#Snag it under the chin lift and toss

[vergess]

I'm always forgetting that most people never lived in The Mingo Zone

How do y'all cope with not knowing about Flamingos except from cartoons? Sounds brutal. They're magical little bastards. They change colours, you know!!!

They really do use only one leg like that, btw. I mean most birds do it sometimes but... but 'mingos are so fucking funny to watch. They carefully gotta fold that whole lanky ass fishing pole leg up every time they move. 10/10 highly recommend.

[lostintransist]

This Bunny Bites Part 10

Check out part 1 here.

CW: None.

Climbing in the back seat with Cara you wink at Kyle from the backseat.

“Loverboy.”

He replies with a dry, “Bunny.”

The glare you send him should set his hair on fire. Unfortunately, your magical girl powers had yet to manifest.

Gaz eyes Cara before adjusting his gaze to driving.

You turn to continue talking to Cara as if Gaz isn’t there. Watching him on the sly you see what piques his interest. Knowing what snags a man’s interest had been a skill you had cultivated since you had moved in with your father and on the daily had to try and learn what you could do to keep yourself safe.

Cara caught you with a particularly funny joke and you’re snorting laugh cuts through the cab of the car. It’s not a demure laugh and never the one you use in front of clients. Before Gaz could comment Cara jumped in.

“Ooh judgey driver you got.” Turning from you to place a hand on the back of his seat Cara ran one long red nail down the back of his shoulder, “Aren’t drivers paid for their discretion?”

“Aren’t former dancers meant to know how to read a room?” Gaz doesn’t look from the road as he tosses back his comment.

Leaning back Cara lets out a hum and folds her arms across her chest. Glancing at you she gives you a wink. You’re sure Gaz saw when he snorted from the front seat.

“I would say he’s an Aquarius, his favorite accessory is a good watch, and he’s a closeted bisexual.”

“How the fuck did you do that!?” Gaz turned to glare at you both once the car rocked to a stop at a light. “What did you tell her?”

“She didn’t tell me anything. One thing you get good at as a woman who works almost exclusively with men who can and will hurt you is reading them. The micro-expressions tell you the truth since a man’s lips never will.”

Gaz and Cara are staring at each other, both trying to prove a point with their eyes. You glance through the front window and point.

“Light’s green.”

Swearing Gaz turns and focuses on driving again. The color is leeching from his knuckles as he settles into a parking spot under a nondescript building. Stepping from the driver’s seat Gaz opens the back door where Cara is sitting. He leans into her space, the angles of his face sharp and angry with the overhead lighting.

“How do you know? How did both of you decide so much about me?”

“The tenseness in your shoulders and the way your eyes watch a microsecond too long at men you find attractive. Your taste in men is super different than your taste in women. I wonder is that normal,” She turns to you. “Is your taste in men the same as your taste in women?”

“Oh absolutely not, my taste in women is far superior to my taste in men.”

“Mmm, I wish I liked women. That one time in college was nice but I kept wishing for the heady scent of semen,” Cara sighed, stretching her legs between Gaz’s in a move to force him to get entirely too close or to back up.

He chooses correctly. Cara in her heels stands eye to eye with Gaz. You miss most of their facial communication as you escape the back seat from your side. They are still face to face when you round the boot of the car.

Lifting one well-manicured brow Cara looked from eye to eye, the subtle challenge of two kinds of power meeting. You let it go for three, four, five seconds even.

“Alright quit the dick measuring, I have to go and try on a million and one outfits and would like to get this over with.”

Cara smirks as Gaz turns to glare at you. Snapping his head back to stare at Cara, even knowing he lost the interaction, he looks ready to snarl at her.

“She’s right loverboy, we have an appointment to make,” Cara coos at him.

Stepping from between him and the car Cara links elbows with you as you both meander to the elevator. Gaz is reaching a particular point of done. You can see it in his posture. Leaning your head onto Cara’s shoulder you speak before Gaz can reach the elevator.

“Go easy on him, I think he’ll need a snack before we head home.”

The bump of Cara’s chin is all the acknowledgment she gives before Gaz joins you in the elevator.

The experience of dress shopping isn’t so different than any other time you have been. The addition of a dedicated assistant with a list from Price is new though. You needed a full wardrobe, including a golf outfit, two pantsuits, a full new set of chic underwear and bra combos (though you fight the assistant about anything with lace, it makes you want to peel your skin off and you will not budge on this point), and at least eight semi-formal dresses and three formal dresses.

Cara helps you in and out of clothes, confirming when a dress or an outfit is a good enough fit or color to step in front of the tri-fold mirror snapping a picture or two of you and Cara. Gaz grows increasingly done in the background of each photo you send to Price. Might as well confirm he is getting his money’s worth.

When the third hour ticks into the fourth everyone is done. Gaz has spent the last twenty minutes arms folded and ankles crossed as he stares at the toe of his boot. Your body is starting to ache from the constant shifting and moving. Keeping your game face on for so long has drained your emotional batteries and it’s dinner time. Cara gets snappy when her blood sugar gets too low.

When the assistant finally confirms you have picked enough of everything John requested you gratefully put on your own clothes again. Flopping down onto the couch next to Gaz you let out a sigh of relief. Cara had popped over to the bathroom as soon as she heard the news that the appointment had been completed.

“Wanna grab a burger after we leave here?”

“No.”

The terse reply is not unexpected, but annoying all the same.

“I’ll buy.”

The only response is a shifting of his eyes to catch you out of one side of his vision.

“Come on Gaz. Price said you guys would be playing bodyguard for me so we both need to get comfortable being together for long periods of time.”

A sigh drops his shoulders.

“I’m normally better on jobs than this,” he admits quietly.

“Normally you don’t have to deal with two women particularly skilled at worming our way under the defenses of men in our vicinity.” You shrug by way of apology. “We don’t always use our powers for good.”

“Powers,” he guffawed, “Makes you sound like some kind of supervillain.”

You’ve got him now. A saccharine smile splits your face.

“I sure do have the dramatic backstory to pull off being a villain,” you waggle your eyebrows at him.

Gaz gives a hint of a smile and shakes his head as he looks back to his feet.

“I won’t say anything by the way.”

This draws his face fully to you, beautiful eyes confused but concerned.

“That you’re bi. I collect secrets to keep me safe, not to hurt other people.”

Cara appears across the store, finished with her bathroom trip.

“Well I guess we’ll see if you keep to that edict then,” Gaz stands and offers you a hand. If you take it as a peace offering instead of an offer of assistance that’s between you and your thoughts.

Driving back home is much more lively. Gaz is drawn into the conversation instead of purposefully being left out. You can see Cara is interested in him. First off he’s gorgeous and she did always have a thing for pretty men. Secondly, he didn’t seem put off by her former work at all, which was a rare thing. The Madonna/Whore complex lived out in so many men when they learned about what you did for work.

Choosing a fast food restaurant to swing through had nearly turned into swings being thrown when you refused to eat at certain places that either didn’t treat their employees right or funded atrocious acts somewhere in the world. Eventually, Cara found a small, family-owned business that served burgers and Gaz worked his way there. So much for the goodwill you had worked on building today.

Laughter picks back up between Cara and Gaz as you snarf down your food, headless of the mess you were making on your face. Slipping into the quiet of listening you are looking forward to resting in your bed as Gaz points the car toward your home. You give your quiet thanks as you step from the car.

Leaning out of the window Gaz gave his parting words.

“Price will be in touch, he has a few more appointments he needs to put you through before your first party.”

“Appointments like what?” You ask cautiously.

“Pampering ones, you will need to look as cared for as any of the ladies at the parties you will be attending.”

Nodding you accept the wisdom in that.

“Will I have an escort for that too?”

“Most likely, you’ll be going to the same salons as most of the ladies you will run into at the events.”

Puffing your cheeks you force the air back and forth as you think.

“I’ll take Ghost or Price but not my brother.”

Gaz lifts a brow, “Not sure that’s your choice.”

“Pretty sure you want Johnny to come home alive right?”

The narrowing of his eyes tells you Gaz doesn’t think you could take your brother in a fight. He might be right but you would inflict some damage before he subdued you.

“Tell Price what I said, and have him call me when he sets the next appointment up,” you offer a two-finger salute, blow a kiss to Cara who has moved to her car, and head up the steps to your flat.

God, you needed a nap.

Part 9 | Part 11

Bunny Masterlist | Masterlist

@leahnicole1219 @notsochillnerd @darling006

[simphornies]

@matrixbearer2024's request ☺️

This is a shorter one. I haven't written in a while and the first time I come back with is a Vox smut 💀 Anyways—enjoy simps!

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: this is literally just smut man, bondage? idk he ties u up, mentions of choking, consent is mentioned

Tied up [ Vox x Reader ] 18+

NSFW UNDER CUT - MDNI

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

You flinched at the familiar voice that came from behind you. Your breath got caught in your throat, you were frozen. You heard his footsteps grow louder behind you, the sound of electricity crackling getting closer.

