook mentioned her lack of experience in any such relationship, he had promised they’d take things slow, and they absolutely had. Endeared and warm as they were, his kisses were chaste, and his presence around her respectful of her space and autonomy. It had only been since she had started pushing boundaries that he had reciprocated in kind.

Longer, deeper kisses. Tousled hair. Hands wandering with far more bravery - and far more urgency - from both parties, amidst long nights full of even longer conversations.

The cracks in Emmrich Volkarin’s perfectly tailored facade were showing. And, Rook grinned to herself despite the blush reaching her ears, they were admittedly * delicious.*

Rook fastened the copper skull-shaped buttons upon her overcoat before fishing for Varric’s shaving mirror and checking her hair.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d expected the acceleration of their relationship to go. Perhaps more spontaneously, and likely in the Lighthouse, despite neither of them having particularly comfortable quarters - his with little more than a cot to sleep on that was otherwise hidden away, and her own space often as chilly as being overlooked by an enormous deep water aquarium would imply.

She certainly didn’t expect it to turn into a Pnemoix-worthy event.

It was, frankly, the first time Emmrich had taken the lead on the direction of relations between them. He had planned every romantic gesture their messy schedules and frequent travels would allow, sure, but every acceleration where intimacy had been concerned had been entirely on Rook.

But, it felt right, the timing.

She wondered if this was his way of saying he felt the same.

Rook slipped on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses (her vision never had been the best, but she’d only just taken to wearing them more faithfully at Emmrich’s encouragement, and insistence that he thought them, “Positively charming.”)

With a flutter of excitement in her chest Rook spared a careless hope that she might make it all the way downstairs to the Vi’Revas without any of their friends asking enough questions to rattle her nerves anymore than they already squirmed.

——————-

The journey was quick and blessedly uninterrupted. Punctual as ever, Emmrich had already arrived. He turned to greet her as she strode his way, having been surveying the towering Eluvian with an air of curiosity just moments before.

Lean and immaculately dapper as ever, golden rings and bangles over luxurious shades of black and jade, a smile swept his features so genuine that it stole a smile from her own.

“Rook,” he mused warmly, “You look exquisite.”

“Could very well say the same to you, Professor,” Rook teased, hand once again gracing the elbow he lent her.

“Shall we?”

[artethyst]

~ Leaves In A Sky Full Of Stars ~

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s Sister!OC/Reader

“You know, I am High Lord.” Eris murmured against your exposed neck, “I could so easily decline the invitation-“

“No,” you grinned, moving his wandering hands to cup the ever so slight bump that rested above your womb- one that had turned Eris feral when it had finally made its hardly noticeable appearance days before. “We cannot keep it from them forever.”

“I can do as I please,” he retorted as you sighed, watching him in the large mirror you both were stood in front of.

“So can I.” You smirked. “You made me High Lady, remember? I have just as much power as you.”

“How could I ever forget…” He mumbled with a lazed smirk as you drank in the sight of him- dressed in fine maroon layers laced with gold, his crown perched lazily upon his auburn curls. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder, his veined hand splayed protectively over your growing babe.

“It is only one evening, I am sure even you can tolerate that,” you mused, straightening your vermillion skirts and joining your much smaller and softer hands over his. “No matter how you feel on the matter, Rhysand will still be their uncle.”

“No need to remind me,” Eris grimaced, his feelings for his brother-in-law still very much apparent after all those years.

The two males coming to some sort of unspoken agreement they would remain civil for the sake of the most treasured female in their lives.

“Is Big Bad Wolf of Autumn afraid of my older brother?” You began to laugh as he nuzzled his head against your collar as one of his hounds might. “Worried he might castrate you for impregnating his little sister?”

It was Eris’ turn to smirk then.

“Bunny, if that is what will bother him, I can assure him I have done far worse.”

You rolled your eyes, a light blush on your cheeks at the insinuation of his words, softening when he spun you around to force you to face him properly.

With his slender hand angling your chin, amber irises burning an impassioned fire through your own, there was nothing that could escape him.

Not even the small pout that had come to rest on your full lips. The ones he had to fight himself not to lose himself in right there and then.

“You know I only jest my Love, I will behave how you ask of me. Anything you desire-“

“I-It is not that,” you breathed, eyes brimming with tears you could only blame on the growing flame in your stomach. “It is just…”

“Tell me,” Eris’ usually composed face flickered with concern, his sharp brows pulling together in worry, his senses ever so more heightened since news of your newfound state broke. “Whatever is wrong I will resolve-“

“I miss my home,” your voice was shaky as you refused to meet your Mate’s eye, unable to bear the hurt that flickered across his face. “I…I miss my family, and…And times like these just remind me that my child will not be raised the same way.”

Eris did not know how to respond.

He would have liked to think he had made you feel comfortable in Autumn- that his home was just as much yours than anyone’s.

That if you ever wanted to leave, you would tell him- not that you ever had to. He never stopped you from visiting, hell, would always accompany you- begrudgingly, whenever you wished for him to

He would never be like that sorry bastard Tamlin and have you locked away.

Were his worst fears finally coming true? Had you realised what he had known all along? That he did not deserve you? That you should have never accepted the bond-

“Are…Are you not happy here?” He could not hide the disappointment in his tone. “If you wish to leave-“

“No, Eris,” your tears began to fall at the sight of him- so vulnerable, thinking that he could never be enough for you. “That is not what I mean I…I never wish to be apart from you again, you…You are my true home.” You felt worse when he began to comfort you, sending waves of love down the bond as he gently thumbed circles into your lower back, his gestures more delicate than ever since your pregnancy.

“Whatever you want, Bunny, I will ensure you have it,” his words were sincere and you couldn’t help but break into small sobs, knowing just how far he would go- the things he would sacrifice for you.

It might have terrified you once, but now you understood why. You understood because you would do the same for him.

“I just…I just wish things were different,” you knew he had been trying, that your brother had too, but tensions were still rife amongst the courts. With loyalist Advisors Eris had yet to wheedle out and men like Keir who respected your husband than his own High Lord, politics were never simple. “O-Our child will not be brought up with same customs, attend school with their cousins-“

“If that is what you wish who is to deny you, High-Lady?” You couldn’t help but laugh through your tears, melting into your husband’s arms as though his muscled chest was the only salvation from the rest of Prythian.

“No I…I-I want them to know of their heritage- this heritage. To be part of their own Court’s customs…Be like their father,” Eris couldn’t help the way his own heart tightened at that, having to remind himself if not by anyone else, you were proud of him. “I just…I just wish we could have both…”

“Who says we cannot, hmmm?” He wiped away your tears, thumb lingering beneath your glittering eye, the ones it had only taken him one look in to be hooked on for the rest of his breathing days. “I shall see to it we spend a quarter of our year in Velaris. We will have a family residence where our children will be able to live freely in such a place that is theirs too to call home.”

You noticed the way he had said children.

Plural.

Despite his anxieties, he subconsciously was hoping for more.

“B-But what about you? Your duties-”

“My Love, why do you think I have delegates? And what else is Lucien useful for if not performing tasks that are below me?” You scoffed at that as he chuckled, tucking a stray curl lovingly behind your ear.

And no matter how unsettled he felt in Night- the stares that would follow him, the distrust certain members of yours- now his by proxy, family still scathingly looked upon him with, he would stomach it.

He would compromise anything- everything to ensure your happiness.

“Is residing in my old apartment no longer good enough for you?” You let out, trying to lighten the mood. Chin coming to rest at his sternum, reminiscing of the times when the only way to see him was to sneak him through the wards of your private quarters.

“My darling, I would buy every property in that wretched place if it would bring back your smile.”

You poked him in the ribs as he groaned.

“You just wish to show off your riches and have us live in a grander estate than my brother’s…On his own land.”

“You know me too well, My Love.”

And so that night, when you broke the news, with happy tears from Feyre and Cassian, drunken squeals from Mor (who had already known) and crushing embraces from Azriel and even Nesta, Rhysand did not have the heart to slight Eris.

And in return, neither did your Mate.

A warm smile on his hardened face as you tried to explain to a babbling Nyx- who couldn’t understand a thing, that he was to have a cousin. Watching you flourish with a new glow, surrounded by your family- surrounded by love in your childhood home.

Your home which you had opened to him.

[wroteclassicaly]

hope you had a good nap k <3 you did such a good job last time with eddie and steve painting reader's face and ruining her makeup. but tbh now i wanna ruin HIS makeup!! riding eddie's face and squirting all over him sounds like so much fun rn :(

OKAY, soooooo — this idea popped into my head almost immediately after I read your ask! I hope this is okay? It turned into something of my own weird muse, haha. We love dirty riding/messy time to ruin that boy, don’t we? All support for it in this household!

Summary: Eddie tries out a new look for a show. He wanted it to be intense, but that doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Warnings: Language, NSFW, oral sex, face riding, vaginal fingering, small p*ss kink (mentioned only), mirror play, handsy Eddie, hair pulling, and squirting.

A/N: This is unedited, so I’m sorry if it looks awful because of that. I wanted to get this out for the rest of y’all too, and I was inspired! The imagery I have of what I was picturing as Eddie’s look… fuuuuuck me 🤤

When your boyfriend of seven months stated that he had a surprise for you, what is currently standing in your eye-line is not the statement you’d expected. Corroded Coffin was playing a bar in Indianapolis tonight — their second gig there that actually accumulated a decent crowd. And Eddie had been right all along — a bigger, more Metropolitan city opened doorways to the metal scene, something a hick town in Indiana never could. He wanted to really fix up, make himself look as intense as possible. He’d been gone with Robin since early in the afternoon, only telling you he was getting his hair permed for the show and his nails painted.

It wasn’t unusual for him to get a manicure with Robin, the ladies in the salon used to Eddie and his eccentric fashions. Everyone heard about the metal scene, the punk fashion, but in Hawkins it wasn’t welcomed, especially after Eddie would leave the parlor and receive several stray insults from one hillbilly to the next. He didn’t mind it though, he got to wave his freshly done nails with a doubled down bird. His favorite wave.

You liked that he had formed a quick companionship with Robin, solidifying his place in the group (and your heart) not long after everything with Vecna.

You’re so completely lost in your thoughts, eyes glazed over with the haze of fascination and want, that you aren’t aware Eddie is stepping closer until you can smell his Old Spice and see what he meant in regards to stamping a statement on your conscious (and unconscious mind).

“Holy fuck…”

That stubble bitten mouth pulls away to reveal a milky white smirk. His chocolate eyes, dusted with a blood red layer of shadow, long lashes elongated by a mascara wand, and a charcoal wing swiping out carefully, sharply — widen comically, enhanced impossibly wider. A silver sword dangles from his ear — you note. He’d apparently remembered he’d had it pierced and decided to indulge. His fresh perm is soft and silky looking, the product still settled into the locks.

You gulp onto a dry choke, his outfit what really makes your knees jello, a throb automatically smacking you in between your legs.

“Yeah?” You hear the slight crunch of leather as he backs up to give you a twirl, his ass well rounded in the acid wash denim, his chain swaying, wallet resting against a cheek beneath the denim pocket. He blinks those lashes and winks at you, making you physically clench your legs together. “You like it sweetheart? S’ a lot, I know.”

His inky colored nails, his signature chunky rings clad on those deliciously sinful fingers, they slip along the tightened corset that’s wrapped around his slender waist, stopping short below his nipples to help showcase the cut off crop of mesh that dangles around his neckline, covering what the corset doesn’t. His tattoos veiled, but visible, as if they’re entities peeking out to play. His combat boots that are still smeared with his own blood from the Upside Down are laced over his feet. You stumble all around your words, tongue lolling, mouth pooling with saliva. Eddie filters a fingertip beneath your chin, leaning down beneath the glow of his bedroom lamplight. “It’s a hit then?”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Eddie Munson has that effect on you. “How long did your makeup take you? You can do it again before tonight, right?”

His enriching brows frown, a silly grin pressing the lines of his mouth. “Could do it all in the car. Everything but the wings.” He wiggles his defined digits to lay emphasis for his question. “Why, baby? What’s goin’ on in this head of yours? You’re running a little bit on empty tonight, huh?”

“So it’s not a big deal?”

“It’s not a big deal if what?” He waves his hand as if he’s taking a bow, awaiting your answer.

However, he doesn’t need any confirmation, your desperation, accelerated breathing, and tightening of your thigh muscles give you away. Not to mention your blown to hell pupils. He still wants to tease you a little, dangle you. You’re his best audience member, and he wants to spin you on his finger and work you to the bone until you’re begging and panting for him to hurt you a little harder. You lean into his touch — a natural instinct that runs deeper than breathing.

His cigarette stained breath is speckled with hints of cinnamon gum, his plush lips barely caressing yours, pulling them open and hovering a top his as he speaks with a fucked out rasp. He’s just as gone. His hands reach between you two and he finds your clasped hands (you didn’t realize you’d done that, nails having left marks behind in your palms), placing them onto his simple belt buckle. “What should I do with my little groupie, hmm? Make her suck me off, leave her wet all night?”

You mewl at that, suddenly finding speech capabilities. “No!”

“Or… maybe my sweetheart needs me to unzip my jeans and bend her over the dresser so I can claim that nice little pussy. Want it to sting every time you move at the bar, baby? No one will hear it when you whimper because of me.”

He’s already swelling against your palm, helping you undo his belt to release some tension and gain a bit of friction. His fingers cup your neck’s nape, draping down your back like a winding vine, tapping an invisible beat only he knows. You’re arching into him, your flimsy sweats and t-shirt too heavy and too hot. You aren’t even ready for the event tonight, but it’s a good thing. And as Eddie knees you into his bed until you’re falling back onto the mattress — you’re downright fucking grateful.

He’s your rockstar and you’re his instrument, and dammit to hell if he can’t play you to make you sing for him. The mesh is tickling the backs of your thighs, his pick chain dragging with his heaving breaths, your hands finding purchase in it to grip on every inhale. His lids are closed, a caressing explosion of red and black smudged together. His cheeks are soaked in red, mouth plump and swollen, your creamy cum soaking his chin, glistening when he’s turning his head to shimmy in a particular deep lick. His hands are squishing the doughy flesh that surrounds his head, your thighs spread wide, his curls tickling.

“Eds… oh, baby. So good with your fucking mouth.” You’re trying not to rock, to ruin his makeup completely beyond repair, but the man is just as insatiable, and you did ask for this.

His nose nudges your clit and he inhales like a fucking wild animal, nuzzling the tuft of slick curls scattered across your cunt. He could have the devil’s eyes — hell, with his caramel irises shattered to a thin ring, alike to your unraveling sanity, his pupils make him look like a beast, called upon by your heat. He blinks those wet lashes and you see his fingers travel up your cunt, spreading your labia, smearing what wetness he gathers from that — across your sternum and over your breasts, leaving a heavy handed smack to each one. His deep voice latches onto that cove that keeps you connected during this time, being so far outer limits. You already are prepared for him to motion with a hand on your neck, turning your gaze to yourself perched on his face, staring back at you from the stand alone mirror he’d gotten.

The perfect view. He’d dubbed it.

It’s a sight too erotic for you to contain the wanton cry that slithers off your scorched tongue. Your legs thump under a sporadic heat, and Eddie wiggles his fingers against your collar bone, breaking away with a string of your arousal connected to his mouth. He suckles it with an appreciative moan. “See yourself sitting on your throne, baby? This was what you wanted, what you needed, right?”

“Eddie, love you so much. I can’t —“

His fingers dip into the motions with his tongue, circling your opening before they dip inside, being sucked in with wet welcome. Your eyes close, then open with every harsh squelch that echoes in the small room. There’s a familiar twist that’s attacking your navel and you’re aware exactly what it is. You start to shake your head and rise off the stimulation. “Eds… too much, m’ gonna — and your outfit…”

He’s like a giddy boy at Christmas, a Cheshire smirk causing him to pull his ruined face from your cunt, pressing a few kisses to your thigh.

“You’re gonna…? Piss on me or squirt? Can’t say I’d mind either way.” You tighten around his fingers and bounce yourself onto the thick digits, that spongy spot ignited by the stimulation.

“I’ll ruin your shirt, maybe your pants, baby—“

God help you when you look at his loving gaze staring directly back at you. His makeup is absolutely demolished, perspiration and your essence smearing it around his cheeks. He’s shining with you, sampling your taste off his mouth. His chest is heaving wildly, breaths choppy. You can practically swallow his fucking words.

“No one’s gonna know that it’s not sweat, sweetheart. I’ll be wearing you all night.”

And he curls those gifted treasures, coaxing you forward, his tongue licking where his fingers meet, all the way to your clit, before he closes his lips around it. You come undone, that firestorm urge seizing your insides and beckoning you into oblivion. You shout his name so loudly that you’re sure everyone can hear. He presses you into him with a hard jostle, and your translucent cream spills from you, drenching your boyfriend, your thighs trembling, hands fisting into his hair. He helps you ride it through, moaning lowly as the spray floods his face, his own hips arching off the bed.

You’re still trembling when his fingers slide out of you, cum following them, stringing to Eddie’s fingers in a shimmery web, and he greedily laps you up once more, tugging you beside him with a softness that only he is capable of, rubbing your back to help calm you. You help him clean his face with your discarded shirt, his hand finding your breast and stroking absentmindedly along your nipple as if it were a chord he was playing. You sigh happily, looking at him. You’re so in love it’s disgusting.

“You’re a mess, Munson.” You find yourself giggling.

He shrugs. “Nectar of the gods, baby. Nectar of my goddess. A goddess who is gonna have to help me redo all this.” He motions to his face and you nod.