“You’re not supposed to be here, doll.” Cables snaked around your wrists and ankles, holding you in place with no chance of running. With a swift move, your body turned to face the overlord in front of you. A menacingly seductive grin plastered his face. “Well well…What’s a gorgeous doll faced demon like you doing in my security room?” He held your chin up, his face too close to yours.

Your breathing returned, albeit ragged. The power play had you weak in your knees and if it weren’t for the cables, you’d be on the floor; merciless at his feet.

“What’s wrong?” His hand snaked down from your chin to your neck, his claws lightly tracing your skin. The coldness of claws sent shivers down your spine.

“Something got your tongue?” He lightly applied pressure on your check. He felt you gulp underneath his palms. He let out a low chuckle. “Fine. Let’s see if you can stay quiet.”

He trailed his claws down from your neck to your waist with a different look on his face: a questioning one. He tugged at the hem of your shirt, “Do you want me to stop?” You quickly shook your head. He chuckled at your eager answer. “Use your words, doll.” His voice was low with a teasing tone.

“P-Please don’t stop, sir.” Your voice was just as shaky as your legs. “Oh, darling finally spoke to me.” Without a second to spare his claws snagged on your shirt and ripped it off to shreds. Just like that you felt how cold his security room really was. He pulled your pants down, showing those mercy compared to your top.

Your arousal dripped down your thighs, fueling Vox’s ego.

He pulled your underwear down and teased your cunt, earning him a whine from you. He handled you gently but roughly, his eyes never left you. He watched the way you arched your body and struggled against the restraints for more friction, a way to beg for him to satiate this new hunger.

Your eyes were shut tight, breathing ragged as you whined for more. When you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, you peeked up at him through half lidded eyes. He stood in front of you with a seductively hungry look on his face. His suit and vest were gone, he stood in front of you with his unbuttoned white top. His pants were tossed over to the side with no care. Your eyes wandered down to his leaking cock. You gulped and shyed your eyes away, suddenly nervous.

He lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Shy?” Your face turned a bright red. His question rendered you unable to respond. He chuckles in response, “I’ll be hearing that sweet little voice soon enough.”

You felt the restraints on your wrists move you so your back was facing him. Instead of the usual dark walkway towards his office, you were met with your own reflection in a mirror. Vox grabbed your face and kept you staring at the sight of yourself restrained and at his mercy. “I need a full view of you being a good girl.”

He enters you slowly, on purpose, to tease you. He was halfway in and you felt so full. He chuckles in your ear, making you shiver underneath his hold. In contrast to his slow entrance, he slammed down into you. A pleasure-filled scream erupted from you, “Vox!”

He started to thrust in and out of you, giving you no time to recover from him slamming into you. The hand he had your face trailed down to your neck. He gripped it tight enough for you to find pleasure. The slightest squeeze made you immediately clench your walls around him. He let out a low growl in response, this riled him up more. He used his free hand grabbed onto your hip, his claw lightly digging into your skin. You couldn’t keep quiet, moans and screams of his name escaped your lips every time his hips slammed into yours.

The cables around your wrist lowered as he let go of your neck. He used both hands to keep your ass up and sped up. If it weren’t for the cables and him holding you up, you’d be limp on the floor from the pleasure. “You’re taking it so well, doll.” He praised you, his voice slightly glitching out of pure pleasure. “You’re such a good girl.”

You melted at his words. You begged and pleaded for more.

He swiftly pulled out to flip you over before slamming back into you again. You bit your lip, stifling your scream. He grabbed your face, looking you in the eyes with his own. As his left eye spiraled, he spoke to you with his warbling voice, “I said I wanted to hear you. Be good, now.” You could barely respond.

Your mind was getting foggy and your vision getting blurry. You were losing yourself in the pleasure. All that came out of you was his name accompanied by a symphony of moans. That building tightness in your stomach grew tighter with every thrust.

It was clear to you, even in your euphoric state, that he was close from the way he glitched and stuttered. His breathing was ragged as he thrusted into you with reckless abandon. He grabbed your throat, squeezing it, “I want to hear you say my name as you cum around me, darling.” His voice was raspy.

The lights that lit the room up started to flicker along with his own. “V-Vox—” You tried to warn him but the knot in your stomach snapped. You shut your eyes tight as you came on him but that didn’t stop him from abusing your cunt to push him to the edge. It didn’t take long for him to completely fill you up, your name spilling out his lips like his cum spilled out of you.

Your body convulsed as he held your body tightly against him. It felt like forever for the pleasure to die down. You felt yourself lowering down on the ground along with him. He was still inside you as he held you on the cold ground. Once he was done, he slowly pulled out and watched the mixture of his and yours lovemaking pour out of you. When you finally came to your senses, you opened your eyes to the dark room. The only light that filled the room was the blue screen that replaced his face.

The cables that were around your wrists were now hanging loosely from the ceiling, giving you freedom to place your hands on his chest. “Vox?” You softly said, your own voice raspy from screaming. His screen eventually went back to his own face after buffering. The lights turned back on in his room as he looked into your eyes with a smile on his face, red liquid dripping from his mouth.

“Amazing as always, doll.” He said, “I should listen to your ideas more.” You giggled in response, peppering kisses all over his screen. He lazily threw his own pants on before carrying you, taking the cables off of your wrists in response. He carried you back into his room to take care of and clean you up. Once you were both situated, he sets you down in his bed. You nuzzled into his chest, his arms wrapping around your figure gently. You soon fell asleep with him.

The next day, Vox’s phone was filled with angry texts from Velvette, something relating to her “ruined show” thanks to the blackout the two of you caused.

[lady-phasma]

Battered and broken

Frank Castle x fem!reader

a/n: This is out of left field but I found this and had forgotten I had written it after a Punisher rewatch in Nov 2023. So I’m putting it out in the world because why not.

Warnings: actually no smut (I know, right?!), hurt/comfort, description of injuries.

Summary: You’re an ex-Navy corpsman (yes, they call women that too in case you weren’t sure) and Frank comes to you for help and some comfort. Takes place after season 2 finale. 3.3k words

The knock on your door is faint, you could have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to it. You close your book and place it on the coffee table as you stand up from the couch. You unconsciously tuck a stand of hair behind your ear as you reach the door. You take a deep breath before looking through the peephole.

No one looking back at you. Only the top of a man’s head, a ball cap, his face toward the floor of the hall. You can tell by the slump of his shoulders he is exhausted. You slide the chain back.

“Come in,” you say as you open the door. Frank steps in sideways, glancing up at you. You let out a gruff sigh. This particular beating looks worse than any you’ve seen yet.

“Hey,” he grunts at you. He tosses his cap onto the kitchen table and pulls a chair out. The feet scrape on the floor. He nearly collapses into it. His body looks so heavy, like gravity has gotten stronger, pulls harder on him than anyone. He runs his hand over his hair and leans forward, nearly puts his face in his hands but thinks better of it when his busted cheek brushes against his palm. He rests his elbows on his thighs and lets his head hang. You quietly close the door and slide the chain back into place.

Your bare feet are quiet on the tile floor but are the only sound in the silent apartment. He doesn’t look up as you approach him. You stand at his side and sigh lightly. You touch the back of his head, gingerly, run your fingertips down his neck. So far, the back of his neck is the only part of Frank not covered in blood. There’s some there too though. You make another pass, equally gentle, but with your entire hand from the top of his head to his neck and let your palm rest against him.

You’re standing close enough to him that he leans slightly against you, shoulder to thigh. You wish you could take the weight off his shoulders but you’ll happily accept any that he’s willing to offer, even if it is only to prop him up. It lasts only for a beat. He can’t share the load. It’s not pride or ego. It’s a mix of fear and compassion. When he straightens up you slide down to squat next to him. You keep your hand on him the whole time, some small comfort for both of you.

“Hi there,” you nearly whisper. You dip your head as you speak, finding his face, assessing the damage. “Hey.” You reach up and gently put a fingertip under his chin. He lifts his head, barely, and meets your eyes.

“Hey,” he replies. He is beyond exhausted and, this time, beyond beaten. You suck in air between your teeth and drop your hand from his chin to his knee. But you smile up at him sweetly, a closed-lip smile that spreads up to your eyes. He almost smiles back at you but winces.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” you tell him as you stand up. You hear him let out a deep breath. You straighten your pj shorts as you pad through the apartment gathering supplies. Occasionally you glance over your shoulder to make sure Frank is still upright. You run through the list in your head and as you circle back through the kitchen you snag a beer from the fridge.

You lean over the table and let some of the items fall from your arms as you use a foot to slide a chair out. You sit down while pulling your chair closer to Frank, face to face if he sits up straight. He hasn’t yet. So you line up your supplies and then crack open the beer.

“Here. Drink this.” You hold the open beer bottle in front of him. He finally looks up and slowly lifts his head. It looks like it takes all of his remaining strength to rase his arm to take the beer from your hand. He takes a swig of it and sets it and his arm on the table. He leans back just a little in the chair.

You turn back to the table and your supplies, grab a washcloth and the bottle of isopropyl alcohol. You want him to lean back if it’s comfortable so you stand and step between his legs. He takes another drink of beer and rests his arm on the table again. Then he looks up at you. You have the cloth in one hand, alcohol in the other, and a tightness in your chest from those deep, dark, haunted eyes. That particular expression always makes you ache to comfort him, relieve even the smallest amount of his agony.

“I don’t have to warn you, you already know how this hurts. I’m guessing this is the least pain you’ve felt today.” You smile down at him and push some of his hair back from his forehead with the back of your hand.

Frank’s eyes soften slightly as he looks up at you. You feel his left hand move from his leg to yours as he slips his fingers behind your knee, up the bare skin of the back of your thigh. He’s not going any further, only wants the contact with you, but your skin still breaks out into gooseflesh. His touch is gentle for such large, rough hands. You let out the breath you had been holding and dab the cloth against the mouth of the alcohol bottle. You start at his forehead and move your way slowly down his busted and bruised face until there’s no more white on the cloth.

He only winces a few times and never much more than a reflex and never opens his eyes. Only once did he involuntarily pull away, but his cheek is split wide open, even he couldn’t override his body’s response to the alcohol in the open wound. You hold the cloth away for a beat as his fingers reflexively grip your leg. Then you go back to your job. It hurts him but it has to be done.

“Thank you,” Frank mumbles as you step back to sit down again, his fingers trailing off your skin as you move out of their reach. You toss the cloth on the far side of the table and start to set up the first aid kit and a small bowl you fill with alcohol. You close the bottle and look at him while you unpack suture supplies, bandages, ointment.

“Did you finish it? Is Amy going to be safe?”

He nods. Just barely. Even nodding hurts.

“Do you know where she’ll go?” You doubt it. He doesn’t want to be a liability to the people he cares about. Not knowing is safer, easier.

“Nah,” he answers as he looks down at his clothes, examines his hands, turning them over to look at the palms. He takes a drink of his beer. “Nah, I gave her some cash and got her on a bus.” Another swallow. “Maybe she’ll make something out of her life. Good kid.”

“Yeah, she was,” you nod. “Just misguided. Happens to most of us.” You stand up again and slide some things on the table closer to Frank, gently taking his beer from his hand and setting it out of your way. You step back into your position between his legs and before you can begin he reaches up and holds your hips in each hand. He leans forward and rests the top of his head against your stomach. You run you hands over his shoulders, one up the back of his neck. You make soothing sounds but you never shush him. The last thing you want is to make him feel like he can’t say whatever he needs to. These sounds aren’t words as much as gentle humming sounds mixed with it’s-okay-s. The tender moment doesn’t last long. Frank raises his head and slides his hands down your legs. He’s not holding your legs, only resting his hands against them as his forearms rest on his thighs.

You both know this normally sucks but it’s going to be so much worse without a topical anesthetic. Not that this is unusual for Frank, but this split cheek is awful. You decide to do it first. You choose the smallest needle and thread from your medical kit, the best choice you have for facial sutures but still bigger than you want.

You look down at him, soft smile on your face, and find him watching you. A touch of adoration mixed in with the exhaustion.

“This is going to hurt like a motherfucker babe,” you warn him unnecessarily.

“Don’t drag it out,” he tries to grin in that cheeky way but it hurts too much. “Get on with it.”

So you do. Occasionally, you feel his fingers tighten on your legs but Frank’s overall reaction to these stitches is a narrowing of his eyes, small twitches in his lower eyelids, and muscles flexing in his clenched jaw. The apartment is so quiet that you can hear, as well as feel, the sutures as you stitch him up. Frank’s breathing has a rasping quality that you don’t like in the least. Your corpsman’s instincts run through the list of possibilities and, combined with the shallowness of each breath, you’re pretty sure he has some rib damage and maybe a few hits to the throat.

As you tie off and cut the thread you assess the other wound on his chin. That could use a few stitches as well. You go about cleaning your needle, threading it, and try not to be distracted by Frank’s fingers grazing a path up and down the outsides of your legs. He’s started to relax. The endorphins from the pain of cleaning and stitching are washing over his brain. His breathing has begun to deepen and slow.

You look back at him and tilt his face up to yours by running your fingertip up the line of his jaw to his chin. You work silently, this area less damaged but requiring a bit more concentration. After finishing these sutures you drop the needle in the bowl of alcohol. You assess the smaller cuts and splits on his face and deem butterfly bandages appropriate. You unwrap a few and start closing the wounds on his forehead, his other cheek, above the bridge of his nose. When you finish you lean down and kiss the top of his head and cradle the back of his head in your hands.

Frank’s hands slide up the backs of your thighs, over your shorts, to the small of your back. His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top to rest against your bare skin. Unexpectedly, he leans his head forward and you straighten with a little surprise but you don’t stiffen. You let him rest his forehead between your breasts. Through the thin fabric of your tank, his breath is warm against your skin. You gently pet the back of his head and then rest your hands just above his shoulders. His shoulders are shaking a bit, trembling actually. You don’t think he is crying but he’s processing a lot of emotions after a day like this.

You both stay that way for a moment, not too long, and he sighs loudly. You move your hands from his shoulders. When he looks up at you, his eyes are red rimmed but a little less exhausted.

“Alright big man, come ‘ere.” You take a step back and gesture for him to stand up. You smile broadly at him, encouraging him that he can do it, that there is enough energy left in him. Frank groans as he stands but grins at you sheepishly once standing. He rolls his eyes at your mock clapping, praising his effort.

You step closer to him again and the smile falls from your face. You dread seeing how much worse shape his body is in if his face was that bad. It can’t be avoided.

“I’m fine,” he grunts as you move your hands to the hem of his shirt. “I’ll be fine.” But Frank looks away from you and clenches his jaw, chewing the inside of his lip. He doesn’t have much fight left in him.

You continue on your quest and gasp “ouch” when you see his bruised torso. It would be a miracle if he doesn’t have a cracked rib, but it’s probably more like two or even three. You pull his shirt up to his chest and he acquiesces, raising his arms up to help you. He jerks the shirt over his head and his arms out of the sleeves and flings the shirt on the floor. Even his arms are covered in dark purple bruises. You want to soothe him, run your fingers over his injuries, but you only allow your hands to hover above him without touching.

Frank’s face is a mix of embarrassment, frustration, and anger. And it infurates you that the anger isn’t at who did this to him but at himself for being a “burden” on you. You put a mental pin in that discussion, saving it for a better time. He won’t even look at you at the moment so there’s no need to try. Your compassion builds from your stomach and spreads a warmth across your chest as you realize he is actually embarrassed. Does he think that you see these injuries as anything other than his sacrifice? They certainly are not evidence of inaptitude or failure. Surely he doesn’t think that. That conversation will happen sooner rather than later but not tonight.

“Hey,” you prod gently. “Hey?” You wait and Frank eventually turns to look at you.

“Hi there, Mister,” you say as his eyes meet yours. “There he is.” You gently touch his face in the one spot not cut open. “Stay here with me, would ya?”

He tries to return your smile but can barely manage it. He looks down but presses his face into your open hand. He is so epically tired. You glance down at his chest again and know there is nothing you can do with your limited first aid supplies to help him. Maybe wrap his ribs after he cleans up.

“You wanna just do what I tell you for a bit? No argument?”

Frank nods against your hand then straightens up and clears his throat.

“Yeah, sure, whatcha got in mind, doll?” His lips twitch into a lopsided smirk and you would have hit him playfully if there were anywhere to hit him that wouldn’t hurt. You smile at him before squatting in front of him to unlace his boots. No easy feat given how long the blood-soaked laces have had to dry. When you have them loose enough you stand up so he can toe them off.

You casually slide a finger into one of his belt loops and give it a light tug. “Come on big boy.” You flash him a quick smile before leading him to the bathroom.

You can feel him watching you as you walk. You always can. He is hypervigilant about everything but he seems to study your movements, your muscles, any time you move. He’s seen you in less clothing but you like the way your skimpy pjs leave some things to his imagination. Your brain shuts off those thoughts the moment you enter the bathroom.

Frank stops in the doorway and leans against the jamb. You work on readying the shower, getting the right water temp, clean towels. You nod your head in the direction of his pants. “Those. Off.” He groans as he straightens up but you hear his belt, then zipper, as he complies.

The two of you haven’t done this exact dance before but so many variations on it that he know you have to do this for him. He can object, occasionally you let him fall into bed untended to as long as you get his bloody clothes off first. But just as he trusted his corpsman when he was deployed, he trusts you. Marines’ habit of following corpsman's’ instructions is beneficial, especially these days.