“I am your most devoted groupie, Eddie Munson.”

~*~

[vangbelsing]

Emmrich X Rook: First Meeting Prompt for DADreams

So this was made VERY quickly and it's so rushed because I wanted to get it out before the night is over soooooo it's not gonna be good🫠 Please forgive the pacing, it's so bad LOL but I was running out of time😭 I may even revisit this at a later date because this doesn't really get Alinas character across that well... Also the ending is pure projection because I am sleepy and cannot force myself to make this better. ANYWAY here's wonderwall

She had met him with a gaze one might expect from a pampered noble woman who had just lain eyes on a sack of grain, or a King looking at the common man who lived with means far more humble: utter indifference. She spared no thought nor consideration in her appraisal of the necromancer. A quick summation of his physical attributes was all she had done, and even that was hardly committed to memory.

His eyes met hers then, as if suddenly aware of the unimpressed stare that had been leveled at him. She anticipated the furrowing of brows, the downward turn of his lips into a look of displeasure or familiar scrutiny. Or perhaps even for him to simply turn his eyes elsewhere, disregarding her with the same indifference she had afforded him.

What she had not expected, however, was the swift quirk of his lips into a welcoming - perhaps even charming - smile. A gesture easily forced, though she noted the way his smile seemed to reach his eyes with all the warmth and decency to which she was so unaccustomed.

Few words had been spoken then, as necessity demanded swift action. At least, few beyond that which accompanied a sudden and... colorful introduction; mere formalities and what could have been described as a review of qualifications. Alina noted the way Neve had practically rolled her eyes at her for all but making Emmrich recite a resume while they had been under threat of attack.

Now that they were back at the Lighthouse and with no pressing concerns, as they had finished the debriefing, she assumed everyone would go about their individual business. Her hope was that she would make proper use of that feather bed after having done enough training and preparation for todays excursion to make even a veteran caffeinated lunatic wince.

Yet, no sooner than she had undressed from her armor into more comfortable raiment was there a knock at her door. And there he was, not even changed from the attire she had met him in, all smiles and proper conduct. She couldn't help the way her eyes blinked at him, the surprise in her gaze likely just as apparent as the raven hair that cascaded down her shoulders like waves of liquid midnight across a starless ocean of sky.

"My apologies, I hadn't realized you had already made yourself comfortable." Emmrich said with a soft and apologetic chuckle.

"Right." She replied, obviously taken somewhat aback by the necromancers arrival, "Did you need?"

The man lifted a hand, dismissive of the suggestion. "Oh, gracious no, I should hardly think to allow myself such impropriety as to impose so brazenly upon a new acquaintance. It's simply..." he paused, his slender fingers reaching to perch at his chin, his expression momentarily pensive, "ours was an introduction made swiftly, and with so little geniality. I would like to correct that."

Her head tilted to the side, a sliver of her black hair falling loosely in her eye. She appraised him warily, gauging his intent as if searching for something. He seemed to notice her perusal of features and smiled, the gesture catching Alina off-guard.

"I...see. You're fairly friendly, for one of your profession." She mused, resting a hand at her hip.

He waved an ornamental hand, seeming somewhat amused by her assertion. "One might argue those in my line of work may benefit from a little friendliness. The dead rarely respond well to hostility."

Her lip quirked upward, the ghost of a giggle escaping her throat. "When framed like that, I can hardly disagree."

She held her out then for him take, her pale skin now bare as opposed to the black leather that had adorned her body earlier. The armor that covered her was now replaced with a scarlet chemise, the satin fabric hanging over her shoulders loosely.

He mirrored her gesture, taking her hand gently, almost carefully in his own, the jewelry he wore jingling at the movement as it reached her skin, the contact of cool metal causing a slight shiver to climb her back. Her hand was far smaller than his, she noticed then, her eyes peering at the way her hand seemed practically engulfed in his hold.

His other hand, balled into a fist, shot up to stifle the sound he made as he cleared his throat, his face then taking a pleasant smile. "Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Emmrich Volkarin, very much pleased to make your acquaintance."

"My name is Alina, and the pleasure is mine, mister Volkarin."

"Please," he said, taking her hand in both of his now, "there's no need for that. Emmrich will suffice."

He then broke the contact, releasing her hands with just as much tenderness as when he had taken them, the shifting of his body causing his chains and bangles to clang and clink once again.

"And now that we have met more properly, I believe I should allow you to return to your rest. Today has been quite the trial, after all."

Alina nodded, "True enough. It was... eventful, to say the least."

"Quite." Emmrich replied softly, the mirth on his features betraying the calm of his voice. "And as such, I should bid you good evening. Though I hope we will have more opportunities to speak with one another in the future."

She gave him a small smile, courteous and slightly mischievous, "I'm sure there will be plenty of time to mingle whenever we aren't occupied with the occasional beheading of Venatori and the like."

"One hopes. I haven't properly introduced you to Manfred, after all... But, that shall have to wait." He gave a quick bow of his head, "Goodnight, Alina."

"Goodnight." She returned his gesture, if perhaps somewhat awkwardly.

At that, he had turned on his heel, hands clasped together as he made his way back down the staircase that led to Alinas quarters. She watched him walk briefly, observing the way he moved and noting the posture with which he carried himself before finally shutting her door.

She wasn't fully convinced that he warranted special attention, but perhaps she had been hasty to dismiss him so readily. Or, perhaps not. Time would tell, and for tonight, as far as she cared, the only thing that mattered to her was the feeling of her body sinking into her bed. Everything else could wait.

[casspurrjoybell-31]

The Consort's Fate - Chapter 1 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Brayden

Kelly's dark eyes probe for answers he will be impuissant to find from my unyielding expression.

It only takes a moment for him to surrender, for now and propel himself from the counter and into my line of vision.

"Fine," he says, his jovial tone intact.

"Then how about an honest opinion. What do you think?"

He points a slender finger to his head.

The chestnut waves that curled around his shoulders this morning are gone.

His hair is now cropped short, the ends straight and pushed slightly to one side.

Without the thick tendrils falling across his youthful face, my eyes are pulled to his more prominent features... sharp jawline, high cheekbones and a pointed nose.

"You look older," I answer.

"And less feminine."

Kelly snorts out a laugh.

"Well, I'll take older... just so long as I don't look old. The gray hair I was sporting three years ago was not working for me."

He broaches the topic of his near-death experience with the same lightness as he does to discuss his latest food cravings.

I know better now; he uses humor to mask fear.

To mask pain.

Logically, he knows my blood would not have been able to save any of the other vampires.

And yet, Kelly still harbors the guilt of survival.

Here he stands, human once again, while the others rot in the pits of hell.

"Anyway, the reason behind my sudden, glamourous makeover..." Kelly's voice tapers off.

He rummages around one of the bags and begins pulling out items.

One by one, they're unceremoniously plopped onto the table, his lack of poise the epitome of humankind's proclivity to grace.

I expect to see baked goods, sweets and salted nuts.

On the contrary, our tabletop is now strewn with items of appearance and apparel... shirts, colored contacts lenses, glasses, wigs and baseball caps.

When he's finished, he gestures to the table, proudly puffing out his chest like a bloated ape.

"The reason is this." I clear my throat.

"The early signs of a mid-life crisis?"

Kelly smirks and pulls up a chair.

It scrapes across the floor.

Everything he does is so loud.

I mildly ponder if the two of us would share living quarters if he was not still dependent on my blood.

Granted, the serum is growing weaker in his system and the time between his feedings are getting longer and longer.

I wager in another three years it will leave his system completely.

Until then, he remains at my side and I to his.

I will continue to protect him just as I promised to do all those years ago.

Admittedly, I have grown fond of Kelly... both as a friend and as my travel cohort.

He has become the comrade I didn't know I needed.

As a live-in companion, however, he has notable room for improvement.

"This is me coming home with good news. I ran into Mags when I was at the market," he continues undeterred, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the other bag in explanation.

"Well, actually... I'd argue she came looking for me. But, in any case, she told me she received news from the Secondary Fortress. From inside the Fortress."

He stresses the word, nearly simpering with delight.

Tegan vowed she would find a way to help us plan an escape.

For years I have waited for this moment.

We both have.

Of course, it could very well be a trap, coercing the two of us from hiding in the only way they know how.

Yet, this shift in energy, this possibility of hope, is not one I can readily ignore.

Apparently, the human tendencies are rubbing off on me as well.

A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips and Kelly slaps out a celebratory rhythm across the wooden tabletop.

"I told you B man I told you," he hollers in cheer.

"I said this is the year we'd get the backing we need to rescue Finn. I said this was our year, man. Didn't I tell you?"

"Hmm, yes," I muse.

"For three years in a row, in fact."

Kelly rolls his eyes and bites back a laugh.

"There's the witty retort I was waiting for. But this time, the joke's on you, B-man because this year I was right. So, pick what you like and get changed. I told Maggie we'd meet her back in the market just before dusk, in disguise. Get moving."

He swipes up a few items from the table and lopes from the kitchen, uninterested in any additional 'witty retorts' I may have.

I reach for a few items and study them at all angles.

However, my mind is elsewhere.

I stare into the distance, thinking of the moon as my hand slips to my pocket.

I run my thumb against the blades of grass and allow the smile to return... this time for him.

'It appears third time's a charm.'

[purrvaire]

I don’t really go here but steddie with 3 from the idiots in love prompts?

[ * dumps 1.5k words of absolute nonsense on your desk * thanks my dear for always sending me prompts, at this point you're single-handedly fueling my motivation to write :') hope you like it <3 ]

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3. And why do you think i’d ever like them? I have taste

Eddie maybe is going soft in his old age - just turned twenty one despite the attempts of the Upside Down to keep him away from drinking legally. Not that underage drinking is the most illegal thing he’s ever done, but still. It’s either that or admitting that he’s largely underestimated the munchkins' ability to meddle combined with their total disregard for the word no.

Either way, he fails to recognize he’s being ambushed long after he’s allowed Max inside the trailer and fed her the rock-hard cookies Wayne baked the day before in a burst of culinary inspiration. To her credit, she doesn’t even flinch when the first bite threatens to dislocate her jaw.

At that point, anyhow, Red has gotten nail polish apparently out of thin air and is waving her slender, little hands in front of his face expectantly.

“Don’t you have other people to harass in your free time?”

Max levels him with an unimpressed stare. “As if me being here is not the highlight of your day.”

Eddie sniffs. “Lies and slanders. I was busy.”

“Wanking is not being busy, Edward.”

Eddie gasps outraged. “I am appalled by your language. Where is the respect for your elders?”

“I thought you believed in challenging the authority”, Max says, her voice saccharine.

Eddie jabs a finger at her. “Not when the authority is me. Now, let me do your hands and then go be annoying elsewhere.”

Max hands him a periwinkle blue bottle and extends her hand with a sigh. As if she is the one doing Eddie a favor in letting him paint her nails.

The nerve.

“You know,” Max says, a couple of brush strokes in. “You’re starting to sound just like Steve.”

Eddie snorts. “I absolutely am not. Don’t speak jock just yet.”

Max waves her other hand impatiently. “I’m talking about the whole parenting schtick you inflict on us. Respect your elders. Don’t go where I can’t see you. Behave or else.”, she lists in a poor impression of his and Steve’s voices.

“Quit wriggling”, Eddie mutters. “I won’t be held accountable if my chef d’oeuvre gets messed up.”

Max cocks an eyebrow, as if he just proved her point - which, Eddie can admit, he kinda did -, but, blessedly decided to keep still. “Anyway”, she resumes, “I’m right. Steve even says we’ll make him go gray before his time, geez.”

“Can’t say he’s wrong. You dipshits are a handful.”

“I think Steve would make a gorgeous milf", she muses. "Don’t you?”

For a moment, Eddie actually contemplates the thought of an older Harrington, his luscious, thick hair all gone silver gray. The idea should be hilarious, it really should.

But, as his brain unhelpfully supplies, there’s no realm of possibility in which Steve Harrington is not painfully attractive.

When he comes back to his senses, he sees Max grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Shut up”, he says immediately. He starts on her other hand with renewed focus.

Coming to his house just to put the virtual image of silver-fox Harrington in his brain.

Rude.

Max bats her lashes from behind the thick frame of her new glasses. “So, you do think Steve would make a gorgeous milf.”

“Never said such a thing.”

“But you thought it.”

“Did not.”

“You liiiike him.”

“And why do you think I’d ever like Steve?” Eddie drawls, feigning disinterest. “I have taste.”

Max snorts loudly. “Dude, you have many qualities but taste in men is not one of them.”

Eddie throws his hands in the air. “You don’t even know who I dated!”

Of course, calling it dating is a bit of a stretch. Living in a conservative little town in the middle of nowhere Indiana has never done wonders for his lovelife, and that was even before the murder charges.

“I saw the posters in your room”, she points out. “Besides, you and Steve are both lame, so it’s a match made in heaven.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Geez, thanks. I’ll make sure to tell him the next time I see him. Maybe I can’t get him to disown you.”

“And what would I inherit anyway? Your joint collection of hairspray cans?”

Eddie, with a surprisingly good aim, throws the dripping brush right at her nose. Max scrambles away with a shriek before retaliating with what remained from her half munched cookie.

Ten minutes later, they’re both lying down on the floor. Max’s nails are messed up beyond repair, crumbles are scattered in every corner of the room  and Eddie has got nail polish in his hair.

He inspects the raggedy carpet Wayne had installed some years ago in front of the sofa.

“Dude, this will be hell to clean later”, he complains, inching away from the bright pink stain and getting more comfortable on the floor.

“Tough luck”, Max replies unbothered, her head propped up on his legs. Then, more softly, she adds: “You know, it’s okay if you do like Steve.”

“I don’t”, Eddie replies weakly. Max ignores him.

“Sure, he’s lame and sometimes he nags too much, but he’s good, you know. Safe.”

She quiets, letting her words sit for a while between them. The late afternoon sun filters through curtains, making Max’s hair shine red gold. The noise of tires scratching on the gravel coming from the window temporarily fills the silence.

Safe, Eddie thinks. That’s a word he wouldn’t think he’d ever apply to Steve Harrington.

And yet.

“Yeah”, he says. “He is.”

He feels more than see Max nodding. “And also he’s hot”, she adds through a smirk.

Eddie laughs, pulling a little at her hair. “My, my, what would Lucas say if he knew you go around calling other boys hot.”

“What I say is my business”, Max replies dryly. “And you’re not denying it. You liiiike him.”

“Not this shit again!” he groans, but he can feel the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

“And you think Steve is…”

“You think I’m what?”

Eddie scrambles up so fast that Max shrieks and almost bangs her head on the floor.

Steve looks at them both with a bemused expression on his face.

Eddie blinks up at him. “Harrington, what- what are you doing here?”

“The door was open”, Steve supplies unhelpfully. “And I’m here to pick up Max, didn’t she tell you?”

Max, still half sprawled on the floor, has the audacity to smirk.

“It must have slipped my mind.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. What the fuck did you do? he tries to convey.

Watch and learn, dumbass, Max’s lazy grin says back.

“Steve, actually, I think I might head home, after all”, she says, with an apologetic tone that would fool no one who has spent more than a minute in her company. “I’m tired and my hip feels funny”.

Eddie would gasp at the audacity of pulling the I-barely-survived-the-monster-fucked-up-dimension card if he was not worried about her next move.

Steve, bless his kind soul, falls for it. “That’s what you get for sitting on the floor without pillows and shit”, he grumbles, but he crouches down and bodily picks Max up and helps her on her feet.

Which, mind you, it’s not that difficult since Max is skin and bones but Eddie might need a minute or two here to recover from this image.

Thank fuck, he’s already on the floor or he would have swooned.

Then, Max goes in for the kill. “Well, since you’re already here you could hang out with Eddie instead. Be lame together or whatever.”

Eddie’s eyes pop so wide open that they threaten to fall on the floor beside him.

He kinda wants to scream so that was your plan all along! while dramatically clutching at his fake pearls or something.

Harrington looks down at him, a half smile on his face. “Well, if Eddie doesn’t mind, why not”, he shrugs.

Eddie doesn’t know if it’s wishful thinking or not, but he thinks Steve looks almost hopeful.

“Yeah, sure, whatever”, he manages to say.

“Cool.” Steve claps his hands. “I’ll take Mayfield home and then we can hang out.”

“I live literally next door, Mom.”

Eddie watches them walking all the way to the Mayfield’s trailer and very pointedly does not freak out at his evening prospects. Max shoves Steve rather forcefully for someone who had just claimed that her hip hurt and he ruffles her hair.

He hears them bickering until their voices fade and he goes inside in search for a movie to watch with Steve. 

***

(“Are you sure he doesn’t know that we set this up?”

“We? I did everything while you stood there looking dumb.”

“That’s what you told me to do, actually.”

“Whatever. And yes, I am. God, you’re both so besotted with each other it pains me.”

“Robin said the same thing.”

“She’s right. I don’t know why I don’t hang out with her instead of you idiots.”

“God forbid. You’ll start ganging up on me worse than you already do.”

“Scared, Harrington?”

“As every wise man should.” A pause. “So… you’re sure he likes me.”

“Positive.”

“100% sure?”

“Yes. God.” A shove. “Go get your man.”

Steve smiles and ruffles her hair. “Will do, Mayfield. Will do.”)