You turn toward Frank and quickly survey the damage to his legs. Not as bad as you expected but not great. The bruise on his shin is worrisome but the rest look reasonable, given the circumstances. Your eyes travel back up his battered body to his face as you walk the short distance to him.

“You gonna leave your shorts on while you shower?” you tease. You smile only slightly to indicate that you’re teasing because you aren’t sure if he wants this tonight. Not sure if he wants to be alone, vulnerable and alone, instead of vulnerable with you. You slip a finger under the elastic of his boxer briefs and wait. Wait for him to signal his decision.

Frank raises a hand and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He focuses intently on you ear, then your cheek, then your lips, and finally your eyes. His hand lingers near your neck and shoulder, fingertips barely touching you. His eyes flit back and forth between yours, reading your face, thinking, deciding. You wait. Always will.

“Nah, easier to shower without them.” He is nearly expressionless as he says this, a hit of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Before you can get started “helping” him remove his shorts, he leans forward and presses his lips against yours. Not quite a kiss, yet. He’s tired. You press forward into his mouth with yours and he kisses back. His lips are slow, tender, and cautious, and not because of the cut on his lower lip. He always starts off that way. As if he were unsure if he will break you, if he will break, or if you will finally rebuff him. You’ve never sure. You slowly, gently encourage him by running the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip while you kiss him back. That does the trick.

Frank snakes his hand from your neck to the back of your head and entwines his fingers in your hair while pulling your mouth harder against his. It’s passionate but not urgent. Nothing tonight is urgent. But this feels amazing, as if he hadn’t kissed you ages or would never get to kiss you again. You feel lightheaded when he pulls back. His hand stays behind your head, thumb rubbing small circles on your neck.

You remembered your objective and start to get him out of his shorts but he stops you and slides them down, steps out of them, and walks to the shower. He almost grabs your hand as he passes but lets his fingers graze your palm.

“I’m here, Frank. I’ll be in the other room,” you announce as you walk out of the bathroom, “but I’m here.”

You busy yourself with cleaning up, putting everything back, anything that doesn’t go into the bathroom. You want him to have some privacy, safe privacy to breathe. You take a drink from his open beer and pick up his shirt and boots. So much blood. You can sort that tomorrow. He’s still showering as you put the chairs back in place under the table. You plop down on the couch, sitting curled up on your feet, and rub your brow. You take a few deep breaths and then another sip of the beer. As you set it on the coffee table you hear the bathroom water turn off. You pick up your phone from the table, check for missed notifications, then silence it. Frank walks out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, as you are placing your phone back on the coffee table.

“Feel better?”

He grunts affirmatively and smiles. He walks over to you and takes a drink from the beer. Before you really know what is happening, Frank lays down on the couch, barely fitting because he lay with his head in your lap.

(May be continued…)

[liviavanrouge]

Win(Livia vs Leona round)

Had to have high, high hopes for a living

Livia: *Trembles, walking out into the arena*

Leona: *Walks out across from her*

Livia: Oh...why did it have to be you...I'm never gonna reach Mal Mal now...

Leona: HEY!!

Livia: *Flinches*

Leona: Don't ever give up that quick, Little Hunter!

Livia: *Stares then nods, aiming her claws at him* Leona! Let's fight*

Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing

Leona: *Takes out his staff and launches at Livia*

Livia: *Ducks underneath him, summoning her polearm, blocking the incoming staff*

Leona: *Doges a hit to the head and grabs Livia's arm, tossing her down*

Livia: *Bounces up, looking at him with narrowed eyes before charging forward*

Livia: *Grows a thorn vine to her arm, swinging around Leona's fire attack*

Leona: *Grins and runs after her, his hair flying behind him* You won't escape!!

Didn't have a dime but I always had a vision

Livia: *Flips and lands, her eyes wide as the staff collided with her side, sending her flying into the wall*

~~~~

Azul: OH!

Kalim: LIV!

Epel: This is a Student Brawl Tournament but even that was unexpected..

Lilia: *Watches Livia blankly*

~~~~

Always had high, high hopes

Leona: *Walks towards Livia* Give up?

Livia: *Slams her hand on the ground, windmill kicking Leona right in the chin, sending him stumbling back* NOT A CHANCE!!!!!

Livia: *Lands on her feet and rushes at him, aiming at his chest*

Livia: *Swings her polearm, cracking Leona right in the chest, sending him flying backwards*

Leona: *Lands on his feet and whistles, grabbing a broom that flew past him, circling Livia*

Livia: AH!

Livia: *Looks around her, trying to keep Leona in her sights*

Had to have high, high hopes for a living

Livia: *Narrows her eyes, listening intently for the sound of his broom*

Leona: *Lifts into the air then dives towards her, readying a fire spell*

Livia: *Whips around, sending thorns flying up from the ground* GOCTHA!!

Leona: *Gasps, falling off his broom as the thorns snagged it, sending him crashing to the ground*

Leona: *Stands up, grinning at her* Getting serious now, I see...

Livia: *Runs at Leona, readying her polearm*

Leona: *Leaps up over her attack, landing behind Livia and shoving her forward, immediately leaning back when she spun around to hit him again*

Didn't know how but I always had a feeling

Livia: *Dodges fireballs coming at her, leaping over and around them, throwing her polearm down and rushing at Leona*

Livia and Leona: *Leaps up, their legs colliding*

Livia: *Snarls and kicks the lion man right in the chest, sending him skidding backwards*

Leona: *Slides to a stop, blocking her incoming kicks, ducking under a windmill kick*

Leona: *Shoves Livia back using an open hand palm strike*

Livia: *Stares in shock, stumbling back and tripping over her polearm*

Leona: Alright, I win...

I was gonna be that one in a million

Livia: Not..yet...

Livia: *Grabs her polearm and swings it around, sending it smashing into Leona's throat, breaking it in two*

~~~~

Ruggie: WOAH!!!!

Jamil: That...was a strike...

Vil: That will leave a bruise...

Deuce: COME ON, LIVIA!!!

Ace:: COME ON!

~~~~

Livia: *Summons her Aura Rollerskates as Leona got up, skating around him full speed*

Leona: *Grins* KING'S ROAR!!!!

Always had high, high hopes

Livia: *Shrieks in alarm as the ground began to get uneven, sending her stumbling*

Leona: COME ON LITTLE HUNTER!! SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT!!

Livia: ALRIGHT THEN!!! *Leaps up, her Aura roller skates, turning into a glowing Narwhal* MEET MY AURA ANIMAL!!

Livia: *Lands on the Narwhal's back standing up, riding it around Leona, easily managing to get around* TRY THIS!!

Livia: *Leaps up into the air, her Narwhal blasting a large force of water around*

Leona: *Runs towards the water and ducks down, sliding underneath it* Gonna take more than that!

Had to have high, high hopes for a living

Livia: *Lands on the narwhal's back, her hair flying behind her as she shot around Leona, dodging fireballs with ease*

Leona: *Grins* Fine then, look's like we need another KING'S ROAR!!

Livia: *Screams on shock, nearly getting impaled by a rock*

~~~~

Silver: LIV!

Sebek: M-Master Lilia! Call her out! Have her switch with me!!

Malleus: *Looks at Lilia* LIlia?

Lilia: *Shakes his head then smiles* I see what Leona is doing...he's

Sebek: H-Huh...

~~~~

Livia: *Narrows her eyes, managing to stay balanced on Narwhal as she navigated the destroyed field*

Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing

Livia: *Looks around, searching for Leona* Where....where is he?!

Leona: *Leaps out before Livia, knocking her off the Aura Narwhal* HERE!

Leona: *Rushes after her, using the rocks to launch himself forward*

Livia: *Stares at Leona then quickly brings her feet down, copying how he was using the rocks to move around*

Livia: *Grabs a rock and swings herself around, launching up into the air*

Livia: *Grabs her Narwhal as she came down, landing on its back, standing up*

Didn't have a dime but I always had a vision

Leona: *Watches her closely, then launches off a rock*

Livia: *Turns around, gasping in shock as an electric attack struck her*

~~~~

Floyd: Catfish is done for...

Jade: I admire her bravery though..

Azul: SHUT. UP! BOTH OF YOU!

Kalim: OH LIV!!

Lilia: *Points forward* That's my girl..

Kalim: Huh!

~~~~

Livia: *Appears from the attack, charging up her Narwhal*

Leona: What...

Livia: THIS WIN IS MINE!!!! *Launches her Narwhal forward, her eyes narrowed*

Always had high, high hopes

Leona: *Turns to dodge, yelling when the Narwhal exploded, knocking him off balance*

Livia: *Appears in front of Leona, snagging his staff from his hands when he was distracted*

Livia: GO DOWN!!! *Spins and swings the staff, hitting Leona outside the head, knocking him into the wall*

Leona: *Slides down, sitting against the wall*

Livia: *Gasps, dropping the staff as she hurried over to him* LEONA!!