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send me a prompt from this list <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨4

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) only plot hehe

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m at my tipping point, I swear. I’m dealing with everything in our household, new bed (delayed delivery yay!), cleaning, cooking, dog walking, and working. My only escape are my fics and this weekend I’m telling everyone to fuck off so I can do the writeathon... but sorry for the rant, enjoy more Clark.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Wednesday trickled by like sand in a glass. You could hardly keep your eyes open as you typed away and a double espresso shot was the only thing that saw you through your hours at the gallery. Vanessa was excited for her next event and already asking after some new pieces from you. You promised her some from your storage unit to stave her off as you held in your yawns. 

You collapsed into bed that night beside Marcus. He complained about his day until he drifted off and you followed suit shortly after. You awoke with a decision, the echoes of your boyfriend’s gripes in your head and heart. You hated how miserable his job made him, how dull your own was. It felt like there was nothing else but the almighty dollar.

You called Clark after an email to Jim, your nerves alight in anticipation of the disgruntled reply. It didn’t matter. You were done. You didn’t need to worry about the all caps messages and curt zoom calls.

“Hey,” Clark picked up, he sounded out of breath.

“Oh, hey, sorry, it’s me,” you swiveled in your chair, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Nope, just getting in a work out,” he grunted, “you’re not bugging me if you have good news for me.”

“I think… I do,” you forced out, “I just sent in my resignation.”

“Mmm, you don’t sound… happy,” he hummed.

“I am, I think I’m just processing it,” you replied, “I said I’d let you know today so I’m letting you know.”

“Well, how soon can you be here?” he asked.

“Today?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I guess, I could leave as soon as you want me,” you said.

“I’ll send a car,” he intoned, “I’ll give the driver your number, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah,” your voice almost squeaked, “I can do that.”

“Alright, sweetheart, see ya soon.”

The line cut out and you lowered your phone slowly. You stared at Outlook and the new email icon along the taskbar. You closed the laptop and stood. You could worry about the fallout later, right now, you had to get ready for another day of painting.

🎨

It was starting to feel like deja vu every time you arrived at Clark’s house. You got out and thanked the drive, Jeremy, before he drove off. The doors opened before you got to the top of the steps and your host was already dressed in the same outfit he wore for each session. His hair was neat but his beard was even thicker than before.

“I think you can tell I’m a little antsy to start,” he chuckled, “how are you, sweetheart?”

That pet name caught in your mind again. It might just be a habit of his. Nothing more than an absent-minded word.

“Me too, honestly,” you smiled, “but I have a weird question for you.”

“Ask away,” he said as he walked with you through the foyer.

“The beard… you want that in the portrait or--”

“Oh, ha, yeah,” he ran his fingers along his jawline, “I guess I wasn’t thinking. You’re the artist, what do you think?”

“Well, erm, either way is fine,” you said, “I was just… wondering. I’m not even close to starting on, uh, you yet. I mean, right now I’m just working on the background and basic shapes.”

“I’ll let you make the call when you get there,” he said, “say the word and it’s gone.”

“Alright,” you came to the top of the stairs and he pointed you ahead of him.

He followed you as you entered and you went about filling the jar with water and resituating the set up. He sat as you mixed and chose your brush. You climbed the ladder and peered around the canvas at him. He took on the same pose as usual and you dipped the bristles into the pigment. You could make a happy life of this.

🎨

Clark shifted and cleared his throat. You rolled your wrist and glanced back over at him as you drew your hand back from the canvas. He braced the chair and pushed himself up.

“How about a break?” he asked as he shook out his arms, “back’s a bit stiff.”

“Sure,” you said, “I think I could sit down for a moment.”

You took a step down the rung of the ladder but your toe slipped and suddenly your palette was against your chest. You slid down backwards as Clark rushed over and barely kept you from toppling the entire thing over. You laughed at yourself as he righted you and looked down at your paint-streaked shirt.

“Jesus,” you muttered.

“You okay?” he asked as he kept his hand on your upper arm, “be careful.”

“Yeah, I’m-- clumsy, is all,” you carefully pulled away and set down your brush and palette.

“Come on, sit,” he pulled up the stool and planted it before you, “take a minute.”

As you sat, he stretched his arms over his head and then out to the sides. He paced around the other side of the table, long strides as he worked the cramps from his long legs. He stopped and came up to play with a brush as you leaned an elbow on the table.

“Well, I did have another offer for you,” he said, “I was thinking of waiting but might as well ask now.”

“Oh?” you raised your brows curiously.

He swished a slender brush in the air then lowered it and picked at the tip.

“I’m having a get together on Saturday, some business friends and the like,” he said as he set the brush back with the rest, “it won’t be work. You’ve earned some time off. You can even bring the boyfriend.”

“Saturday?” you pondered, “I’m usually at the gallery on Saturdays.”

“It would be great networking,” he said, “and I already told all my friends about you. They’re excited to see your work. It will almost be like a viewing and it’s only right the artist is there.”

“I could make it work,” you mulled, “Marcus would love to come back.” You snickered, “he loves this place.”

“It’s a nice house,” he said casually, “a bit big for one person… hence, the party.”

“I’ll put it in my calendar,” you stood and slid your palette closer and cleaned it off to remix the mess of paints.

“Great,” he said as he rounded the table and brushed close to you, “it’ll be nice to look at a mug besides mine, huh?”

You laughed as you squeezed out the dark paint and nodded, “ha, sure.”

🎨

The rest of your week was spent much the same. Jeremy drove you to Clark’s and you went up to the studio to continue your work between small talk and silences that grew so thick you had to break them with mindless comments. It wasn’t enough to focus on the path of your brush as the man tugged at your attention.

Marcus was excited when you told him about the party. He raved about how he needed to let loose, about how much expensive alcohol he was going to drink, and the awesome backflip he was gonna do into the pool. You reminded him, he hadn’t done anything like that since college but he swore he could still do it.

You didn’t share the sentiment. You were anxious. You were flattered to be invited but despite what Clark said, it still felt like work. His friends were going to be there and he apparently was trying to sell them on your art. 

You didn’t realise until after you hit send on your email, but you put your livelihood in this man’s hands. A man, you reminded yourself, who was little more than a stranger.

On Friday, a day you were thankfully not called to the mansion to teeter on the ladder and paint, the buzzer rang and drew you off the couch from amid your YouTube binge. The man on the speaker called back that he had a delivery and you let him up. You took the box from him, the thick silver ribbon giving away the sender even before you could read the tag.

Inside you found a black dress with little gemstones set into the fabric like stars in the sky. It was nicer than anything you’d ever owned before and a pair of silver shoes were tucked in beneath the outfit. You took the shoes from the tissue paper and something else shifted in the bottom.

You reached in and revealed a velvet box from the depths of overzealous stuffing. You opened the lid and found a simple chain of diamonds. You gaped in disbelief. They were real. The fake ones didn’t look so nice.

You phone chimed before you could even think to call Clark. It was as if he could see you. You answered and your voice warbled pathetically.

“Hi, I was just gonna call,” you touched your throat as it constricted.

“Yeah? I got the notification that it was delivered,” he said, “you like it?”

“It’s too much,” you gulped out, “really, I can’t--”

“I want you to look nice. I want you to feel good and have a good time,” he said, “I feel like you’ve been working so hard. You need a chance to just let it all go.”

“Look, I…” you were uncertain how to handle it. It was more than generosity but you felt wrong denying it as much as you did accepting it, “I’ve never had a boss buy me diamonds. At least let me give those back.”

“Boss?” he mused on the word, “I suppose, but you gotta dress the part now, sweetheart. You’re gonna rub shoulders with a lot of rich dicks like me. Pardon my language.”

“I didn’t realise it was such an upscale thing,” you put the velvet box down and turned to sit on the couch beside the large box. You played with the silver ribbon and chewed your lip.

“Sweetheart, it’s nothing, you got this,” he said, “trust me, if you can win me over, my friends will be child’s play.”

“Mhmmm,” you stared at the tv mindlessly, “Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

There was silence and you heard him sigh then a subtle metallic click.

“Because I can. And you’re a talented artist. Didn’t all the big painters used to have patrons back in the day? You know, Da Vinci and all that.”

“Sure, I guess--”

“Look, sweetheart, I’m glad you like the dress, I gotta go.”

He hung up abruptly and you turned your phone to stare at it in confusion. You were starting to get a bad feeling and that little voice in that back of your head, that little sabotaging bitch, whispered in your ear. No, you wouldn’t let your self-doubt get the best of you this time. You either grabbed this chance or you spent the rest of your life doing menial work and painting the world as it passed you by.

🎨

Friday night, Marcus couldn’t stop rambling about the party the next day. You just couldn’t get over the tickle in your chest, the same one you got before job interviews and doctor’s appointments. You were on edge, even as you spent your stress on him, your body writhing against his as you panted and pouted. It had been a while since you fucked. All the work and the stress had just let things slip past you. Maybe with your new gig, you could get back to those early days when it was all you wanted to do.

You slept soundly. You blamed the sex and the momentous week. You got up, had a lazy brunch time meal, and beat Marcus at MarioKart several times over before he convinced you it was time to get ready. 

You pulled on the gifted outfit after fighting with your make-up and hair. You gave a little tada spin to Marcus and he lifted his brow as he tried to figure out his tie.

“Wow, where’d you get that?” he purred, “fuck, let’s be late.”

He ran his hands over your hips as you neared him and fixed his tie for him. You giggled and planted a kiss on his lips.

“Jeremy’s on his way,” you warned, “I don't wanna bite the hand that feeds.”

“Oh, and it feeds you well,” Marcus chirped, “you think he’ll let me have a spin in the McClaren?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t. I don’t need to scrape you off the side of the road,” you took your phone as the screen lit up, “come on, he’s here.”

“Fuck, babe, really, you’re gonna make me follow you out of here with your ass looking like that?”

“Stop,” you tittered, “you know, there might be more sellers tonight?”

“Oh yeah? I guess you’ll be paying a mortgage soon enough.”

“Me?” you scoffed.

“Sure, I’ll be your sugar baby,” he kidded.

“Well, baby is accurate,” you teased as you stepped onto the elevator, “please, just behave.”

🎨

You were surprised to see Vanessa at the party but reassured to see a familiar face. Clark had been distracted by his other guests and you did your best to mingle, letting Marcus take the lead until he was distracted by another guest’s Rolex and started asking too many questions. If you did start selling art to these kinds, you suspected you’d be paying for a lot of overpriced brands. That was a worry for another time.

You stood with Vanessa and a man she introduced you to. Bruce Wayne was tall and his dark-hair was combed back neatly as he spoke over the glass of wine in his hand. You were bored of the Monet-Manet argument, one you’d heard a million times from the stubborn gallery owner, and you were at your limit of socialisation.

You excused yourself and put down your unfinished drink on a table. You looked around but couldn’t see Marcus anywhere. The last you saw him, he was with Clark but you couldn’t find him either. You frowned and wandered between the pairs and trios gabbing around the room.

Just past the bar, you looked back and still no sign of either man. You huffed and your heels clicked into the foyer and to the stairs. You’d go to the studio and sit for a moment and collect yourself. You just needed to take a breath.

You climbed the stairs slowly, the din of the party floating up behind you. You came to the top but stopped as your eyes were drawn to a pair of open doors opposite the studio. You neared and stayed against the wall as you peeked inside. Marcus admired an old-six shooter and spun the barrel.

“You got everything, man, I swear,” you hid behind the door frame and listened.

“Eh, it’s all just things,” Clark replied, “I bought that from an auctioneer down in Texas. A verified antique but it just hangs here. Not good for much but looking at it.”

“Dude, what I wouldn’t do to live here? Have cool guns and even cooler cars? Shit, you know how fucked it is that my lady is making bank and I’m over here with my dick in my hands? I mean, I’m proud of her but… I mean, if I could get paid thousands for drawing, I would’ve tried to learn.”

“She’s good. Dedicated,” Clark remarked, “she’s special. Worth more than money.”

Marcus hummed and you heard the barrel click back into the place. Neither of the men spoke as you heard something shift and Clark cleared his throat. Subtle footsteps moved around the room and you pressed yourself to the wall. You should leave and let them talk but you couldn’t help but be curious.

“Isn’t she?” Clark prodded.

“Y-yeah, but… I don’t know. I just wish I had more,” Marcus said, “I probably sound like a chump, huh?”

“You can’t have it all,” Clark replied.

“Says the guy who can buy anything and everything,” Marcus moped.

“Oh?” Clark intoned, “so… how about it then? Fifty thousand.”

“For what?” Marcus chuckled nervously.

“Her,” Clark answered.

“Her-- I… my girlfriend?” he sputtered.

“If money can buy me anything, that’s what I want,” Clark said firmly, “it’s a one time offer… whether or not you agree to it, I’m gonna fuck her.”

You skin crawled at his words and you covered your mouth in disgust and shock. You inched closer to the door to hear better as you waited for the response.

“One hundred,” Marcus said.

“Seventy-five,” Clark countered.

“That’s my girlfriend, dude,” Marcus hissed.

“And yet you’re haggling with me over her. Eighty.”

You tore yourself from the wall before you could hear anymore. You felt hollow and heavy all at once. Your eyes were glossy as you scurried over to the studio doors and pushed the left one open. You unhooked the diamond necklace and tossed it onto the paint-stained palette and rolled up your brushes.

You stormed over blindly to the easel and pushed it over. It clattered to the floor loudly but you were already out the door and halfway down the stairs. You gripped your clutch and the bundle of paintbrushes tightly as you continued on outside and the blurred outlines of luxury cars passed you by. 

You stomped up the long drive in your heels as you flicked away tears and pulled out your phone. You knew it was too good to be true. Any of it; your art, Clark, Marcus. You weren’t good for anyone unless they could get something out of you.

[nomsugayoongi]

Off My Face.

Pairing: Jungkook X OC female (nameless)

Tags: fluff, slight angst, eventual smutty smut, softJK.

Disclaimer: So, I literally created a Tumblr to post this mess. There are already a bunch more parts written which I can post if wanted. Haven't written anything in ages so be nice and forgive my overwhelming JK softness. :p

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Who's that?" She asked, leaning against the wall next to Namjoon. He raised an eyebrow as he scanned the room, clearly confused. "Who?" He replied. "The purple haired dude that just walked in. Over there by the door. Black jacket." She muttered, squinting through the darkness. Namjoon chuckled and looked at her like she was crazy. "What do you mean? It's Jungkook." He said.

She gasped and squinted even harder. "Eh??" She squeaked. "That's not Jungkook. Look at the hair. It's...long, and there's way more tattoos there than Jungkook has and..." Her rebuttal died mid sentence as Mystery Purple Hair moved out of the shadows of the doorway and she saw him clearly. It was indeed Jungkook but he looked...different. She'd only been gone a couple of months but apparently that was all it took for Jungkook to transform himself. He looked...older. He appeared to have shed his "puppy" look and what was stood across the room from her was nothing but man. Hot man. Jungkook scanned the room, stopping to talk briefly to Jin before he caught sight of her. His face broke into its token bunny smile and he said something to Jin who nodded before he made his way across the room. "You're back!" He grinned. She gulped quickly, paying absolutely no attention to the nose dive her stomach was currently doing into her shoes as he approached her. "I'm back" she confirmed, returning his smile. He strode straight over, scooping her up into a bear hug. "How was England? Did you miss us? Are you happy to be back?" Jungkook asked, setting her back on the floor and pulling back. She nodded. "Massively. England was...England. Cold, wet, grey, joyless. But nevermind that, what happened to you? Someone leave you alone with a Sharpie?" She teased, pulling his right arm out by then wrist and turning it over to indicate his new ink. He chuckled. "I like them" he shrugged. She glanced up, catching his big brown eyes then gasped again. A silver bar now pierced his eyebrow. "And you've poked holes in your face. Was nobody watching the maknae while I was away?" She teased. Jungkook rolled his eyes and grinned. "Welcome home" he said, pulling her into another hug. She spent the evening catching up with her boys. Laughing riotously, eating great food, regluing herself to Suga's side and wondering why she ever felt the need to go back to England. If anything, the trip back to her country of origin had done nothing more than cement the fact that there was nothing there for her anymore. Her life was here. Her family was here. Her family was the people all gathered in this house. She felt utterly content and beyond happy to be back. However, there was a niggling little something that was putting a crimp on her perfect homecoming. She could not, for the life of her, pry her mind off Jungkook. And as the evening drew to a close and one by one, the guys started retreating to their rooms, the noise died down and her thoughts got louder. What had happened to him? What had happened to her that she couldn't focus on anything but him. He was just Jungkook. She'd known him years. He was one of her family. He meant the same to her as the others. But her mind was screaming and his name was the only thing it was saying. It was approaching 3am. Suga had passed out hours ago and was fast asleep sprawled along one side.of the corner sofa next to her. The room was in total darkness except for the flicker of light from the TV screen. Namjoon was half asleep on her other side. Hobi, Jin, and Jimin had gone to bed already. V was sat at a table opposite tucking into some Ramen with Jungkook. Both engrossed in their conversation and their noodles, she allowed herself to study him in the flickering light. His hair was considerably longer than when she last saw him and now coloured a deep purple, Contrasting strongly against his flawless skin and framing his face perfectly, then resting just above his shoulders. Her urge to run her fingers though it was making her hands restless and she fidgeted uncomfortably on the sofa. She swallowed hard, her eyes skipping over his features. Pretty brown eyes, newly pierced eyebrow which really suited him, cute nose, sensual, slightly pouty lips that broke into the most disarming smile, strong jawline, slender neck. She tried to swallow past her increasingly dry mouth as she became painfully aware of her heartbeat, thudding more and more erratically the longer she looked at him. She reprimanded herself silently, arguing in