Leona: *Shakes his head, grinning* I'm fine...good hit..

Livia: You're hurt, i-it's my fault-

Leona: Shush...listen..

Livia: *Looks up, her eyes widening at the cheers* AH..

Malleus: *Smiles at Livia then turns and walks away, going to get prepared for the final round*

@queen-of-twisted @yukii0nna @zexal-club

[imagionationstation]

Turtle Fluff is Life

"No- wait! Aaak, Leo!"

To hear one of his brother's screaming out his name wasn't exactly unusual, but the fact that it wasn't Raph or Mikey had him glancing up from the tv and over his shoulder.

Raph was always mad at him for something, so his shouts were always angry. Mikey's shouts were always frantic, often looking to get out of some kind of trouble.

Donnie was his quiet brother. Hearing him raise his voice was unusual, which is why he didn't give a second thought to getting to his feet and doing a light jog for the storage room. There he found Donnie bundled in a tight ball behind the small table that he used as a desk, hands protectively clutching his head.

The book tossed to the floor told him that Donnie had been trying to read when he was interrupted, the smirking Raphael and Mikey equipped with water balloons adding who had interrupted his free time studying.

A slight frown forming, Leo stopped across from them and stomped his foot, shouting, "Leave him alone!"

Raph and Mikey turned back to him in surprise and Donnie's head shot up, jumping to his feet and diving around the distracted brothers and behind Leo, his taller form ducking to stay hidden behind the eldest. Leo lifted his arm to glance at him and then turned back to the others.

"We're just playing tag the turtle!" Mikey said slyly, tossing a balloon in one hand.

"I don't want to play!" Donnie whined in the tone that said this was definitely not the first time he'd stated the plea. 

His older brother could tell that, for whatever reason, he really didn't want to be balloon splattered, so he turned a stern glare to his younger brothers. "You're being mean! Papa says no means no, so leave him alone!"

"We're just playing, Leo!" Raph shot back, "How come you gotta ruin the game?"

"Papa says games have to be fun for everyone!"

"Papa says! Papa says!” Raph mocked. “Think for yourself! You don't gotta do what papa says all the time."

Raph tilted his head at the anxious turtle, a smug grin forming. "Besides, Donnie said turtles like water and he's a turtle. So he should like this!"

Raph and Mikey began advancing forward and Donnie crouched down, covering both his eyes as he squealed, "It's to late for me! Save yourself!"

"Nuh-uh!" Leo proclaimed as he snagged his wrist and pulled him from the storage room, a water balloon shattering behind them. "No turtles left behind! Come on!"

Donnie obediently dashed after him, letting out a startled squeak when one of Mikey's throws hit his shell. Aware that they couldn't keep Raph from their shared bedroom and Mikey from the one that he shared with Donnie, Leo tugged his younger brother into the bathroom as a water balloon flew over head, slamming the door shut and locking it.

"Hey! That's cheating!" Raph proclaimed from the other side.

Leo stuck out his tongue towards to door before glancing back at Donnie. His brainy brother had awkwardly removed a piece of water balloon from his shell, a pout covering his expression. Leo tapped his chin before pulling a towel out from under the sink.

"Here you go!"

Ignoring the frustrated cries from their brothers on the other side of the door, Leo helped him to wipe off his shell and earned a smile in response. "Thanks, Leo."

A bright smile of his own forming, Leo rubbed his head. "No prob, Dee. You know I got your back."

"Yeah." Donnie beamed. "I know."

[nvrcmplt]

"Smells like you have had enough wine and liquor for the both of us," the warden jokes as he stands before the other, the two having bumped into one another up on the surface.

A strange occasion, the warden's hand occupied by a bag of food he had been collecting, another rising to grasp onto Einri's chin. It's dark, it's evening, who is to pay attention to the duke's nightly affairs as he stands before Einri, thumb trailing up the dark and gold lines travling up the surface of his chip, up to the bottom of his lip. At the edge of said lip, Wriothesley cants his head, a curious hm let out; "never realized that there's gold in your tattoos."

Prying, silvery gaze then abruptly shifts up to meet Einri's own eyes, the duke guiding him a little closer, though not close enough for further contact to establish. "If you sober up, maybe I'll share my food with you at my office. "

Merry and swaying, the tunes of the taverns fresh in his mind, on his lips - tongue abuzz with flavours he couldn't describe to others with just how much he mixed and gulped with fingers in pockets, wallets and flirty-promises to steal watch, pearl and more. Heavy with good nights thievery, he wasn't stupid enough to completely let the drink get to his head. He tried to dally in the fresh air - sway and hum that merry tune, only to fall upon the shadow of a man he wasn't so used to seeing without bars in front of his vision!

"Ahoy!" Laughter was bright, yet subdued for the two of them. The cobble grounds under his boots not the best at keeping him upright with how much his shoe-toe gets stuck under a lifted brick. This time though he needn't be walking - just swaying as if he was. A habit to keep a rhythm, even as his lashes flutter with blackened hairs brushing over flushed cheeks. A shimmer of his sea-blues and wild greens, attention to their gaze on his face. That glower - ah, he didn't shy away from letting his teeth scrap his bottom lip, the inaudible pop of it freeing itself with a lasting smirk was all that was given in return to Wrio's words.

"You got it, handsome." A flutter of his lashes, a shimmer of that golden hue as his vision beneath the headband ignited just a touch. Energy was always a wonderful way to rinse his senses, to rid of the fluids in his guts, but it was at a price. After all, to purge alcohol… you had to get rid of it. Thus - a hand was quick to push Wrio's chest, whether fingers slithered un shirt for a moments brush of flesh was for Einri to dream about as he turned aside - the nearest bin shoved open and his guts heaving out the delicious remnants of a bountiful night. Wrenching the last of it, pure liquid, which wasn't the best idea for a drinking night - the shorter male stood upright and inhaled deep.

Rolling his shoulders and stepping back with a sway and back of his hand to his chin to wipe aside drool moreso than vomit. "Waste of a good coin that, but for you… worth it." Fingers dip into his shirt, removing a pouch of herbs that have the strongest scent of mint - tossing a wad of them into his teeth to chew with ease. The next thing was his forever-filled waterskin on his hip just below his kidney. That was swung around to be chugged on, the mint leaf spat into the bin and replaced by another bundle to really freshen up the best he could without brush and paste. Worked well in the wilds.

"… Sober enuff, I say." Not at all, but at least he won't digest any more into his system as he stepped forward and wobbled with a laugh before reaching out to snag onto Wrio's jacket's sleeve. "Lead tha'way, cap'in! If ya fas' enough, can see jus' how far my tatts go down with ya own hands before I sleep... unless ya into tha'."

[senascoop]

┊ SHORT GIRLS ASSEMBLE . . 엔하이펜 ☁︎

ꣀ꣒ #ENHYPEN WITH A SHORT S/O

boyfriend ! enhypen × girlfriend ! afab reader : : fluff + established relationship [ARCHIVE]

[SENA’S NOTE] ┈─★ was supposed to post this in the morning but ended up getting a fever so yeah, here it is.

♫︎ REBLOGS + FEEDBACKS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED

. , LEE HEESEUNG ☁︎ 이희승 !

You were going to snag that salt off the top shelf. Laser focus, one leg up, reaching for it, you were going to come out victorious and take it. But that was when, just as you were brushing a finger over the container, someone swooped in and snatched it with ease. “Really?” Heeseung said with a small smile, his teasing voice snapping you out of your moment of concentration. “You're climbing counters now?” You turned, flushing with embarrassment, shot him a half-hearted glare as he held the salt just out of reach, clearly enjoying this. “I had it under control,” you muttered, hopping down with as much dignity as you could muster. “Yeah, Spider-Woman,” he laughed, finally handing over the salt. You had no time to protest as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. “You're cute when you're all determined like that. But next time, just ask for help, okay?” he said, pressing a playful kiss to your forehead.

read rest of the members below !

. , PARK JONGSEONG ☁︎ 박종성 !

Couldn't you feel a little irritation just flipping through pictures that you and Jay took together? There you were, standing next to him, just like a small child sitting next to a gigantic tree. Your pouting face looked so much the deeper as you continued to zoom in on how he flashed it with all confidence and not how you were in catch-up mode. “Why do I look like I belong in a toy store?” you huffed, tossing your phone onto the couch. Jay caught your sulk from the corner of his eye and chuckled, pulling his arms around you from behind. “You're cute like this!” he teased, nudging your cheek with his chin. “Cute?” you sneered, but the warmth of his embrace melted that annoyance away. “You just want to be the big spoon, don't you?” you accused with a chuckle and he just gave a squeeze to your sides, lifting himself up enough to snuggle into the crook of your arm. “Always,” he replied with a laugh, and it spread a smile across your face.

. , SIM JAEYUN ☁︎ 심재윤 !

Jake adored every moment spent with you, especially when you were cozied up on the couch together, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder. The warmth of your presence made him feel at home. He glanced down, admiring how small you looked next to him, and couldn’t help but smile. “Are you comfortable, little bean?” he teased, playfully pinching your cheek. You scrunched your nose and swatted his hand away, rolling your eyes with a smirk. “Ugh, I swear, one day I’ll grow taller,” you shot back, trying to sound serious but failing to hide your amusement. Jake chuckled, leaning in closer. “Why would you want that? You’re perfect just the way you are.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and you felt your cheeks flush. “Plus, I love being your personal giant,” he added with a wink. “Personal giant?” you echoed, pretending to think it over. “Exactly! I’m always here to lift you up—literally and figuratively.” You melted into his embrace, feeling utterly cherished and loved.

. , PARK SUNGHOON ☁︎ 박성훈 !

Sunghoon loved those lazy afternoons when you two cuddled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket like a cozy burrito. With your head tucked under his chin, you felt safe and content, listening to his heartbeat, which always seemed to match the rhythm of your own. “Do you ever get tired of being so short?” he teased lightly, a playful grin dancing on his lips as he glanced down at you. You shot him an exaggerated glare, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me? Being short is a lifestyle,” you replied, puffing out your cheeks dramatically. Sunghoon laughed, the sound warm and infectious. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to carry you everywhere,” he said, playfully lifting you up as if you weighed nothing at all. “Or maybe I’ll just start using a booster seat,” you quipped, and he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Nah, I love having you right here.”

. , KIM SUNOO ☁︎ 김수누 !

Sunoo was in the middle of a video game marathon when he spotted you struggling to hang a cute poster on your wall. You were on your tiptoes, desperately trying to reach the corner while the poster threatened to slip from your grasp. “Need a boost, short stack?” he called out, a playful smirk spreading across his face. You shot him a mock glare, your cheeks puffing out in annoyance. “I’m not short!” you protested, though the laughter in your voice betrayed you. Sunoo chuckled and bounded over, his playful demeanor making your heart flutter. “Alright, let’s see if my superhero skills can save the day,” he said, effortlessly lifting you with one arm and using the other to help secure the poster. As you hung there, dangling in his embrace, you couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Ridiculously in love with you,” he replied, grinning as he set you down, and you both admired your handiwork, feeling warmth and joy in the moment.

. , YANG JUNGWON ☁︎ 양정원 !

You were sprawled out on the couch, deeply engrossed in a magazine when Jungwon plopped down next to you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’s so fascinating over there, my little bookworm?” he teased, leaning closer to steal a glance at the pages. You glanced up, pretending to be annoyed. “Just some tips for tall people. You know, to remind me what I’m missing,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a dramatic flair. He chuckled, the sound warm and infectious. “I bet there’s a section on how to embrace your shortness!” Before you could retort, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his lap, causing you to squeal in surprise. “See? Being short just means you can sit here like this,” he said, resting his chin on your shoulder. Your cheeks flushed at his affection. “So you’re saying my height is just an excuse for extra cuddles?” “Exactly,” he grinned, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. “And I love every bit of it.”

. , NISHIMURA RIKI ☁︎ 리키 !

As you strolled through the park, the sun was shining brightly upon you and Niki. He walked alongside you, his long legs swallowing space so easily that you began to walk a little fast to keep pace. “Hey, slow up, will ya?” you laughed, faking to be out of breath. “I'm not built for marathon walking like you are!” Niki turned to you, playing the innocent. “What are you talking about? I thought you enjoyed our adventures!” you rolled your eyes as you nudged him lightly. “Adventures don't have to feel like a workout!” He chuckled, quickly snatching your hand and swinging it playfully as you walked. “Alright, I'll keep the pace slow for my favorite shorty,” he teased, leaning in to give you a quick peck on the cheek. You smiled back at him and your heart bounced in your chest. “You bet, or I'm running you round the park.” He grinned, his eyes flashing an opportunist glint of mischief and saying, “Deal.”

© senascoop | tumblr

[kingsofneon]

The floorboards don't creak if it's a townie, so when Sabo hears the door swing open and the noise creep through the bar, he lifts his head from his ale and glances at the stranger through his eyelashes.

Not so strange, though. It’s Firefist who saunters in, in all his cocky Wanted-poster glory, hip cocked - and he doesn’t even try to skip the loose boards. He flicks a coin through his knuckles when he hits the bar and the glimmer of gold flickers in and out of his fire, only halting when Marco harumphs and hurries over, unwilling to let flame near so many uncorked spirits. So sensible, that bartender, but he keeps no secret of his displeasure as Ace presses the coin to the bar top with a soft sear of heat and grins. "Room for two, mate? Would love to have some company later."

"I'm sure you would," Marco says, cool as anything, and he picks up the coin with no wince. Sabo catches how Ace's eyebrows draw, just barely, but Marco catches attention so easily when he tosses the coin back at Ace. "There ain't space for two if you're intent on plying me with false gold. Needs a king to be worth shit here, yoi."

Ace scowls. "Ain't the king," he mutters, smoothing his thumb across the coin, but he does dig another from the pouch at his thigh and slam it down on the counter. "Room?"

"Single, far left," Marco obliges, and turns to grab a key from the hooks behind him.

Quick as his rumoured quickdraw, Ace leans over the bar and snags a bottle while Marco's back is turned, slipping it over his shoulder and into his bag in one smooth movement. Sabo's eyes narrow, and he tarries it up next to the other crimes Ace has committed: number one being how he's disturbed what shoulda been a quiet night.

He takes another long pull from his mug, the dregs enough to work as a distraction so that when Ace turns around and scans the lounge he doesn’t catch Sabo’s face. When he puts it down, Ace has turned back and is taking the key - it’s enough time for Sabo to stand, grabbing and swinging on his coat. Marco cocks his head at the sight, then smirks when he sees Sabo’s hand is on his holster. 

In a few quick steps he’s behind Firefist, wrapping his hand around Ace’s hip and pressing his chin against Ace’s shoulder. It gives Ace an awkward position to manoeuvre around, and that’s all Sabo wants. “You said a room for two, right?” he asks, and halting Ace’s look at his face is his first priority - but his second is for Ace to feel the threat of his holster and his grip, 

Ace stiffens under his touch, trying to tilt to catch a glimpse of him, and Sabo grins, pressing their cheeks together so Ace will only see him from the corner of his eye. “Come on now, Firefist. No sense in making a scene here.”

“Then where else?”

“Well, less people to argue that this was provoked, if we’re in your room,” he says, “and less casualty potential too. Or do you want your stolen goods to break before you get a chance to taste ‘em?”

He can see the corner of Ace’s mouth turn sour with a scowl. It’s cute, that even with his obvious reluctance, he still lets Sabo push them for the stairs and the room Marco’s put aside. Maybe he’ll get to join in, but for now Sabo’s enjoying the thrum of tension under Ace’s skin. 

They’re barely past the door when Ace swings on him, a punch Sabo’s well-prepared for. He catches it and swings his gun out in the same movement, cocking and aiming in one smooth pull. Ace freezes, a snarl on his lip. 

“Making it fair,” Ace says, fist still in Sabo’s palm, and Sabo grins, tilting so Ace can see the scar tissue on the side of his face. 

“I know what you can do, Firefist. ‘Course this is fair.”

“With alcohol this close to me?” Ace says, grinning, and Sabo grins back. 

“You hate fire being out of control,” he says, and watches Ace freeze. “You’d never. Not in a bar.”

“I-” Ace tries, and then his lips draw back and he properly growls this time, vicious and mean. “Try it, bastard.”

Sabo twirls his gun at the same time as he lunges forward, and Ace matches the burst of energy, their scrabble turning into an unco-ordinated, violent, mess of limbs. Ace, mindful of the bottle on his back and Sabo’s ultimatum, doesn’t turn to fire.

[a03bkdk]

no quirks bkdk fic rec list (p 2)

thirsty gay wingman fic by lalazee

((smut-14130-1/1))

Oct 11, 2019 "Thinkin abt besties-since-birth BkDk goin to college together, Dk begrudgingly bein Bkg's wingman w/chicks & lamenting his big gay crush. One nite, Bkg cant get laid, hes drunk in a shitty mood, so Dk propositions him, which turns into the best night ever & the WORST consequences."

My tweet got 366 likes & 66 reblogs, so that was more than enough reason to write about it.

romeo and romeo by supercrunch

((10473-1/1))

There’s a nasally howl from the neighbour’s place. Izuku looks up – it’s the very loud, very blond guy living in the unit opposite. They’re technically in separate blocks but their balconies are close enough they can see into each other’s living rooms. He’s dancing around in his pyjamas. Yodelling at the top of his lungs off-key, swinging his Pomeranian around by the armpits like a furry ragdoll. “You’re a dog! You’re a fluffy little yellow dog and you’re a pain in the ass but you’re still my favourite shit-stain, yeah!”