her mind that this was ridiculous. He was Jungkook. It didn't matter that her stomach rolled uncomfortably every time he looked at her. It didn't matter that she wanted to trace every line of the dark ink that snaked his arm with her fingertips. It didn't matter that all she could think about was running her nose slowly along his jawline, inhaling the scent of his skin as she clenched his soft, long hair in her fingers. It didn't matter that there was nothing she wanted more than to disappear in him. Her nose brushing his, close enough to feel his warm breath between them, his lips parted, hers skimming gently along his, hot, heavy breath, the pressure of his soft lips yielding to hers, the taste of his tongue. His hands, strong, firm, sliding slowly down her back, hitching up her shirt to touch skin as he pulled her closer. Her eyes fluttered, her breath caught in her throat, stomach churning. What the hell? It was Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. This couldn't be happening. She snapped back into herself so suddenly she wondered if she'd actually fallen asleep. Her heart was racing. Tae and Jungkook were looking at her when her eyes finally focused on a solid object. "Bad dream?" Tae asked with an amused smile. "Did I fall asleep?" She muttered, genuinely confused. She kept her gaze locked firmly on Tae. She could see Jungkook out of the corner of her eye but was terrified that whatever had just happened to her was written all over her face. "Well you just jumped out of your skin so I figured you had." He replied. Her face was burning. She could practically still feel Jungkook, smell him, taste him. She needed to get out of here. She jumped up, causing Suga whose head had been resting against her knee to flop unceremoniously back onto the sofa, waking him with a start. "HUH? He yelped. "Erm....sorry Shugs" she muttered, ruffling her hair and trying to get her bearings while still carefully avoiding looking at Jungkook at all. "I need to go...pass out" she grumbled, heading straight for the stairs without looking back. She knew that exit was highly suspicious but once into the safety of her room, she didn't care. She leaned against the door, bracing it with her body as though she expected someone to try kick it in. The air was cool and refreshing thanks to the open window and she breathed steadily, trying to return her thumping heart to a regular rhythm. "Oh this is not good!" She whispered. --------------------------------------------------------------------- The following morning came far too quickly after a restless night. She just couldn't settle. Her stomach was in knots. What the hell had happened last night? What was that half awake fantasy business and why was it replaying in her mind like an iMax movie with full surround sound and smell-o-vision. She dreaded leaving the confines of her room for fear of running into him. Just the thought of seeing him made her stomach churn. "This is stupid!" She grumbled to herself, throwing her legs off the bed defiantly. "I will not be a prisoner in this god damn room for nothing. Last night was...a one off. Everything is fine. I will go downstairs, I will see Jungkook and he will just be Jungkook. No weird romance movie slideshow, no flutterings, thoughts or desires of any kind. Just...normal" Even she didn't really believe her whispered self pep talk but she feigned conviction anyway. She slid out of bed, pulled on ripped jeans and a hoodie and approached her bedroom door. With a deep breath, she reached for the handle and practically threw herself out of her room. Her determination was not only building by the second but she was also flooded with a sense of defiance. She jogged down the stairs, ready for the day ahead. Looking forward to hanging out with the boys and having a lazy day. She could hear the faint murmer of chatter as she approached the kitchen. Hobi was up for sure and maybe Namjoon. She strode into the kitchen with a bright smile. "Morning guys!" She was greeted with a chorus of responses and scanned the room. Hobi making coffee. Namjoon leaning on the

counter. Suga slumped at the kitchen table. Jimin and Tae chatting as they poured orange juice. No Jungkook. She ignored the wave of relief and made a beeline for Suga, ruffling his hair as he grumbled sleepily against the table top. "Morning Shugs" she grinned. Namjoon was looking at her quizically. "You seem...better today" he mused. She raised a questioning eyebrow at him as she squeezed passed Hobi for the coffee pot. "Better?" He nodded with a look of amusement. "You were...weird yesterday. Not yourself. You seemed...distracted." he said. She shrugged and shook her head. "Jetlag probably. I felt kind of out of it to be honest. Just needed to be home and sleep" she replied, nonchalantly. Namjoon wasn't buying it at all and she could tell by the look on his face but he nodded as though he accepted her reasoning. She stayed in the kitchen with the guys, filling them in on her trip back to England and what had happened during the 3 months away. She got so caught up in it that she didn't think about Jungkook at all. That was, until he came down. She was halfway through her bowl of cereal when he padded into the kitchen. Barefoot in black shorts and an oversized white t shirt showing off his tattoos. His long hair deliciously tousled. He was still sleepy eyed but he looked warm and...inviting. She dropped her spoon, clattering loudly against the table making everyone turn and look at her. "Whoops. Butter fingers" she mumbled sheepisly. Everyone carried on with what they were doing apart from Namjoon who was looking from her to Jungkook with a smirk. "Jetlag come back?" He teased. She could feel the heat rising to her face and hoped to every deity under the sun that she wasn't blushing. "Never dropped anything before?" She questioned. He shrugged and chuckled playfully. His gaze was casual but she felt like he could see every thought in her head. She pushed her half eaten cereal bowl away from her and leaned back in her chair. She was trying to look casual but had an inkling that she was failing miserably. Suddenly Jungkook was right behind her, leaning over the back of her chair to reach for her unfinished cereal. His hair tickled the side of her face and the faint fruity smell she associated with him flooded over her. Her breath caught sharply. Her heart kicking into double time. It lasted literally seconds but it seemed like an age before he straightened up with his stolen breakfast. He flashed her a bunny smile and wandered over to the fridge to grab milk. She realised she'd been holding her breath the entire time and let out a quiet huff. Namjoon's smirk had turned into a full blown grin. Flustered, she stood from the table and exited the kitchen. Maybe she'd find some solace in the lounge. She flopped wearily onto the sofa, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. Damn. It didn't make any sense. How in the hell had Jungkook turned from bunny to honey overnight. A few more tattoos, an eyebrow piercing and slightly longer hair didn't change him that dramatically. He was still the exact same Jungkook she'd known for years. But...he wasn't. He was hot. Like...painfully, sinfully, stomach clenchingly hot. Had he always been this hot and she'd just not noticed? She knew he was attractive in the general sense. She worked for BTS. She saw the effect he had on women every day of her life. But... she'd never been one of them. He was just...adorable, sweet, regular Jungkook. Now one trip to England had turned the world on its head and there was nothing regular about him. She groaned with annoyance, closing her eyes. She was going to be objective about this if it killed her. She'd always been close to all the guys. Each one had a different facet to their personality that made them so very dear to her. Yoongi was a part of her. She loved him completely. Namjoon was her confidante. She could talk about anything with him and absolutely trust that he'd never give her anything back but honesty and understanding. Jimin was her sunshine. He could brighten the darkest of days with no effort. Tae was her sweetheart. One of the most

genuine, lovely people she'd ever known. Hobi and Jin made her laugh until she couldn't breathe on days when laughter seemed a million miles away. And Jungkook was a bunny. Sweet, playful, easy going, her gaming buddy. They were all integral to her. But NEVER in a romantic sense. It seemed almost laughable to her to put romance and any one of them in the same place. It just wasn't that thing. Ever. They were family. More than simple, fleeting romance. They were her ride or die. None of the others had changed a bit. She still loved them completely. She'd still die for any one of them. But now Jungkook wasn't so much tiptoeing as stomping in huge obnoxious boots into a whole new territory for her. Him and romance seemed intrinsically linked. They went together like water and ...more water. She couldn't even look at him without her mind throwing up a million different scenarios, none of which were located even remotely near the friend zone. She pictured him as he was when he walked into the kitchen. Objectively, that was just early morning after not a lot of sleep Jungkook. Not like she hadn't seen him like that a thousand times before. But this morning he was different. Sleepy, disheveled, soft and warm, relaxed, comforting and so so sexy. Jungkook and sexy were not two words that went together. Now she couldn't separate the two if her life depended on it. God, he was sexy. Like, lose all thought, toe curling, scream into a pillow sexy. Her mind raced, presenting her with thoughts to only fuel the fire. Him laid in bed, languid and comfortable, snuggling into him, feeling his body heat, legs entwined, burying her face into the back of his neck, smelling his hair as he grumbles happily, rolling towards her with a sleepy smile, his eyes still closed, skimming his fingertips up her arm until they stop on her neck, his thumb slowly stroking along her jaw, his lips meet hers in a lazy kiss, still halfway between sleep and waking, sweet to begin with, gentle, his lips brushing softly as he's pulled from his sleep, then teasing as he realises what's going on, his lips part, his tongue tickling her lips, asking for entry which is happily granted. His hand moves from her neck back down her arm until he finds her hand. Their fingers entwine as he rolls her onto her back and straddles her, lifting her hands to pin them either side of her head. He's more forceful now, tongues brushing together, his kiss deep and heady. A soft moan of contentment rumbles in his throat. He breaks the kiss, her eyes flutter open to see him on top of her, hair falling into his eyes as he scrunches his nose up in a wide smile. "Good morning" he whispers. "Everything ok?" A voice broke her from her daydream and her eyes snapped open. Namjoon was stood in the doorway of the lounge with the same grin he'd been sporting when she'd left the kitchen. "Peachy. Why?" She responded with a tight smile. "You're being weird again. If I didn't know better I'd think you and Jungkook hooked up" he shrugged. "WHAT?" she squeeked. Her attempt at casual fell completely flat. She sounded more like she'd just been stung by a bee. Namjoon laughed heartily. "Something's going on. What it is?" He questioned. She considered brushing it off but this was Namjoon. He could read her like a children's book. She swallowed hard, suddenly needing to say everything in her head out loud to a human person. Maybe that would make her realise how dumb it was and restore her sanity. She sighed heavily and noticing the expression on her face, Namjoons grin faded into a look of concern. "Can we talk?" She muttered. He frowned, nodding. "Of course. What is it?" He asked. She looked around and ran her fingers though her hair. "Not here. Outside?"

[littlefreya]

The Crystal Ship - Part 1

Summary: Henry is the most dangerous crime lord in England, he has everything he wants and women throw themselves at his feet, but what really gets him off is what’s hard to get.

Pairing: AU! Mafia Boss!Henry Cavill x OFC (Ash)

Word count: 4.8K

Warnings: Smutty Smut, MaleDom Vibes, Stripping, Bad language, Sexual innuendo, dry humping, bodily fluids.

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write this for a while and I only hope you guys will like it. As usual, I am nervous. It was supposed to be a one-shot but ended up being longer than I expected so I am dividing it into two parts for now. Many thanks to @agniavateira my sweet beta and helpful muse. Cover designed by me.

Please leave feedback  💖🥺 and more importantly, enjoy.

Title: The Crystal Ship

The sweet, smoky scent made his nose curl in repulsion. It was thick in the air, like a fruit that was too ripe, mere moments before rot sets in. Henry dreaded coming to the Imperial, even though it was the only safe ground to conduct business without having to deal with the district attorney's snout or any unwelcome eavesdropping. The club felt musty, drenched with bodily fluids and not in a good way. The men who frequented this place were foul animals; being amongst them made him feel as if their filth was rubbing onto him. 

Sitting at the bar, he downed his whiskey, hissing while the fiery liquid hit the back of his throat. The bartender stood behind the counter, polishing some glasses and looking at the large man as he brooded on the sleek black marble of the counter.     

Plastic neon lights flickered magenta and turquoise on the slick surface. An offensive contrast to the gloom that played inside Henry’s head. Life lacked vividness when everything was handed over on a golden tray. Money, beautiful women, fast cars. 

The women of the club were especially keen on throwing themselves at his feet, thirsty for his attention and money which he was never willing to give.

“Please fuck me, Henry.” “Please let me suck your cock.”

As any man, he was flattered, though if he wanted to see a woman naked, he wouldn’t need to pay for it. Still, they circled him, desperately whining at his feet whenever he stepped into the club.

All except for her. 

Big, almond-shaped eyes the colour of fertile light brown earth with a touch of green. Sitting on a barstool in the opposite direction. She was one of the girls working the club, no doubt. He didn’t imagine she was a gangster wearing fishnet stockings and a tight corset.

New girl, he gathered. He had never seen her pretty face before tonight. It was apparent she could sense his glance. Her body shifted uncomfortably, her irises focused on the straw of her tall glass of orange juice yet she never bothered looking back. Not even a smile on her nude lips. 

Henry scoffed as a spike of interest surged through his mind. He spotted the long-haired beauty earlier as he sat through an infuriating meeting. Her big hazel eyes cut into his attention abruptly, focusing on his glare for a wisp before she swung away. 

Treating him as if he was a nobody.

She chose to ignore him, much to his contempt. 

Girl likes to play tough? Well, I happen to like bending things in my hands.

-----------

Ash felt her hand prickle as she waited on the bar stool. Sipping on an orange juice, she watched as an ageing rich couple made out on a red vinyl booth while a curvy girl danced on their table. Candy-Apple, the girl who she was paired with for the night, disappeared to one of the VIP rooms with a customer. Instructed her to wait and not to take any customers alone, being still a trainee. 

The Imperial had some strict dos and don’ts. 

Little did Candy know, Ash had the miraculous gift of getting herself into sticky situations and for reasons she couldn’t explain, tonight felt like one of those nights. 

Taking another sip, she exhaled nervously, the corset tight around her ribs, further pushing her already strangled lungs. It was her very first shift and she seemed to have fallen on a busy night. The customers were not too pushy, though. No one has smeared himself onto her while holding a pitcher of beer and smelling of peanuts on their breath. Candy promised that the owners won't touch the girls and don’t let anyone else touch them either. The Imperial might be a “gentlemen’s” club, but it was one of the safest joints for girls to work at in London.

It didn’t do anything to calm the anxiety that waited at the door as she felt the presence of the tall stranger who kept his eyes on her for the last couple of hours. 

She “bumped” into him earlier as she walked around the ground floor. Broad shoulders and a face that looked as if it was put together from all the best parts found in heaven. He sat with three other men, looking like the superior one in the group. Fury burned in his eyes, yet his posture was composed which only made him look more frightening. It was a mistake to gander, she knew it deep in her heart, but he was an impressive specimen of a man. She couldn’t look away, not soon enough before their eyes met.

Now he was sitting a few meters away. A spiced drink sits in his glass, a ghost of a smile loomed over his face while his fingers were pressed to his temple in some sort of dark intrigue. He stared with the confidence of a man who knew he could have everything and it seemed like she fell on his aim.

Feeling uncomfortable, Ash broke her gaze and slipped off from her seat, wishing to find a place where she could hide from his hungry curiosity. This man had trouble written all over his arrogant posture and if she learnt anything about herself, it was that she was a magnet for chaos. She turned on her stilettos and crouched down for a second to rearrange the fishnet stockings around her thighs before straightening up moving on.

In the most natural order of things, the stranger was there to stand in her way. 

Broad and mysterious, the man towered above her with a small smile edging his mouth. Up close, she noticed his copper-brown curls and eyes like smooth steel. They shone like sharp knives through the club’s neon lighting. His jaw was cut marble, defined lines soared across his high cheekbones and even his lips had the perfect cupid’s bow. 

Ash registered him carefully and her heart murmured. No man should be this good looking; he was beautiful in manners that seemed unearthly.

“May I buy your precious time, love?” 

His voice hung low and deep, smooth like a chocolate truffle that melted on one’s tongue. 

The scent of danger filled Ash’s nostrils; it smelled like peated scotch, aftershave, and heady musk. Judging by his cool-grey tailored suit, it was quite clear that he was a businessman from the underworld kind.  

He burnt hot, and a part of her was immediately drawn to the flame. Yet despite the thrill, he seemed much more perilous than any of the other criminals who lurked around the club. This man could easily fuck up some poor girl’s life. 

In the dark cold cavern of the club, with his shadow casting over her face, the stranger seemed more like Hades than just the ordinary mobster.   

“Maybe some other night”, she forced herself to refuse, doing her best to sound polite yet stern while offering an apologetic smile in the hope that he would accept her refusal and let her go. 

She knew right away that wouldn’t please him. It was clear as vodka; he wasn’t a man who took no for an answer. The thought alone made her nerves shiver as if someone was sliding ice on her skin.

Henry ran his knuckle across the dimple of his chin. The signet ring on his pinky finger flickered on her hazel eyes in blinding silver. He took her in with a deep inhale. No, not even a drop of appreciation on her pretty face but he did detect a tinge of fear.

Interesting he mused, a small grin stretching his defined lips. The little dark-haired woman was either completely oblivious to who he was, or she was one of them ladies who had principles. 

Whichever it was, it spiked his intrigue and made for a curious turn of events in a very boring night.

“Isn’t that what you do, darling? Dance for money?”

He asked as he waved two £50 bills between his long fingers as an offering. His accent was posh and not a fake one either. She imagined he grew up wealthy. How does a man who presumingly, could achieve everything in life wound up into a place like this, she wondered. Not that the Imperial club was anything sort of sleazy. It was owned by the largest underworld family and had a taste of an old cabaret. Male celebrities often visited the club aside from gangsters and corrupt politicians.  

“It’s my first night I’m not really...”

Henry reached into his pocket, drawing six more £50 bills and offered it to her. The steel in his eyes softened for a moment, yet the peril still hovered on his face. 

He was a man trying to appear harmless and the risk never seemed so alluring.

Chewing on her cheek, she stared at the money. It was enough to stock the fridge for at least a month but it wasn’t as even half as seductive as her stranger’s haunting charm. 

Fuck it.

Taking a deep breath, her slender fingers reached toward the hand that held the cash. She snatched the money from between his digits and tucked it in her garter belt. Henry beamed, pleased that she agreed. Two large dimples creased his cheeks as if this man needed any more attractive features.

Ash wrapped her fingers around his wrist and led him through the depths of the club while her heart thundered in her chest. For some reason, it felt as if she was walking freely into a trap. 

And yet, excitement boiled in her blood. 

The cracks between their silent contract were filled by the beats of the monotonous music. They passed by the abundance of half-naked women who were coaxing different men around the bar, touching and smiling sweetly, serving them with nothing but the illusion that they are wanted, when in fact they were needed for nothing but a paycheck. 

Henry followed the petite woman, anticipation coating his veins and spiralling a small grin on his face. He guessed that without her heels she’d be at the height of his shoulder, this pretty little thing with raven black hair. He was intrigued by the way she bravely withstood him, almost to the point of irritation. It seemed as if his spell was useless on her as she carried herself carelessly, unlike the many women who threw themselves at his feet, begging to be fucked.   

There was something provoking in her, to the extent of him willing to break another one of his own rules and get a sense of what she felt from the inside. 

Her fingertips pressed on his wrist, sensing the pulse within. His heart ran strong and confident but she imagined it would only be a matter of time until she’d have him a complete mess. 

They all have the same weakness, no matter how much power they have. 

The large spacious club narrowed into a slim corridor while teal and magenta-coloured lights danced diagonally across a mirrored tunnel. Their own reflections appeared several times, accompanying them as they arrived in an open room, guarded by a huge, square-shaped bodyguard with a shaved head, chewing on the dead skin of his thumb.

Henry eyed him carefully, giving him a small nod before following her into the room. The interior was dark, with a black ceiling and a black shiny floor, embellished with white LEDs that reflected on her red stiletto heels. An onyx leather couch waited in the middle next to a small edge table holding plenty of bottled hard liqueur.   

“Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured toward the seat and shut the door behind her, taking a deep breath as she felt a slight increase in her heartbeat. In the confinement of the small space, the brooding man had the energy of a lion, hazing her senses and making her feel like nothing more but a fluffy little rabbit. 

The leather squeaked beneath his weight as he shifted slightly, wide thighs spread open while he glanced at her rear. She turned to tinker with the stereo system, selecting a tune to dance to. 

Browsing through the selection of beverages, Henry decided to treat himself to a bottle of smoked whiskey. He unturned a clean lowball on the table, the sharp hiss making her flinch and then slump her shoulders at the sound of thick liquid being poured. The odour of spiced ashes filled the room, mixing with his musk and her sweet perfume.  

“Should I pour you one as well, pet?” 

“I would rather not drink on the job,” she replied and pressed play. Soft synth tunes played through the speakers and Ash turned to him slowly, giving him a seductive glance. 

“Depeche Mode, really?” He crooked an eyebrow and smiled with amusement before pressing the glass to his lips and eyeing her carefully.

“I thought this song is fitting for my first VIP client” she answered, and made sensual steps towards him, already feeling captive by the daggers on his eyes. Henry took another sip of the amber-gold drink and placed his glass aside, pressing his fingers against his temple while examining the woman who was running her hands over her corset.

“You’re my first too.” 

“Bullshit,” she mocked, entering into the space between his knees. 

Henry tilted his head, a small warning glare crossing his chiselled face. “Mind your tongue, sweetheart. You’re a lady, act like one.”   

She bit her tongue, avoiding the small tremor that flapped from her chest all the way up to her throat like a tiny caged bird. The dominance and authority in his voice made her shiver, making her feel as if she was owned by more than just his money. She wondered what made a handsome man like him even bother paying for something he could get for free from any woman he wanted.

“Fuck,” she provoked, keeping the fear on her breath tucked well behind a sweet sultry smile. She took joy in the dissatisfaction that danced on his face as she cursed. “You know how this works, then?”

“You take off your clothes and dance on my lap like a good girl?” 

“I can touch you, you don’t touch me.” she warned, and slowly fell to her knees between his thick thighs, following the hollowed drop in the melody. Henry stared down at her with a pleased look on his face, his eyes hued with wanton as she rolled the laces of her corset between her fingers and unwrapped herself like the sweetest present. 

It wasn’t her first time giving a lap dance. She worked in strip clubs outside of London, but those were much smaller clubs that held no more than 40 guests. And none of her customers looked like Big Handsome Boss. 

“That seems unfair,” he answered as she spread her corset open. Her perked nipples teased through the loosened fabric while she gave him a pouty look and pulled at the laces delicately until she was free of the confinement of her bodice. 

Henry shifted in his seat uncomfortably while she revealed her body to him. Small breasts glowed heavenly in the LED lighting, skin pure and smooth like honey. He was forced to reach a hand to adjust the huge bulge that pooled with arousal while her fingers began stalking up to his knees like two big spiders. 

Big boy, she noted, trying to deny the small electric tingle that ran mischievously between her legs.  

“Many things in life are unfair, Mister…”

“Henry.”

“Henry,” she answered, her French-manicured nails scratching his thighs, eliciting a low growl from him that made her spine crawl. “Not that I imagine that a man like you would know.”

He let out a small chuckle, she wasn’t far from being right. The hardest thing in his life right now was the fact that a beautiful nymph was dancing between his thighs and he wasn’t allowed to touch her. Yet.

The little vixen clutched his thighs tightly and pushed herself up steadily, spine curving, her breasts displayed an inch from his lips. She climbed to his lap and straddled his waist, pressing her panty-clad crotch against his caged erection. A rogue moan escaped her lips as she felt the mass of his bulge between her legs, much to the large man’s delight.

It appeared she wasn’t all immune to his spell. Her breath was shaking in her throat as she pressed her hands against his chest, feeling the hard pecs under the soft cotton of his grey shirt. Henry was sturdy and large. She couldn’t help but wonder what he hid beneath his well-tailored outfit. His biceps were bigger than her head as he kept his arms folded; those thighs beneath her ass felt thicker than logs.  

Her lustful gaze swayed to meet the sky in his eyes up close, detecting a slight imperfection in one of them: an earthly taint of brown. He gave her a slanted grin, descending to feast on the sight of her half-naked form with a flick of his tongue across his lip. 

Red flags waved at the back of her mind. This man was the epitome of danger, drenched with dark lust and sinister grins. The fact that he was a sweet, sugary treat for a starving girl made for a sinful mixture, causing both distress and stickiness between her thighs.

Henry placed both his hands on the armrests, fingers digging into the onyx leather to hold himself from grabbing her slim waist and grinding her onto his cock. Her mound felt fiery hot onto the fabric of his trousers, and the slow tidal sway of her hips did nothing but engorge him even more.        

“What’s your name, little minx?” He asked, his breath heavy and sweet with whiskey against her neck. 

She hummed in response, closing her eyes and throwing her head back while her hands held onto his broad shoulders. The dark waterfalls of her hair streamed down behind her. Her torso stretched, bare breasts a delicious sight while she danced on his groin, increasing the friction that ran like smouldering heat. 

“It’s… Lilith…” she answered, licking her lips as she felt the blood vibrating between them.

Henry groaned, enjoying the brush of her body against his. She moved in sensual waves- slow yet hard, like a storm inching an ocean. Her voice hummed softly in his ear, her almond-shaped eyes tricking him into believing he was desired, needed. 

And perhaps he was, as her lips swelled red with passion and she danced on his cock with as much urgency to please herself as to please him.

“Your real name, pet.”   

Ash closed her eyes and shook her head. “I am not allowed to tell you.”

“Fair enough,” he growled. He felt her increase the pace, pushing harder onto him. His self-control was vastly challenged. His breath became fervent fumes. He felt the moistness beneath his hands as he clutched tightly on the soft leather as if his life were dependent on it. The pulse in his organ became as rageful as a volcano.

“You look like you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” he murmured, letting his lips inch dangerously close against her neck. “I wonder if this sort of thing would happen with anyone else, or I’m special.”

Goosebumps spread through her skin, her nape felt a cold shiver. Ash swallowed hard. If this was a thriller film this was the point where she was supposed to turn back and save her skin, yet all she fancied was to push her cunt against menacing Henry and mewl as tinders of joy licked between her legs.

“Is that a problem, if I am?” She dared.   

Unable to control his body’s natural instincts, Henry broke and bucked his hips roughly into her mound, giving in to her grind, growling as the collision created sparks of fire that increased the flame between them. 

“Not at all,” he grunted, feeling droplets of sweat forming on his brow. “Only that I paid you.” 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself.”

And tendrils of pleasure were indeed within her grasp. Ash felt a tremble in her thighs. He was large and hard, demanding to be let inside her. She’d be lying if she didn’t want the same, imagining just how large a man of his size was. 

She wondered how he’d fuck her, would he be as slow and rough as their carnal dance, or would he throw her on the bed and wreck her till she cried. 

The dark gaze in his eyes made her lean toward the latter and darn if he didn’t look at her as if she was the most intoxicating woman on earth. Feeling the flush ride from her cheeks down to her chest, she turned around, pushing her ass against his cock instead. She wanted to come so badly, the throb between her legs mingled with the fear that tingled in her chest. She wanted to remind herself she was protected by the owners of the club and the man standing right outside, yet Henry made her doubt herself. 

And for some reason, it only made her more excited.

“Touch me!” She demanded in a voice tainted with desperation.

There was no need to ask more than once. Her handsome stranger groaned the most beautiful melodies in her ear and reached his aching hands to squeeze her breasts. They moaned together as the much-needed bond had formed. Henry’s thumbs circled her nipples while his fingers kneaded on the fat of her flesh. She knew this was a mistake, he would leave his violet fingerprints all over her skin yet her judgment was clouded by the pleasure his touch elicited on her desperate flesh.

“Lilith.” Henry gasped, allowing himself to nuzzle the girl’s hair as she seemed completely lost to her own desires. “Do you fuck your boss?”

“I’m not a prostitute.” she answered breathlessly as one of his hands climbed up to her neck and held her jaw, drawing her head back onto his shoulder. His hips bucked harder against her ass, the pounding in his cock was nothing but white-hot fury. He held her tightly while she dug her nails into his thighs. 

“Not what... I asked…” he gasped, his voice breaking between grunts.

“No.” 

Ash felt his cock twitch beneath her and his moans chanted repeatedly, becoming louder and louder. The pulsating need inside her was unbearable yet it wasn’t enough, not for her. She needed to feel something inside her throbbing cunt yet she feared breaking the rules. Henry pushed against her ass with vigour, emitting inarticulate sounds until he clutched her tightly and gasped with pleasure. 

For a few seconds, the room felt like the most radiant thing on earth.  

Ash breathed out as his hot mess was sticky against her ass. Slight disappointment danced in her chest as she didn’t share his climax and her heart was still in rageful turmoil, furious for not being let to feel the much-needed pleasure. Yet a part of her was relieved that their contract has expired. 

She might have managed to avoid trouble for once. 

“Good.” Henry breathed out, panting heavily as he tried to adjust his lungs. His hands still covered her breasts, sensing the dampness of her skin against his sweaty palms 

“Because I am your boss, darling.”  

Her mind still fuzzy, Ash let out a confused chuckle which quickly died as the man beneath her didn’t join in her laughter. The rigidness on his breath sounded dead serious and the signet ring on his pinky finger suddenly felt cold against the softness of her breast.   

“Cavill.” she called out, panic pitching her voice higher. “Henry Cavill…?”

“Mhmm.” he hummed with approval, an arrogant smile spread from the corners of his lips as he noticed the obvious shift in her mood. Still seated on his lap, she let out a trembling wheeze as her heart sank to her gut.

“You are not joking, are you?”

“No,” his voice rumbled, vibrating low and thick against her prickling spine. 

Ash felt the sweat turn cold on her skin. Giving a small turn, she was unable to determine whether she should get up or remain seated on his groin. She could see the shit-eating grin on Henry’s sharp jaw from the corner of her eye and decided to gather her shaky feet to stand, nearly losing her balance as her heels suddenly despised her.

“Mr. Cavill, I’m so sorry,” she dropped her gaze to the floor, her hands covering her breasts nervously out of the misled thought she offended him. If he felt threatening before, now she felt pure terror making her blood sting. The Cavills were the most notorious organized crime family in the United Kingdom. Their web spun across each district, and they owned half of the police force in London.

She just made a filthy mess out of the trousers of a man who kills much more important people than her.

It was very much clear to her that it would take little to no effort to make a no one like Ashleigh Carr disappear. 

The room began to feel as if it was depleted of air all of a sudden.

“Considering you just made me come all over my pants, you can call me Henry, or sir.” he corrected her in his deep voice while his piercing steel eyes focused on the obvious stain on his crotch. 

Ash blinked, terrified as Henry reached for the phone at the back of his trousers. A muscle strained in his jaw while he scrolled through the device and then placed it against his ear. She opened her mouth to apologize once again, yet was silenced by Henry holding up his index finger gesturing “wait”.

“Sean, I will need a clean suit brought to the Imperial, ASAP. Make it a dark one.”

The crime lord ended the call with a friendly yet authoritative “Cheers,” before lifting his gaze to the slender girl who still stood at the same spot with eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. Never in his life had he had a naked girl look at him with so much fear on her face. 

It was an interesting new aspect. 

Reaching down between his knees, Henry fished for her flimsy corset and pulled his heavy body upward. His long legs stretched as he stepped toward the horrified girl. Giving her a smile, he handed her the piece of garment. 

She snatched it from his hand with slight hesitation while he stared down at her, his head tilting as if to further study the features of her face. She was too afraid to break eye contact, strapping the corset back around her body without saying another word.

“Lilith…” Henry called, his spiced breath hot on her face.

“Ash...Ashleigh,” she admitted.

“Ashleigh,” Henry pronounced her name softly in his low voice, giving a small dreamlike smirk as if it was the most beautiful name he ever heard. His tongue licked over his bottom lip while he drank the sight of her in. 

“I’d like to fuck you.”

Ash stared at the man in front of her with surprise, lust still blooming between her thighs, her skin tingling with the imprint of his touch. Inside, she seared with passion and he was undoubtedly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen with his kissable lips and crystal blue eyes.

But she detested the idea of being a whore. She never slept with a customer, nor was she willing to sleep with her boss. 

Even if it cost her life. 

“As I said, not a prostitute.”

“I have no intention of paying you,” he answered with a dry chuckle.

“You just did,” she answered and then took a deep breath, choosing not to say more. She still valued her life after all, no matter how pitiful it is. 

Henry gave her a slanted smirk and began circling her like a predator stalking his prey. Careful eyes followed him, her breath measured with every step he took. 

There was a spirit in her, warm and feisty. Defiant despite the fear that sparkled as clear as water in her beautiful eyes. In the cold, secluded room of his sinful club, he finally felt the thing he chased after for years. Passion. Desire. 

And it was booming in his heart.

“I find you interesting, Ashleigh,” he replied and shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket, drawing out a sharp silver card.

“But I am not one to beg, nor do I take pleasure in pressuring women to sleep with me.”

The card gleamed like a knife as he held it between his digits while waiting for her to accept it. 

“This is my driver’s number, just in case you decide you do want to spend your night with me.”

*

Read Part 2

________________________________________________

[happyandticklish]

The Human Experience

Notes: Picked back up The Vampire Chronicles, and was hit with a burst of inspiration. I may or may not have fallen in love with these two, so have this self-indulgent piece I wrote.

Summary: Armand remembers an old human habit from his past and is eager to try it out with his new roommate. 

Daniel wasn’t sure why he had agreed to this.

His arms were held loosely above him and folded behind his head as he lay on one of Armand’s many silk beds. They had considered bondage but in the end Daniel shot him down, claiming that Armand was already strong enough as it was.

When Armand had first said he was interested in tickling, Daniel had wanted to laugh. And he had, a lot, though Armand said he did not find the subject as humorous. He explained he had seen it in one of his many movies littered around their mansion and wanted to try it out for himself. Of course tickling had always existed and Armand was no stranger to it. Still, it was yet another experience he wanted to try with Daniel, and in the end he had reluctantly agreed. It was growing increasingly difficult to deny Armand, and though Daniel liked to put the blame on Armand’s mind tricks, the more truthful answer was that he didn’t like to disappoint him.

Now Armand sat beside him on the bed, fully dressed up to the neck though Daniel himself was reduced to boxers. It both aggravated and excited Daniel whenever Armand dressed up, imprisoning the skin made beautiful with immortality. His hair was cut short for the occasion and it hung gently by his ears, out of the way.

“Where should I start?” He spoke with feigned innocence, his palm resting gently on Daniel’s chest. Normally the latter would luxuriate in the touch, but given the circumstances he felt a little on edge.

“Wherever you like,” Daniel retorted, slightly huffily.

Armand slowly lifted his hand and immediately Daniel tensed. He dragged a single finger down his chest and stomach, circling back up his side and teasing the edge of his armpit before repeating the process. Daniel gripped the sheet, gritting his teeth at the light touch. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to laugh, as he knew once he did he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Armand quickly grew bored of the light teasing and suddenly dug into his hips, a spot that was apparently very ticklish. Daniel jumped, letting slip a garbled, choking sound.

“That’s interesting,” Armand commented, continuing to tease the spot with his fingernails now, spidering over the taut skin.

Daniel arched up against the bed, one of his hands shooting down to grab his slender wrist. “Don’t.”

Armand raised an eyebrow at the rebellion, allowing Daniel to hold his wrist. “I thought we were in agreement about this. What, did you think it would not tickle?”

Daniel flushed at his use of the word and turned his face to the side. “No, I… I just… not right there, okay?”