Izuku bursts out laughing. The neighbour’s head whips around. He yelps when he sees him, tossing the dog on the couch and scrambling out of view to hide in the hall.

Izuku drops the watering can and runs back inside to find his phone.Small Might: Guys. I've decided i have a crush on my neighbour.

(quarantine baking: a balcony romance)

mechanical bull by warschach

((smut-27573-1/1))

Katsuki has a track record of bad choices, it's a condition, but Izuku might be the one choice that's right.

battle of the bands by roadtripwithlucifer

((smut-168158-26/26))

'The rules are simple. Battle of the Bands. Local bands send in a single track to the radio station, and ten tracks are selected. Over the coming month, the songs play on the station and listeners vote on the top five. The top 5 play a live concert as part of a music festival, then the top 3 at a larger, indoor venue. The top two have the honor of opening on the first stop of All Might’s retirement tour – here. In Izuku’s home town. And finally, the winner gets the ultimate prize. Getting to spend the rest of the tour, forty cities, across the country as All Might’s opener. Three months. Same tour bus. Shoulder to shoulder with the greatest musicians the world has ever known.'Izuku Midoriya is a broke college student presented with the opportunity of a lifetime. But winning isn't gonna be easy, especially when one band's aggressive blonde frontman seems to be dead-set on making Izuku's life a living hell.

oh my god! they were roomates! by phatye

((smut-79108-57/57))

“Don’t go through my shit, and if there’s a tie on the door, then fuck off!” Katsuki growled. “...what?” he asked. Katsuki glared at him. “This is fucking college, and I plan on getting laid a lot! I don’t need some nerd cockblocking me! And what is with all the fucking toys here!” Katsuki had moved over to his shelves. “Are you a fucking child or something?!” This was not what he was expecting.

shades of blue by young_crone

((smut-22525-1/1))

Echoes filtered down the white hall as he descended the stairs toward the locker rooms, reverberating from the pool. A whistle, the sound of breaking water. He swiped the towel over his face, paused. The sliver of cerulean catching the sinking sun pouring through the skylights, the red and white lane buoys, the burn of chlorine.Izuku ran a hand through his curls, snagging on a knot. The clock on the wall reminded him how late it was. A minute wouldn't hurt. He worried his lip. Just a glimpse.

k-9 by warschach

((smut- 18304-1/1))

Izuku takes in a stray on one rainy night, except it's not a dog, it's a dog shifter who goes by the name, Katsuki. After the initial wave of panic and embarrassment, Izuku thinks his new pet/roommate is pretty cute.

sucker punch by warschach

((smut-41551-1/1))

But, whatever, Disney Boy over there was—

Prettying up real damn good that Katsuki got kind of distracted—totally understandable, like god those CGI pine eyes—and didn’t see the straight path he made for the metal trash bin in the center of the area until he was tipping forward and waist deep in discarded bottles, plates, balled up tissues sticky with he prayed was chocolate ice cream and nacho cheese.

Mina howled behind the gate. “Look, Katsuki returned to his home.”

(or Katsuki works security at Six Flags and moonlights as a derby dude and continuously looks uncool around Izuku)

may I take your order, dipshit? by supercrunch

((6373-1/1))

So, like, maybe Bakugou wasn’t really the best choice for this whole pizza delivery shindig.

(Midoriya in love, Bakugou in denial, and way, way too much cheese.

A BakuDeku romance in thirty minutes or less. )

raise me so high (your sins become my pedestal) by stardust_painter

((smut-10804-2/2))

After his boyfriend cheats on him, Izuku wants to do something stupid. The question is how stupid does he want to be.

The answer is very stupid apparently.

eye for an eye or whatever by tobiyos

((smut-4049-1/1))

“I’ll make it up to you!” Izuku says brightly, lifting his head from Katsuki’s lap.

Katsuki’s eyes narrow but he isn’t still pushing Izuku away so. Progress. “Fuck are you gonna do to make it up to me?”

“Hmm…” Izuku says quietly, tapping at his chin. “Oh! You’re still a virgin, right?”

Katsuki chokes on his own spit and promptly renews his efforts of pushing Izuku away by the forehead. “Fuck off,” he wheezes, “get out of my room.”

leap of faith by ladyofsnails

((28771-4/4))

Midoriya Izuku is just a random kid who loves art, analyzes everything, and is obsessed with the (in)famous hero Mighty Spider. He's got a loving mother, a great uncle, and maybe not too many friends that aren't those two but he's working on it.

And then a random cute boy shows up at his school, a spider bites him, he meets his hero under the worst possible conditions, and it all goes to hell. Now he's got villains on his tail, a promise to keep to a dead guy, and a washed-up hobo as his mentor.

Here goes nothing.

green is the warmest color by gloriousporpoise

((smut-12287-2/2))

“Woah, someone call the fire department,” Eijirou says, elbowing Katsuki squarely in the ribs. “That guy is smokin.’”

“I literally hate you.”

Here’s the thing, though. Eijirou’s a certified dumbass, but his current observation isn’t even a little bit wrong, much to Katsuki’s displeasure.

“Think you can get his number?”

Or, Bakugou is a painter without a muse.

you and i collide by ethereals

((smut-20442-9/9))

And not that Bakugou’s the type to sexualize a potentially dead body; especially one that he just accidentally murdered, but the man has some pretty solid DSL’s. He would hit it, with more than just his car.

OR

in which rich fratboy! bakugou is a badass who accidentally hits poor med student!izuku with his car and chaos ensues therefore.

97.6 FM by jamjars

((smut-32249-3/3))

Izuku can’t stop listening to the radio host with the deep voice who sounds like he’s stuck in 2010. It’s a harmless crush. That is until he starts calling into the show under the pseudonym Deku.

Or Radio Host! Baugou x Listener! Midoriya

give me that sweet love by xsxuxgxax

((smut-32768-9/9))

Things Katsuki needs to excel at: be hot, be clever and pretend to be nice, let Izuku kiss him publicly, let Izuku fuck him privately…

(sugar baby katsuki and sugar daddy izuku pretty much)

dance with me by astralchaos

((30161-10/10))

Mina pulled up a video of a young man, seemingly teen, dancing to a popular new hit, and Izuku felt his heart drop to his stomach. His skin prickled and felt clammy as he started sweating nervously, not daring to move or make a noise. His eyes were glued to the screen but he didn’t see anything – his brain was too busy going into overdrive and freaking out.

Because Mina was showing him a video of himself. The one he uploaded last night.

How on Earth did she find this? He had barely a few thousand views, he wasn’t popular, and it’s not like he was even any good, especially compared to her or Kacchan–

“That move was sexy as hell,” Kacchan said, and that was when Izuku realized that his childhood friend – his longtime crush – also leaned in to watch the video Mina was showing him.

puppies puppies by Esselle

((15491-2/2))

"So after doing all that," Katsuki says, "you're just going to settle here? Tatting up wannabe bad boys?"

"You think all guys who have a lot of tattoos are wannabes?" Midoriya asks, so smoothly that it throws Katsuki.

"Wh—no, I mean—maybe!" Katsuki says. "You'd know best, wouldn't you? Are you a bad boy?"

The words are out of his mouth before he even realizes it, and he regrets them immediately. There's a figurative list of things that one should never do, and probably high up on it is asking dark-haired sailors with ocean green eyes and black swirls of ink all across their barely concealed muscles if they are bad boys.

--

Katsuki thinks he has everything he needs in life: a successful pet shop, an occasionally reliable assistant, and the unconditional love of the twenty puppies he’s raising for adoption. But when the tattoo parlor next door hires Midoriya Izuku, a hot sailor with an affinity for dogs, it makes Katsuki wonder if he might need something more.

Like… a piece of that ass. Maybe. He’s figuring it the hell out as he goes.

im gonna make a part 3 later ergaegrggjnjuvuh

[darthmaulification]

(Idk why I thought this but I think it’s funny) Imagine din and reader going back to visit Karga for a job and reader is a apparent heart throb to most of the villagers (not that she knows) and like “hi mrs. Parker” Friday style, these women are see them walking by going “hi Reader~” with cara teasing of reader the whole time having to tell the ladies that reader is already taken with din.

A/N: you are my very first  request, so i decided to do a full, bonifide one shot! thank you so very much!! 🥰💕💕

oddly enough, din doesn’t show his bucket in this until the very end. 💀 it became really cara-centric for some reason. hope that’s okay! 😖

also, the trope of “everyone collectively loves person, but person is so utterly oblivious to it” is, without fail, one of the funniest bits any piece of media can pull lmao.

hope you enjoy! 💗

content: references of sex (kinda), saucy language, gender neutral!reader (my first time writing a gn reader 😲), reader being completely “no thoughts head empty” type of oblivious, cara just brutally teasing reader, soft!din makes an appearance!, cara is also kinda a bisexual icon???

word count: 1,775

“... What do you mean?” 