Armand sighed dramatically, which was his way of agreeing. Daniel reluctantly released his hand, and immediately Armand’s nails were crawling up his sides with much more devilish intention than before. Daniel gasped and made an embarrassing squeaking noise, lifting his hips off the bed. He didn’t want to look but his eyes seemed drawn to the hand that stroked, pinched and tickled all across his torso.

When giggles were finally pulled out of him, Armand found himself smiling as well. Daniel never seemed to understand why someone like Armand spent so much time and effort with a simple mortal like himself. As Armand watched him now, though—flushed and laughing and reacting in a way that was so deliciously human—he could not imagine how Daniel couldn’t understand his interest.

He did not say that however, instead merely, “You should laugh like this more. It suits you.”

“I c-can’t—Armahand!” Daniel groaned in frustration, throwing his head back against the pillows.

“What is it my love?”

“It—it fuhucking t-tickles!”

“I’m well aware of that. What exactly do you hope to prove with that statement?”

“Juhust—” Daniel waved a hand vaguely—“l-lighten uhup a bit.”

“Mmm…” Armand mused and jerked his hands downwards suddenly, squeezing sharply.

Daniel lurched up, eyes bugging out of his head as his hands coming down to wrap around Armand’s wrists, which in turn gripped his hipbones in the most agonizing way.

“Armand!” he cried through his laughter, frantically attempting to pull his hands away to no avail. “Armand, Armand, stohop! Stohop, p-plehease!”

Armand chuckled, but complied, releasing his hips. Daniel sighed, rubbing the spot protectively. “That’s not funny,” he said, not removing his hands. “I’m not going to go along with this if you don’t stop when I ask.”

“But then where is the adventure?” Armand asked, curling up beside him, one hand gently walking up Daniel’s side. Daniel twitched, slowly moving his hands back above his head. “How can you lose control if I comply with your wishes one hundred percent of the time?”

“I don’t want to lose control,” Daniel protested, not sure if he entirely believed it when he said it. “You want me to.”

“Alright,” Armand consented, flashing him a placating grin. “I’ll respect your wishes.”

“Why do I not believe that?” Daniel grumbled.

“You know the word to say if you want it all to end,” Armand reminded him. “All you have to do is say it and I’ll stop—I noticed you didn’t, however.”

Daniel opened his mouth, but in the end could find no protest. The other was right. The two had established a safe word in the very beginning, quickly realizing that with Armand’s strength on hand, it was probably good to have a fail-safe. Vampire. Daniel had picked it with a smirk because he knew it would cause Armand to scowl at him in that endearing way of his.

Now though, a glittering smile waited at his lips. “Alright, if not your hips, let’s try somewhere new.” Daniel tensed at the words. Armand placed his hands on either side of him, gently walking his fingers up. Anticipation coiled in Daniel’s arms as the fingers stopped at the top of his ribs. He didn’t breathe, waiting for something to happen. Armand didn’t move for the longest time, just staring down at him with that infuriating grin that Daniel both adored and hated. A laugh slipped out unwittingly, and then another, and then Daniel was full on giggling, groaning at the wait.

“I’m hardly even touching you,” Armand commented in surprise, his fingers still except for the occasional twitch that brought Daniel into another laughing fit.

“I know what you’re going to do!” Daniel said, cringing under his touch. “J-Just doho it!”

“So to clarify, you want me to tickle you?” Armand asked, raising a perfectly styled eyebrow.

“You’re the wohorst. I actually hate you right now.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“No!” Daniel insisted, full on grinning now. “I mean… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Armand asked, tapping his fingers. “Do you want me to or not?”

“Fine, fine, get it over with, just tickle me alreheheheady!”

He broke into laughter as Armand finally moved his fingers up, delicately wiggling over the sensitive skin of his underarms. Daniel slammed his head back against the pillow, twisting from side to side as much as he could in his current predicament. Two seconds in however, his arms came slamming down protectively on either side of him.

“Ohohoho my gohod,” he giggled, slowly moving his arms back up after Armand retreated his touch. “Fuck.”

He noticed the other smiling at him and flushed. “What?”

“I love how sensitive you are,” Armand commented, his voice softening with affection as he spoke the words. He leaned down, making as though he were going to kiss the other, but settled for a gentle peck on his forehead instead. His hair fell down in curtains around him, his hand gently cupping the side of his face. “It’s intoxicating.”

The red spread rapidly from his cheeks, until Daniel was almost the same shade as the other’s hair. “Oh.” It was unfair how easily the other could fluster him, especially with Daniel in such a vulnerable position.

“Maybe we should go somewhere else then, start light?” Armand suggested, pulling away casually and leaving Daniel to try to collect himself. “Your torso seems far too ticklish for you to withstand—at least for right now anyway.”

For some reason, Daniel felt a beat of disappointment at his words. Sure it had been unbearable, but a part of him already missed the other’s touch. Still, he nodded, shifting a bit on the mattress. “Uh, sure, yeah. That makes sense. Where, ah, where were you thinking?”

Instead of a verbal response, Daniel was answered with long nails fluttering over the skin of his neck, startling a squeak out of him. Fuck. That really tickled. He hadn’t been tickled there in so long, as it was a fairly uncommon place for people to go for right off the bat. He scrunched his shoulders up protectively, but no matter how he tried to protect himself, Armand would simply move to the other side. The cycle repeated until Daniel was soon lost in a fit of giggles.

“Really? Here too?” Armand exclaimed in surprise, gently scratching under his chin and making Daniel splutter over his own laughter. “I had assumed this wouldn’t be as bad, but if anything, this appears to be worse than before.”

Worse. Better. Daniel really couldn’t decide. His arms were down now, gripping his arms as he fought to stop from batting the other’s hands away. He was sure he looked ridiculous, a grown man squirming and squealing over a little tickling, but he could hardly help his reactions.

“Ah! Aharmand! Plehease!” he begged, not sure what he was pleading for the other to do—stop? Continue? His eyes were squeezed shut; it was too much to try to face the other like this.

“You know, I don’t think I’d be able to turn you even if I wanted to,” Armand commented lightly, having far too much fun. “There’s no way I could get my mouth anywhere near this sensitive neck of yours.”

“Shuhuhuhut uhuhuhup!” Daniel whined, finally reaching up to try and grab the other’s hands after exploring fingers discovered the horrendously sensitive spot behind his ears. Armand was quick however, and in a flash he had captured the other’s wrists, pinning them safely out of the way above his head. Daniel’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat in his chest.

“I’m afraid I can’t afford you getting in the way,” Armand said, his words holding a light, teasing air to them that had Daniel shifting nervously under him. The former braced one hand on the pillow besides him, before leaning down and gently pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. Daniel tensed, knowing everything Armand could do to him in this position—how easy it would be to sink his fangs in. Armand was gentle, however, placing an array of kisses all over his neck, leading down to his collarbone.

That was when Daniel caught onto his game. He closed his eyes, feeling the grin once more slide involuntarily onto his features. Armand’s lips were soft, devastatingly soft, and he felt his shoulders slowly rising in protection as a giggle slipped out. “A-Armand!”

“I imagine,” Armand mused, his words sending vibrations across his skin that made Daniel squeak. “It would go a little something like this. Trying to find just the right place, where I could bite without draining you completely.”

“Stop!” Daniel pleaded, laughing already as his legs kicked out, the only way he could express just how much it tickled. He tugged on his arms, but he knew already that fighting against Armand was like fighting against stone. “T-This ihisn’t fair, wait—!”

“Teeth dragging gently against your skin. Your heart beat an open invitation.” The words he spoke were dangerous ones, that in another circumstance would’ve made Daniel cautious. But he could recognize by now the playful undertones that spoke of Armand’s true intentions. It only made it worse, his anticipation growing as the latter drew it out. “And then, once I’ve gotten you all riled up—”

“Dohohon’t!”

“I’ll strike!”

Daniel fell into a fit of uproarious laughter as the other blew a large raspberry against his neck, writhing on the bed in an attempt to somehow get away. “AHAHARMAND! NOHOHOHO!”

Another, and another, and another, until Daniel was a mess underneath him, his hair pasted to his forehead, his cheeks aching from laughing. He couldn’t stop laughing even after Armand drew away, releasing his hands. He curled up, burying his face into the pillow as he tried to regain coherency.

“Are you quite alright?” Armand asked, trying to hide the amusement from his voice.

“I hate you,” Daniel mumbled into the pillow, his face burning an embarrassing shade of red as he tried to hide the lingering grin on his face. “You are the worst and I hate you.”

Armand blinked for a moment, before raising an eyebrow with an affectionate smile. “Is that so?”

Daniel nodded resolutely.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Armand gently walked his fingers up the other’s exposed side, who in turn yelped and clutched the pillow tighter. “Completely?”

“Y-Yes!” Daniel insisted, laughter already breaking through his words despite himself.

The vampire scratched his ribs gently, enjoying the way the other squawked and flailed under the sudden touch. “Are you absolutely sure—”

“Ohohokay, ohokay, Ihihi dohon’t!” Daniel swatted at his hands frantically, squirming away from him.

“I don’t know…” Armand said innocently, crawling over to him. “I think you might need more persuasion.”

Daniel’s eyes widened and he scrambled away from the other. The rest of the night was filled with laughter and clumsy hands, until the two were too exhausted to continue, curled lazily in each other’s arms. Daniel closed his eyes contentedly, and decided that maybe he would engage Armand more in his ideas from now on. 

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 18: SAFE HOUSE

—

A/N: I hope you guys like this one ! I just wanted to add a little bit of fluff after all that angst-fest. Happy reading my loves! :)

———

"Enigma." I mumbled, the strange woozy feeling in my chest expanding as I shifted in my car seat to turn to Pietro.

"What?"

"I figured it out. I'm your enigma. Everyone has one." There was a lightness to my words as I said them and oddly enough, I didn't really mind. "You said you couldn't figure me out, therefore I'm your enigma."

I could see his hands on the wheel tighten just a little bit. The whole car ride, I'd been observing him. I just couldn't get his words out of my head.

You're driving me crazy, Y/N.

My head felt like it was about to explode by the sheer amount of force it took for me to figure out what he really meant. I felt...perplexed. I was wracking my entire brain out by trying to decipher the whole point of our previous conversation. Why did I drive him crazy? Why did he feel the need to tell me that?

Why did I feel like I should trust him?

"My enigma?" He scoffed, throwing a playful, cocky look my way. "You are nothing close to anything I'd call mine."

I rolled my eyes, "You know, it's no wonder you've got a head full of grey hair, you grouch."

"Hey!" He gasped, genuinely shocked at my comment. "I am most definitely not a grouch."

His accent made his reaction much better than I could've imagined. The way he rolled his R's made me laugh a little, so I copied it just for kicks, the letter teetering on the edge of my tongue. "Yep, a grouch would most definitely say that."

I scanned his face for any signs of annoyance, waiting to see if my words left any impression on him. Instead, I saw his expression grow heavier. I'd miss it if I blinked, but I swore I saw a flash of that same expression he wore when he confronted me before in my cell. Seriously, I have got to figure him out, and soon. Before I'm too vulnerable.

"We're here."

I turned around, looking out of the window to see the building I'd been dreading to return to. My heart felt like it had been dipped in acid and encased in lead. Suddenly, I knew why Pietro grew quiet.

Getting out of the facility had been fun, exhilarating almost. Steve had helped me escape just as he promised and left me with Pietro in the garage, handing him the car keys and giving him strict instructions to drive away while remaining incognito.

Pietro had a dazed look on his face then, part-confusion and part-anxiety, but I knew that we had one thing in similar; roguery in our veins. Pietro is a little troublemaker, I had mused as I eyed his way-too-giddy movements. He had no trouble following his Captain's orders, he was eager almost.

I told Steve that we could hide in an old safe house of mine, a tiny studio located somewhere in a sketchy town that was close to the facility so it was reachable by car, but far enough so that it wouldn't be a problem if any of his teammates were to come looking. At least we'd have enough time to escape if they did.

The last time I'd been here had been 2 years ago. Back when I thought I was still running from The Winter Soldier. Everything the Captain had revealed to me made me want to throw up. How else were you supposed to feel when someone told you that you'd been running and hiding for years, from a ghost? I felt like I'd been on an unprompted wild goose chase, except that instead of chasing the 'goose', I'd been chased by it. What a joke.

"You alright?"

Pietro raised an eyebrow, nothing but that disgusting kindness in his eyes. I wanted to strangle him right then and there. Was he offering me pity?

I threw him a half-hearted scowl, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm just asking. This can't be easy for you, no?"

His words hit me like a truck, and the realisation that he wasn't offering me pity, but simply just inquiring, soon came after. It was an odd question to be asked. I'd rarely been offered that luxury, of someone caring enough to ask if you were alright or not. It felt weird to be on the receiving end of that kind of sincerity, something I thought only existed out of my own realm. Yet here I was, trying to figure out the answer to his question.

I shook my head in an effort clear my thoughts, sort of like an etch-a-sketch. "I've been through worse."

We entered the building quietly, ignoring the looks thrown our way from a few bystanders. It was a rather rundown building, just as I had remembered it to be. I'd never made company with any of the people who live here, because how could I have? What kind of shit assassin would do that?

"They must not be used to new faces, huh?" Pietro tried—and failed—to ignore the man eyeing us from our right, clearly uncomfortable with the unwanted staring.

"I'd assume not. It's a pretty small town."

Pietro cleared his throat, "I see."

He looked a little uneasy, shifting from foot to foot. I followed his line of gaze and oh my god, the man was still staring.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" I snarled. He scurried away immediately, eyes averting from us either in shock or in fear. Though it was most likely the latter, considering the way he kept looking back with wild eyes to see if we would chase him down.

I turned back to my speedster companion, and sure enough, he looked much better than he did before. "It's fine, he's just a creep."

He nodded, "I was never fond of creeps."

We climbed up the flight of stairs that lead to the studio apartment, silent the whole way up with Pietro taking in his surroundings and with me being a bit preoccupied with the thoughts swimming in my head. Memories from my past kicked in violently, and I tried to swallow them down.

"Is this it?" He said as I stopped in front of a tattered door with the number 42 on top of it, pointing to it with his right hand.

"Yep." I walked closer to the door, reaching up to the number 4 and trying to detach it from the wall. Apparently though, it was too high for me, sitting just at the tip of my fingers. Either someone had moved it higher, or I'd grown shorter since

Heels. I'd worn my goddamn heels when I last set this thing up. I'd have slapped myself by now if my hands weren't occupied.

Annoyed, I groaned and stood on the tip of my toes. Just a bit more.

"Here."

My breath caught in my throat as I felt his voice reverberating through his chest which was now level to my head. Pietro came up behind me with his taller stature, his height enabling him to reach for the 4 in less than a second, his hand brushing against mine in the process. I blinked, hard, trying to steady myself and grab hold of my thoughts. I felt my face grow hot, warmth spreading through my skin like fire.

I tried not to make it obvious, how much his skin contact had bothered me. I felt stupid for making such a big deal out of it, and even more so that it was caused by him. What the hell? My throat felt tight, so I cleared it with a cough and put on a neutral expression seamlessly.

He backed away as soon as he grabbed hold of the number, twirling it around his fingers with a playful, lopsided smile. Holy shit, I want to rip it off his face. Just punch the living shit out of him.

"Hmm, maybe you're not that useless after all." I scoffed.

He grinned, "Well, if the grouch hadn't been here, it would've taken you all day to reach for this thing."

"Huh, so you admit you are a grouch."

"I didn't—Whatever you say, gnome."

"Wow, look at you." I snickered. "Practicing sarcasm are we? Pray, do tell, was I your inspiration?"

He shook his head in defeat, then he flipped the 4 over, eyebrows meeting in the middle. "What is this anyway? Some sort of secret hidden in here?"

Classic topic changer.

"Yes," I snatched the sign from him. "A very important secret actually."

I turned the thing around and pressed hard on the back of the long vertical line with my nails, breaking the plastic cover. It gave in with a little bit of pressure, and I dug my fingers in to pull out the slender, metal object that I had hidden 2 years ago.

"Ah. The key." Pietro looked impressed.

"Smart, isn't it? It's an old trick that I stole from a woman in Amsterdam."

He moved closer, and I felt myself flinching a little, afraid my body would have the same reaction that it did just a few seconds ago. Luckily, he didn't notice how distressed I was.

"Why bother though, if you weren't going to keep the key with you? Why not just kick down the door or climb in through a window or something?"

There he goes again, with his perpetual rambling.

"We're 4 floors up idiot, climbing in through the window is too risky, people might see and I might fall and die, which is not very ideal, in case you haven't figured that out yet." I inserted the key into the lock and twisted it, hearing the clack of the latch and bolts as they moved.

"Plus, I just did it for fun. I never even knew if I'd come back here or if this building would even still be intact by the time that I did."

He didn't take up the trouble to reply, or even if he did, I didn't hear him. The moment the door opened and I stepped foot inside the room, I was immersed in the haze of my past. A version of my life that was drastically different to the one I had now.

My emotions were all over the place.

A cloud of dust covered the room from years of vacancy, our shoes creating imprints onto the floor. I was surprised no one had broken in for the whole 2 years. Somewhere in the back of my head though, the memory of me threatening the landlord popped up.

"If I come back and I find out that my house got fucked up, I won't hesitate to drive this knife through your chest."

It's a wonder how far a knife and few sharp words could get you.

"Looks like it needs a bit of vacuuming, just a bit. But that's just my opinion."

I fumbled around for something hard and chucked it at Pietro's head with full force, earning an 'Ow!' immediately after.

"What was that for?"

"I've been meaning to throw something at you for a while now." I shrugged, then continued to explore my previous home even further.

It was exactly as I left it, minus the accumulated bits of dirt and the herd of dust bunnies. I walked to the small kitchen space, opening the cabinets and finding the slightly dented kettle and the 2 mugs I had kept there, untouched. Then I fished around the drawer beneath it and eventually found the box of—hopefully unexpired—tea packets and some Sweet'N Low's.

My fingers clasped around the faucet knob and turned, waiting for a good minute for running water. "Come on, come on..."

After some violent sputtering and grumbling from the sink, out came the water flow. Yes! I cheered mentally.

Then I turned to the silver-haired grouch, gesturing to the tea packets I held between my fingers. "Care for some tea?"

He shrugged, "Only if you won't poison me."

taglist: @ifilwtmfc

[mimikoflamemaker]

Well I've been tagged in this "2021 fic year in review" - thank you @stachedocs, but sadly, I don't have much to review this year.

The initial plan was to focus on Journey of Oaths last year, especially after I gained some much needed inspiration back and actually published a whole 5 chapters by July... There was this deep conviction there, that this story must be done and the sooner the better.

However as I mentioned in several posts to date, 2021 was also a year of continuous self discovery. A year of learning things about myself and assuming new outlook on things - like the fact that I am apparently "a normie in disguise" as my beloved brother summed up. Lovingly ;P. I wouldn't put it that way, but certainly a lot of things have changed. And then it was also a year of more LARPs.

All of that led into a bit of a "crisis" in the matter of JoO writing - there is a post on that too - and as a stubborn creature that I am, I was at first trying to shoulder through what I perceived to be a brief set back at best. As a result no writing was done whatsoever, except for loose scenes of completely unrelated stuff that can fill maybe half of a notebook. I refused to focus my writing efforts elsewhere, hence why no other serious writing has been done.

Not until @chenria nudged my muse with her own and I finally decided to give Neve and Alven some love - which resulted in posting "Good Luck Come in Slender Currents" shortly before the ned of the year. Kicking me out of my writing slump.

So I'd like to use this awfully long post already as a more of "what's in store for 2022"...

Well I can't promise I will spend more time in front of the screen dutifully typing away words - quite the contrary I'm afraid. It's barely two weeks of January and I already went prancing about in the mountains in my Yorunn get up. LARPs I'm interested in are lining up and there is my newfound passion for "making things" to factor in...

That said, unless I experience a divine intervention, 2022 will likely be focused on Neve. There are so many different threads to her story that are worthy of touching on, and the way I decided to tell it - in short stories rather than another long one - allows me to do just that.

How much exactly will be written remains to be seen. I first want to finish "Good Luck..." and there are two stories in her "main story line" I would like to write this year as well:

"The Price of Prejudice" is already in the works, but unfortunately for me as a writer it involves some heavy themes that are making me majorly uncomfortable despite being fiction, that unfortunately are a focal point of the plot and cannot be removed... So I have been majorly procrastinating on that.

"Three is a Company" is a story set right after "The Price..." and involves, obviously, more bonding between the witcher and Neve, before we get to the meat to "The Witcher 3" plot (since, unlike some, I care about building the relations between my characters believably). There very much will be some dealing with the aftermath of what happened to Neve and an angry bruxa.

Other than that, whatever loosely related project involving Neve and Alven - because I did that guy dirty by ending him before anyone could really get to know him. We'll see - those two spent over 20 years together and there is plenty to tell...

Gods, this got so long. Thank you if you've read all the way to here.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Trope #36: Amnesia, Prompt #633: "Please, stop saying my name like that." for TAG

Forget Me Not

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Family Characters: Scott, Virgil, John

Ah, good old amnesia time!  And you know what, apparently my muse has decided it wants to beat up someone who isn’t Scott, entirely without prompting!  Although that might have something to do with the angst of a little brother not knowing who he is...  So there’s that.

Another old prompt I’m finally getting around to, so let’s see if I can even find the original post, oops...

Writing Game: Tropes

Scott had thought he’d known despair.  He’d felt its frigid bite the day the snow roared down, had it steal all the breath from his lungs the day the Zero-X exploded, heard its white noise when the call had come about a hydrofoil.  He’d lost - or almost lost - so much, and seen the way it infected other families every time a rescue didn’t have a hundred percent success rate.  He’d been sure, so sure, he’d known what it could do.

The vice around his heart, frigid and thieving and loud, was all of those together and more.  Too many things, too much to take in, too much to react to, and he was gasping for breath he didn’t have, drowning on dry land.

“Virgil,” he gasped out, his brother’s name something wet and rasping all at once.  Brown eyes regarded him, warm and concerned and a little upset.  More than a little upset; he was hiding it but not well enough.  Not from Scott.

“Please,” his little brother said, and his voice tightened the vice until Scott thought his heart would stop.  “Stop saying my name like that.”

It was only force of will that kept Scott standing, kept him in the same room, because every fibre of his being was screaming for him to get out of there.  Before it killed him, so he could find a way to fix it, before he broke in front of the brothers he had to be strong for.

Even the one that didn’t remember him.

Especially the one that didn’t remember him.

Amnesia.  A head injury at just the right - wrong - spot, and now Virgil couldn’t remember them.  Couldn’t remember him.  His brown eyes were warm and concerned but also empty of that one spark that made Virgil Virgil.

They didn’t know if it was permanent.

Grandma had scans running, Brains was delving into research, but the simple fact of the matter was that it was entirely down to Virgil.  Either he’d remember, or he wouldn’t, and there was nothing Scott could do to make it happen.

They’d done everything they could; they’d surrounded him with familiarity, family in and out with Scott the constant because he couldn’t - couldn’t - leave even though every moment that passed with no recognition destroyed him just a little more inside.  A trip to the hangars, Thunderbird Two in all her beautiful green glory.  It hadn’t helped.

Now all they could do was wait.  Wait and hope and pray that Virgil’s brain would recover the memories in time.

Scott had never been good at waiting.  Waiting for the news that Mom hadn’t made it, waiting for the body they never found, waiting for Gordon to regain consciousness.  His job was to protect his family, to help them when things got tough.  To do things.  Fix things, because he was the big brother and all his little brothers needed him to be able to make the world right again - or at least to keep it turning.

Now he had a little brother who didn’t remember that.  A little brother who looked at him without a single spark of recognition but was still so painfully Virgil that he could tell everyone was upset and wanted to help them.

There were three other little brothers still looking to him, three different colours of eyes watching him with thinly veiled hope and belief that somehow, somehow, he could fix this.  Big brother could make it right again.  After all, there’d always been something between them, hadn’t there?  That mutual understanding that went beyond comprehension but was always, always there.

Scott could feel the gaping hole where it should be.  Where it was gone, and that alone had him crippled, because he’d had Virgil since he was four, almost as long as he could remember.  They’d always said nothing could tear them apart.  Even in his blackest days, days he’d done his damnest to block from his memories, it had been there.  But this?  One simple knock to the wrong part of a head, and it was gone.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Virgil said, dragging him out of his mind and back into the room where his brother was watching him with those concerned yet sparkless eyes.

“Yes, I do,” he corrected.  His voice almost managed to stay steady.

“No,” Virgil said.  “You need to leave.”  The voice was all Virgil, but the words...  Virgil had never, ever, tried to send him away.  Not like that.

“Virgil-”

“You think watching you fall apart is helping me?” his brother demanded, shocking him into silence.  “I can barely remember my own name, you hovering isn’t going to change anything.  You’re just hurting yourself more.”

“No-”

“Get out.  Go do whatever you do to relax, and don’t come back until you don’t look like you’re about to shatter.”

Scott’s eye stung.  Virgil’s voice was making noises but they were nothing he would say.  His brother knew he could never relax when one of his brothers was in trouble, knew that he had to be there.  Knew that sending him away would always be infinitely more painful than sitting vigil by a bed.

But he didn’t know, because he didn’t remember.  Didn’t know he was tearing Scott’s heart out of his chest, one strip at a time.  Thought, in Virgil’s kind way, that it would help him.

Scott couldn’t correct him, though.  Because him staying was hurting Virgil, doing the absolute opposite of what he was supposed to be doing, where big brother was supposed to help, was supposed to make everything better.  Scott’s job was to fix things but now he was just breaking them more.

It was the worried brown eyes that did it.  Filled with pain and frustration but also worry and concern for him.  Scott’s other eye stung, at the same time something salty dripped into the corner of his mouth.

“I-”

“Go.”

Brown eyes were unwavering, and Scott swallowed with an unbearably tight throat.  One last moment of hesitation, one last silent plea for Virgil to change his mind, to let him stay, but he didn’t.

Scott barely made it out of the room before he broke, his knees crashing to the floor as the door shut behind him and his lungs shuddering and heaving as every breath that escaped was accompanied by a wrenching sob.

Virgil.  Scott had never felt so helpless, so useless, in his life.  Not only could he not fix it, but he couldn’t even reassure his brother like he normally would.  No, he’d just made things worse, his presence an additional stress on the brother who was going through hell.  So much so that Virgil - Virgil - had sent him away.

He didn’t know how his heart still had the space to beat, how it could keep going under the crushing pressure surrounding it.  His lungs were barely functioning, air replaced by salty sobs and hiccups.  Open eyes couldn’t see anything, his sight blurred beyond all comprehension.  Extremities were numb, muscles were locked rigid, and there was nothing he could do.

“Scott!”  Hands grasped at him, pawing and tugging in a futile attempt to get him to move.

“Scott?”  Quiet, worried.  Part of Scott stirred at it, recognising a little brother in distress, but it couldn’t break through the rest of him.

“Alan, go sit with Virgil.  You too, Gordon.”  A third voice joined in, the third and final little brother there to witness Scott’s greatest failure.

“But, Scott-”

“I’ve got him.”  Strong arms wrapped around him.  “You two check on Virgil.”

Hands fell away.

“Come on, Scotty.”  It was John talking, voice quiet and calm and everything Scott couldn’t be.  “Let’s get you off the floor.”

Scott’s limbs still weren’t responding, but John was stronger than he had any right to be with all the time he spent in space.  His younger brother dragged him upright, or at least to his feet, and then down the hallway.  Scott had minimal awareness of where they were going, barely able to put one foot in front of the other until there was something soft and he was sinking down onto it - into it.

John didn’t speak, but the arms didn’t leave him, holding him together so he didn’t have to.  It was wrong, another failure - he couldn’t fix Virgil, and now he couldn’t even reassure his other brothers either - but John was unrelenting and so were the tears.

“I-” he choked out, not sure what he was trying to say, but needing to say something.  “He- Virg-”  Another wave of sobs caught him, and John pulled him closer.

“Virgil’s strong,” John said, quietly but without a hint of doubt.  “Whatever happens, he’ll overcome it.”  Slender fingers coaxed through his hair, somehow more grounding than the arms around him.  “We’ll overcome it, Scott.  All of us, together.”

He shuddered involuntarily.  Together, John said, but Virgil didn’t even want him in the same room.  Found that he was hurting rather than helping.

“I couldn’t- couldn’t help,” he hiccupped, a painful admittance that burned his throat.  “He said-”

“You can’t help anyone when you’re a wreck yourself.”  John’s voice stayed level and calm.  “You know this, Scott.  Take a break.  Get some rest.  You don’t have to do this all alone.  He’s our brother, too.”

“But-”

“Rest, Scott.”  John didn’t raise his voice, but the command was clear nonetheless.  “You’re no good to Virgil like this.”

The words cut, but they didn’t burn like the words he’d been telling himself did.  John had always had a gift with words; coming from him, they were marginally easier to swallow.

“Go to him,” he begged.

“Alan and Gordon are with him,” John reminded him.  “He’s not alone.”

Scott knew that, but his heart still seized at the terror that somehow it wouldn’t be enough.  “Please.”

John’s fingers stilled in his hair.  “Okay,” he agreed.  The hands slipped away from him and Scott found himself toppling sideways onto the same soft that he was sat on.  A bed.

It shifted as weight lifted, and Scott blinked enough moisture away to see the vibrant ginger hair of his brother.

“John,” he rasped.  His brother paused.  “I’m sorry.”  Sorry for failing.  Sorry for being blind.  Sorry for being so useless.  “Thank you.”

“You’re not alone,” the Voice That Answers said.  “Either of you.”

John left, and Scott was left staring at the wall - pale silver, not his own - as his heart tried to wriggle free of the clamp around it.  John was right; John was always right.  They weren’t alone.  They would get through, one way or another.

The despair ebbed, just a fraction.

Just enough for him to breathe again.

[wandaswigglywoes]

Junksen - Aubrey takes care of lil werewolf Emily

Don't know if Aubrey is also a were

This took me some time to figure out what I was doing. Thank you for prompting me!!! :3 I hope you enjoy!! I’m going to try and let this be sort of ambiguous— let the reader decide if they wish to ship them romantically. (If my muse will let me. We’ll see where the girls decide to take it lmao) Haha, just kidding-- this has been sitting in my drafts for 84 years. basically ignore that above, i can't do ambiguous apparently. bye

“Why me?!” Emily winces at the shrill voice on the other side of the door, but only for the fact that it’s loud and causes the sharp pain behind her right eye to pulsate. “Why do I have to take care of her? I should be out in the trenches!” The voice continues, outraged. Emily thinks under normal circumstances, she would feel hurt, and guilty that this woman would rather be out fighting then to have to deal with her, but the only kind of emotion that Emily can muster is a sort of throbbing numbness.

“Aubrey!” A warning growl. “Her entire pack was brutally murdered before her eyes, and she was taken captive only to be tortured. Have a bit of sympathy!” Something sharp digs through the numbness and suddenly, as if she’s being submerged into an icy fjord, it all hits her at once. She has nothing— no one left.

There is silence on the other side of the door, but Emily’s exceptional hearing picks up heavy breathing. “I— I’m not saying that what happened isn’t terrible and despicable,” The shrill voice from before is much softer now, remorse evident in her tone. “I’m saying that perhaps I’m not cut out to be the one to take care of her. Someone like Chloe could—“

“Chloe is unavailable, and you know that, Aubrey. She is dealing with our spy that brought Emily in.”

“But daddy, I—“

There is a low growl and the hairs on the back of Emily’s neck stand on end. “Are you challenging me, Aubrey? I know I am your father, but I am also your alpha, so are you challenging my authority?”

“No. Of course not.” This time the voice is tight and controlled.

“Good, then you will do as I say.” The sound of someone retreating is followed, leaving no more room for argument.

Emily stares down at her bruised and raw wrists, waiting for the door to open, but it doesn’t. Not right away at least, but she knows that someone is still standing on the other side of the door.

Finally, the door creaks open, sounding so much louder in the quiet bedroom. Emily keeps her gaze downcast, wishing for all the world that she could disappear. There’s a sharp intake of breath that Emily knows has to be about her appearance. She hasn’t been able to bathe in— well, she isn’t really sure. Maybe a week? Her wrists and ankles are raw and bloody from where they had kept her shackled in pure silver, and there were fang marks at her neck where they had fed from her.

Werewolf blood was said to be warm and intoxicating to vampires, and not only that, but they lasted a lot longer than normal humans. "How are you feeling?" The voice sounds much softer now, though Emily can still hear the strain underneath.

Anger burns the back of her throat. "You don't have to be here if you don't want to," Emily says darkly, still unwilling to look up.

There is a sharp inhale through flared nostrils before it's exhaled shakily. "You heard that..." Emily chuckles derisively, but says nothing. "Right, of course. Look, I'm sorry. I'm just-- I'm not good with--" The voice trails off and Emily finally brings her gaze up to put a face to the voice.

It's a mistake. The woman is beautiful, blonde hair pulled into a tight bun with wisps of it framing her pretty, delicate features. Her eyes are a piercing green with flecks of gold, and behind them is remorse. Emily feels all the anger melt from her body in that moment. The woman's hands are clasped together tightly in front of her, as if to keep them from fidgeting. She's wearing a pair of form fitting jeans and a maroon colored Henley shirt, the whole outfit making her look effortlessly beautiful.

Emily clears her throat. "It's fine." She finally murmurs, eyes dropping back to her bloodied wrists, feeling as if she's been staring for too long.

"I'm Aubrey," The woman says gently, slowly approaching the edge of the bed where Emily sits rigidly.

"Emily," She mumbles, a shaking hand coming up to push a few greasy strands of hair out of her face.

She looks up to see Aubrey smile gently and Emily feels her insides clench. She has a nice smile. "Emily, is there--- is there anything I can help you with? We should probably clean up your wounds so that the healing process doesn't take more time than it's already going to."

Emily feels herself blush, realizing she's going to have to ask Aubrey to help her with bathing. "I--I'd really like to wash up, but-- I don't think I can stay standing long enough."

Aubrey nods. "Of course, and then we'll tend to those wounds." She approaches slowly and then holds out her arms for Emily.

Emily slowly reaches out, gripping both of Aubrey's forearms and allows herself to be pulled into a standing position. Her body screams in protest at the movement, but Emily manages to keep from crying out in pain.

//

Emily sits in the warm bath, knees pulled up to her chest and head tipped back slightly as Aubrey carefully pours water onto Emily's hair. Some of the tension leaves Emily's broken body as Aubrey's fingers massage shampoo into her scalp. The last time someone else washed her hair, Emily was a small child and it had been her mother.

This is-- it's different. The air feels charged, the action too intimate for two strangers.

Aubrey had respectfully kept her eyes averted while Emily struggled to undress, using Aubrey's outstretched hands to keep herself upright. They hadn't spoke since Aubrey had agreed to help her, the silence somehow louder than anything Emily had ever heard.

"Are you okay?" Aubrey finally asks, voice quiet, as if afraid to break the previous silence.

Emily swallows the dryness from her throat. "Yes, thank you."

"Close your eyes, I'm going to rinse your hair." So Emily does, barely suppressing a shiver as Aubrey's fingers comb through her hair.

//

After Aubrey had helped Emily get dressed (Some borrowed sleep clothes of Aubrey's), she lead Emily back into the bedroom at had her sit at the edge of the bed once more.

Aubrey is very gentle as she wraps her ankles and wrists, before looking her over for any other wounds. They still hadn't said very much to each other, which is fine with Emily. She doesn't have the energy to try and make conversation, too emotionally numb to think.

It isn't until Aubrey's fingers gently trace the fang marks on her neck that Emily's mind buzzes to life quite suddenly, pain shooting down her neck. Emily jumps and in turn, so does Aubrey. "S-sorry, is it painful?"

Emily blinks, suddenly realizing how close Aubrey's face is to her own. "I--a little," She squeaks, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

Aubrey's fingers are still on her neck as she stares into Emily's eyes. "I'm sorry, the ointment should numb it." She finally says, and Emily realizes that Aubrey's fingers are coated in something thick and that the pain is slowly receding.

"T-thanks," Emily says, eyes quickly finding somewhere else to look other than Aubrey's probing gaze. "For everything, for doing this even though you didn't want to."

"I'm sorry you heard that," Aubrey looks ashamed as she finally pulls her hand back, wiping it on a towel. "It had nothing to do with you, I hope you know. I'm just-- not very good at any of this."

Emily smiles for what seems like the first time in a while. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's gentle and earnest. She reaches out and takes one of Aubrey's hands in her own, ignoring the way her heart picks up speed as she does. "You've done a pretty good job so far."

She isn't sure if it's a trick of the light or not, but Emily thinks Aubrey blushes at the compliment, eyes falling to their joined hands. "Thank you, Emily."

//

Emily wakes up screaming, her neck burning and her ankles and wrists aching painfully, and the haunting screams of her family echoing in her mind. For a moment, Emily isn't sure where she is, chest heaving as she chokes on her own tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Hands are on her shoulders, stilling her thrashing, and when that doesn't work, arms wrap around her. "It's just a dream, Emily, you're safe."

"A-Aubrey?" Emily sobs, her world slowly coming into focus, nose picking up Aubrey's scent.

"Yes, it's me. I have you." Fingers comb through her sweaty hair.

Emily's body sags into Aubrey, nose burying into a slender neck and allowing the now familiar scent to push away the image of her family being murdered in front of her. "They're all dead," Emily hiccups, her arms wrapping around herself. "I'm-- I'm alone."

Aubrey pulls Emily practically into her lap, fingers trailing up and down her spine. "I'm so sorry they're gone, Emily," Aubrey murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. "But you aren't alone, I promise."

"Y-You don't even kn--know me," Even as she says it, her fingers grip the edge of Aubrey's sleep shirt as if she might disappear.

Aubrey sighs softly. "It doesn't matter. I have good instincts, and I can tell you're a good person. So, I mean it when I tell you that you aren't alone."

"Will you-- will you stay with me?" Emily doesn't think she can be alone again. True, Aubrey had made it into Emily's room in record time, but the thought of laying in this big bed alone with her thoughts scares her.

Aubrey doesn't hesitate. "Of course I will."

//

Emily sits with her back against a large tree, basking in the sun. It had been months since she was rescued and the war was getting closer to ending, and though Emily's heart still ached for her family, she had adjusted relatively well in this new pack.

A shadow crosses over her face and Emily frowns, opening her eyes to find Beca staring down at her-- the one who had rescued her. "Hey." She offers Emily a crooked grin before settling beside her.

"Hey, what's up?"

Beca lulls her head to the side to look at Emily. "Just checking in on my favorite little wolf."

Emily chuckles, nudging Beca with her shoulder. "Are you sure that title doesn't belong to someone else?"

Beca flushes slightly. "Shut up."

Emily's grin grows wider. "Pretty blue eyes, red hair--" Beca shoves her playfully and Emily laughs.

"If you're going to tease me about Chloe, then I can tease you about Aubrey."

Emily's smile drops. "Aubrey and I are friends." She says mechanically.

"Why don't you just tell her?" Beca asks gently.

"Why don't you tell Chloe?" Emily counters, annoyance evident in her voice.

Beca sighs resignedly. "I plan to... Later today. So you've got no reason not to to tell Aubrey."

Emily whips around to stare at Beca in shock, before something dawns on her. "You're going on another mission, aren't you?"

Beca inhales slowly, seeming to hold the air in her chest for a moment before exhaling. "Yeah, and life's too short to keep this shit bottled up."

Emily swallows the sudden burn of tears in her throat and nods jerkily before dropping her head to Beca's shoulder. "You better be careful, or else." She murmurs.

"I always am." Beca lets her own head drop onto Emily's.

//

Emily smells her before she sees her, the scent of lavender and earth growing stronger the closer she gets.

Aubrey stands outside her room on her balcony, leaning against the railing and staring up at the moon. "Hello, Emily." She says without turning around, probably having both scented and heard Emily.

Emily steps up beside her, heart in her throat. "Hi," She replies quietly, leaning against the railing next to her. Their arms brush against each others, and Emily allows it to calm her racing heart. "I uhm-- I wanted to talk to you."

Aubrey turns slightly to look at Emily. "Oh? Is everything okay?"

Emily visibly swallows as she brings her own gaze to meet Aubrey's. "Yes-- I mean, I think so." She can feel her cheeks heating up beneath Aubrey's concerned eyes and hopes it's just dark enough that Aubrey doesn't notice. "It's just-- I was talking to Beca earlier, and she said-- well, she said something to me that made me realize that I should tell you how-- how I really feel about you."

Aubrey's eyebrows draw together in confusion. She turns fully to face Emily. "How you--"

"Life's too short to keep these feelings bottled up, and I should know that better than anyone. So even if you don't feel the same, I wanted to tell you that I-- that I have feelings for you."

"You have feelings for me?" Aubrey stares at Emily in shock.

"Yes. Well, technically, I'm like-- a little bit in love with you. Which--- I don't want you to feel pressured to love me back, or feel guilty if you don't. I'm perfectly content to be your friend, I just-- I felt like you should know. So don't--"

"Emily," Aubrey's fingers press against Emily's lips.

"Hmm?"

Aubrey grins, eyes watery. "I'm a little bit in love with you, too." And before Emily can try to say anything else, Aubrey kisses her.

[ashestospace-fics]

Thank you nature

Character: Kite

Show: HxH

Reader: shortMale

Category: Nsfw/smut 

Warnings: sizekink mainly

Summary:After years of teaming up together for several missions, the tension between you and kite gets too much to handle.

Masterlist

Request open!

It's the fourth day you stand down to guard with Kite in this new research. Something about a tiger evolving a new skill had brought your group together to observe it and analyze it's new behavior. It was a slow and quiet process that got any person bored if they weren't mentally prepare for it. But for you and kite it was one of the ways you both seemed to interact better. Neither spoke as you both got into a task, but lately that silent was slowly suffocating your lungs as the missions, days, and hour pass for you.

You don't know when it started, the brush of his hands against yours when he handed you things. His worried tone when you both encounter enemies, how in most occasions even though he always says if you can't keep up with him don't bother to follow. But quickly turns around to shield you from any attack. His hair gently touching you as he leans a bit too close, to his low chuckled that vibrated against your ears when he's the only one around to laugh at your jokes. Lately now just a simple glance of your eyes locking had your breath itching.

"Nothing still?" Kite's voice snap you back too reality as he lean over too look at the monitor clenching in your hands. He's hair falling slightly over your arm and hand. It tickled a bit, making your cheeks heat up at the proximity.

"Uh no, nothing yet" you mumble back, your eyes staring at him as he lean back to pull his hat to cover more of his face.

"at this rate we might not get anything, maybe we should move locations?" He hold into his chin as he stare back at you for confirmation. For a second you felt your eyes trail down to his lips, as soon as they looked down they snap back to the monitor to turn it off.

"yeah I think we should, i’m kinda getting tired of just standing put here" you mumble out as you stood up. Both of you were sitting near trees, which had you both hidden this entire time. He followed your lead on standing up, his looming body towered over you easily. Which normally in the start it pissed you off to a whole other level, because for a guy you were ridiculous short. Even though you were strong and could handle yourself, your height made people think other wise. Meanwhile Kite never really tease you or mention how short you where( he actually adored it.)

Looking down at you he had a lot of urges to pick you up randomly, but that would be too out of character. So the closest he has ever done too actually physically show it was his random Pat's in the head when you both finish a job. It follow no comment but a slight smile. In the start you didn't think much of it, but now it was something you itch in your weird quiet friendship with the tall hunter. You two where good friends, so you thought but the idea of actually admitting your feelings for him seemed impossible in any near future. But the feeling of bursting and screaming your feelings and desire where clearly taking over by the minute.

"let's head down north, I saw a cave over there" he suggested, you only nodded in agreement as you both started walking,your surroundings was mainly trees and bushes to no end. So when you both stop to the sound of something breaking not even Kite expected to be suddenly sliding down along with you down a narrow creak. He's arms instinctively wrap around you and pulled you closer as you slide down rapidly, your eyes squinting shut as Kite used his legs to stop the harsh impact, but not enough for you to not hit the ground and slide off his grip.

Both of you panted slightly at the scare, you look around the close gap area you both where stuck in. Your body was pressing against him as your hands grip on his white sleeves.

"you okay?" He finally breath out in his normal calm town.

"oh yeah totally, that woke me up for sure" you slightly joked, then the situation in hand woke up more in the position you where in. There was little space to move, and if you two wanted to get out it was going to take a while to even squeeze out. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that both his and your hips where press together along with your chest on his upper stomach. His hair was a curtain over you as his hands stranded you from above as he hold into the solid wall of rocks behind you.

It had your face bursting into a blush as you looked away, there was no way you will escape with out making this one awkward, you could feel your excitement growing by within you. Don't think anything dirty don't think anything dirty DON'T THINK ANYTHING DIRTY

"y/n I'm going to try and move too make it easier to get out" he suddenly warn in a quiet tone, his hot breath made you slightly light headed as you let go of his arms.

"uh okay, um uh just be careful..." You whisper out as you hold in a breath. Kite sudden movement had your eyes shutting open as his hips rolled against yours as you tried moving left. Oh fuck, you bite down your lip as he moved again slightly trying to shake his way out which just felt like a way worse idea. Your face felt like it was gonna explode by all the blooding going up, and it was not helping that you were getting hard. Heat was spreading over your body like rapid fire.

"K-kite hold on I don't think this is working-ah fuck" you hand flew over to cover your mouth. Even though it was a quiet moan you knew he heard it, he's hips had thrusted forward while he tried standing straight and you let it slip in mid sentence. Your head was glue down as you looked down at your own hard on, your legs felt weak and the embarrassment made it worse as you look at the tent in your pants. Now you where freaking out as he stop moving, you grossed him out you knew it, he didn't say anything but you knew he was staring down at you. Shame was eating you up as your legs shocked ever so slightly.

"Sorry, sorry I really am! Y-you are just s-so close and you kept moving and my head feels dizzy an-" you suddenly blabber out as you tried arching your back away as your hips moved away from touching his. You didn't even know what you where saying anymore but he's voice cut you off.

"...Did that felt good?..." He breath out, the first time you looked up at him. Only to be greeted with brown eyes looking at you in almost a haze as his pale skin was light pink. Kite's nen could normally warn anyone on how strong he is and scare them away but right now you felt like you were stuck in place as you stare at him. You felt weak on the knees as you slowly now focus how he's breathing was going faster and heavy as he lean closer to you.

"Y/n... I asked a question" he whisper out, and you felt like coming just then and there.

"y-yeah it did.." you breath out in a shaky tone as you didn't look away from him. A small hummed escape him as his hands trail down to your sides and grab you by the hips to pull you against him again. Feeling the friction between both your groins had you almost whimpering as you shut a eye close.

"let me...take care of that then..." he whisper out as his hands on your hips tighten as he's lips meet yours in a desperate sloppy kiss. His nose bumping against yours as he tried pulling you closer, you felt yourself melt into the kiss quicker than you expect, your thoughts going blank just by the fact that Kite was actually even kissing you in the first place. You expect something but definitely not this. It was also clear, he was very inexperienced by how sloppy the kisses where. But right now you didn't care, your hands tangle themselves in his hair. The kisses becoming more desperate and more in sync with both your actions, a light of passion and frustration built from it. Now apparent to you that you weren't the only one with desire for the other.

You let out a small yelp as he pulled you up and rested you against the wall, his thigh between your legs roughly rubbing against both your back and cock had you whimpering again as he pulled away from the kiss. He was staring at you with hungry eyes underneath that hat, his thumb rubbed against your swollen lips.

"y/n...you're such a good boy.." your body arch at his words, his hand trailing down to lift up your shirt and undo your pants so quickly your brain was still processing the heated kiss until you felt long finger rubbed against the tip of your cock.

"k-kite..ah" your hands grip on his shoulders as he planted more kisses on your face and neck side. "So small, I feel like I could break you if i’m too rough" he mumbled out between kisses and nipping. You pouted at this slightly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer. "T-try me.." you mutter out, there it was. You felt him smile against your skin as his leg moved forward to grind against you as he pulled your pants and underwear down to your ankles. You hold in the breathy moans as he wrap a arm under your bottom to hold you still. Your erection had him humming in your ears as he place a finger on your tip. "You are quite cute like this.." he said to his own amusement, he never imagine seeing you make such expression. He never imagine he would ever get turn on the way he is right now just by a little of foreplay and you cornered.

His slender fingers wrap around you and gave you slow strokes as he planted gentle kisses on ear, he was eating up every little moan that escape you. Pleasure slowly building up on the pit of your stomach. Your voice only seemed to get louder in his ears as he pulled away his hand from your cock, bringing it up to suck two fingers of his. "Quite desperate are you?" He muse as he watch you effortlessly grind your hips up in a haze. So small you practically sit in one of his thighs no effort. You didn't respond as you lean your head against his chest, heavily panting as he lifted you up slightly.

"M-Mmh? What are y-" you caught yourself gasping and gripping on his sweater. He inserted a finger in. Your legs slightly twitching as he pumped it in slowly before putting another on in with easy. "Oh they slip right in, those it hurt y/n?" he mumbled out. "A-ah a bit.." you manage to breath out. A small hum came back as a reply, he kept working his fingers inside you. Twisting and pushing as far his long fingers could reach. It had you moaning and groaning against his sweater as he stretch you out. He quietly observe every little reaction of your body and voice, how you will clench around him when he push far enough, how you where somehow getting wetter as he kept pumping his fingers inside. It had him biting his lower lip in anticipation and trying to look for self-control as he watch you become undone under him. The way your voice kept calling out to him was about to make the man snap.

"k-kite, s-stop" you mewled out in between his fingers harsh harassment. Your eyes watering up slightly as you look up at him, he stop moving. "did I do som-" "no..no just put it in already, the teasing is a pain" you complain as your hands dived down to undo his pants. His protest where quiet down by your lips as soon as he tried stopping you. It was a desperate attempt to get too the point, but also to just quiet his worries away. A low groan escape him as soon he felt your hands against his cock. It was long and big as you expect, the little voices in your head slightly worried on how your small figure was going to take it in. You gave it a few slow pumps which had him hissing as he place his hands against your hips as you position yourself against him.

You shivered at the contact, his hips jerked up to press against you. Self control was slowly slipping out of his mind as he panted against your neck. "S-shit.." you gripped on his shoulder as he place mouth open kisses on your neck. "I'll be gentle.." he whisper out trying to reassure you. His hands slowly brought you down, the stretch slow mix with pain and pleasure. A shaky breath left pass his lips until he bottom out. The whole time you hold in you breath as you tried relaxing around him.

It took a few minutes, the whole time Kite kept placing gentle kisses up to your face trying to calm down both of your nerves. Between each nip of your skin and the feeling of heat invading each area you heard a small praise from him. A low groan escape you as shifted on him. "Y..you can move now" managing to breath out those words his hands grip on your waist again. He slowly pull you up before slamming you back down. Earning both a low moan from both of you. He repeated it, having you slam down on his cock until he had a steady pace as he thrusted into you. Each time earning high moans from you and whimpers as he hit each spot of your walls perfectly.

At this point you both seemed to have forget where you were. Not giving a care at all as he pull you closer to him as your nails dig on his sweater. Bending slightly and changing the angle had him hitting your prostate in the most delicious way possible. It had your eyes rolling back as you shocked on his hold. Your walls clenching around his cock drew a low groan from him as he felt you get close to climax.

"Kite! Oh fuck I'm close- s-so close ah oh god" He pull a hand behind your head as he drew you to another messy kiss. His thrust becoming frantic as he reach down your orgasm. Your body arching and spasing around him as he rode down his own before pulling out. His lips drown out your moans as he came. Your body stay stiff as your cum hit your own stomach. His legs finally give in and slide down with you still in his grasp too sit down. Both of you panted heavily as you lean your head against his chest.

Both of you stood still as you took in what you both just did. His hand drew up to push your sweaty hair off you face. "So....uh is it to late too say I like you now?" You blurt out while smiling up to him. He stare at you before letting out a small laugh as he look to the side. "No Y/n I like you too" he pulled you closer as he place a kiss on your forehead. You couldn't help but smile out of relief. “thanks nature for this one right? this took too long” he almost cough up at your words. “Y/n..” 

"great, but how do we get out of here now?"