Cara looks at you strange. She searches your face for a few seconds longer, eyebrows furrowed, trying to see if you’re serious. 

“Are you fucking with me?” She deadpans evenly, and you tilt your head slightly, blinking. You slowly shake your head, raising an eyebrow.

“No...?” You drag out the word and Cara barks a sudden, loud laugh at your genuine confusion, tossing back her head as she does. She straightens up in her seat, still chuckling lightly, and picks up her glass of spotchka. Cara leans against the backrest, draping her free arm over it.

“You’re really not fucking with me, huh?” She mutters with a grin, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a low, long sip, her eyes not leaving yours. You frown, puzzled.

“Cara, I have no ide—"

“Everyone wants to fuck you.” Cara interrupts and it takes a moment for the blunt, vulgar words to register, but when they do you feel heat rise in your cheeks. You visibly recoil, sputtering out an answer.

“I— What are— There's no—” All Cara does as you fumble over your words, getting more and more red in the face, is shrug, an easy grin on her face.

“Yeah, everyone wants to get in your pants, can’t say I blame ‘em.” Her grin turns downright predatory and it gives you the final push to spit out a reply.

“WHAT?” The word comes out incredulous and far louder that you had meant, causing you to cringe at the sound of your voice reverberating in the cantina. People glance over at you and you give the crowd a sheepish, nervous smile. Thankfully, everyone turns back to whatever they were doing, no questions asked. Then your head whips back to Cara, whose all smug-looking, to shoot her a glare. Your face is positively burning, and you just know she can see it.

“Are you fucking with me?” You throw her own question back at her, but it falls flat because all it does is grow the shit-eating grin that’s plastered on Cara’s face. She shrugs, gesturing around lazily to the room at large.

“Jax, the Rodian over there, gives you puppy dog eyes, Kol and Zaltor— the Trandoshans, not the Togrutas, by the way— look at your ass every time they get, that pink Twi’lek gal over there practically fawns over you— think her names’ Numa or Nima or something, the Duros over there...”

Cara continues listing off more and more names, and with each one (some who you know and have spoken to) you feel yourself getting more and more flustered. You sink low in your chair, staring wide eyed into your spotchka, hands on your temples.

“Good Maker.” You groan, placing your hands over your face and slumping onto the table. Cara (finally) stops listing literally the entire population of the village and gazes at you quizzically. She tilts her head.

“Don’t like being the sex idol of the town?” She teases and you groan again, louder this time. You glare up at her through your fingers, still furiously blushing. Oh, how you wish Din was here to beat the snot out of Miss Dune...

“No. This is a nightmare.” You growl out, going back to digging your face into the table, hoping the sandstone would just swallow you whole. Before Cara can reply, a new voice sounds up.

“U-Um, hi.” You stiffen and turn your head to the side to see two Twi’leks, one taller than the other, standing next to the table. They seem a bit nervous, fidgeting with their lekku and rocking on their feet, but something tells you they’re here for... something. The moment you meet Cara’s gaze, your face blanches.

“Kill me now.”

“Hey, pretty ladies.”

You groan and Cara flirts at the exact same time, Cara’s strong voice unfortunately gaining the upper hand. Both Twi’lek giggle, and the taller of the two, the lavender skinned one, flutters her eyelashes. Even more unfortunately, you make eye contact with her. She flushes when you meet her gaze.

“O-Oh my— Stars, um hi!” She and her companion devolve into giggles again and you force yourself to sit up. Giving them a forced smile, you rest your hands under your chin and elbows on the table.

“Hello. What can I do for you?” You ask through gritted teeth, attempting to keep your strained voice relatively nice, while also fighting back both the blush that’s still on your cheeks and the urge to shoot Cara with your blaster. Thankfully, the Twi’leks have gotten over the apparent “meeting their idol” giggles, because now the shorter one places a dusty tan hand on the table and leans in. A bright, stunning smile spreads across her face, but something flirty burns in her eyes.

“Mm. Me and my sister here have just been seeing you around so often.” She says, voice a obviously practiced mix of playfully coy and feigning ignorance. You glance from her, to her lavender sister, then to Cara. And your luck must really be in the gutters, or maybe Cara just wants to torture you—or both— but the mercenary only offers you a grin, lifts her spotchka to her lips, and sips. Your hands curl into fists.

“Yeah, I—” 

“You’re talking to Mando’s squeeze, babes.” Cara interrupts yet again and all three sets of eyes land on her. Two of them moon-eyed and incredulous if not also disappointed, one of them so embarrassed that Carasynthia Dune, you are a dead woman—

“Really?” The lavender Twi'lek’s eyes are so blown wide you almost think they’d roll out of her head. Her sister looks just as awestruck, and both look a tad bit fearful. You go to speak, but Cara (you’re really starting to hate her) opens her mouth again and beats you to the cut.

“Mm hm. Y’all are hitting on the Mando’s sweetheart. Pretty bold, honestly, he’s real protective over this one.” The blush you put all your hard work into smothering returns full force at Cara’s words, and the Twi’leks start looking a bit flustered themselves, though for another reason.

“So sorry!” The lavender one breaks first and goes running off to a Rodian and Zabrak sitting at a far table. She leans in close, seeming to whisper something into their ears, and suddenly all three of them are looking at you with a strange mix of disappointment, lust, and fear. You hastily look away and hide your face behind your hand.

“Aw. Shame.” The tan Twi’lek purses her lips, pushing herself off the table, and you begrudgingly force yourself to look at her. She gives you that stunning smile again and winks.

“You know I’m here for you.” She says and sashays off to where her sister is. Across the room, she gives you another wink and flutters her fingers. Pretty sure that all your bloods’ in your face, you turn to Cara, slowly.

“Cara.” You say her name lowly, looking her dead in the eye. She’s grinning, and blows a lock of her hair out of her face. She feigns an unassuming, innocent look, but both you and her know better.

“Yeah?” She’s walking on thin ice and she knows it, but you also know she’s never been afraid of risk.

“I’m going to kill you.” You say, coming across as deadly serious as you possibly can. Cara’s grin widens, her eyes twinkling, and she downs the last of her spotchka.

“I know,” She starts and she shrugs, “But you know I couldn’t resist.”

You want to reach over and smack her a good one, but a voice alerts you to a certain someone at your side.

“Hey.” Din’s low, modulated voice gentle pulls your attention to him and you turn your head to look up at your silver-clad lover. Even with the dark T-visor, you know exactly where to look to find those soft, doe eyes beneath it. A small smile creeps across your face.

“Hey.” You reply and he offers a hand to you, which you gladly accept. Like always, his hand is large and warm and strong, and it makes you feel completely at peace. Din helps you up to your feet, settling you close, but not too close, to his side. 

“I got the next few pucks, and the kid’s already in the Crest, so we’re ready to head out...” Din trails off and tilts his head, and you can feel his curious gaze roam your face. 

“Your face is... pretty flushed. Are you feeling okay?” He asks it so gently and sweetly, his gloved hand still holding yours, that it’s almost enough to make you forget why your all disheveled in the first place. Letting out a forced, somewhat breathy laugh, you pull your hand away to cross your arms over your chest.

“Um, yeah, yeah— I’m good.” You assure him, but Din knows you so he turns his attention on Cara, whose sprawl in her seat, looking like a satisfied loth cat.

“What did you do?” He asks, keeping his voice neutral, but there’s a hint of that good ol’ Din Protectiveness seeping in too. Part of you celebrates that Din’s finally here to beat up Cara, but all the other parts of you just want to hop on back the Razor Crest and get the Hell out of here. Cara lazily raises her hands in mock surrender, tilting her head into her shoulder.

“Just playing, that’s all.” She replies, eying your spotchka from across the table. She and Din are in some type of staring match even as she reaches and snags your drink. You don’t care enough to protest. Din stares at Cara for a few seconds longer before he shifts on his feet and turns back to you.

“Ready to go, cyare?” His voice is like warm like sunshine, and it makes your entire being light up. You nod and smile, uncrossing your arms to grab his hand. His thick fingers close around yours, encasing your hand in his.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” You reply as you both start walking, tethered to one another by the most sacred link you can while in public. Din and you walk side by side, a Mandalorian and his beloved, through the cantina and out the door.

Cara watches you leave, then looks around at all the inhabitants of the cantina who had also watched you and the Mando leave hand-in-hand. She nearly laughs at all the looks of disappointment. You really were the village heart throb.

And as Cara downs the last of her (your) spotchka, she ponders,

Dammit. Wish it was me instead of Mando.

[oneshot-wxnderland]

Lab Partners With Benefits Pt. 2 | Percy Jackson

Summary: A week has gone by and Y/n hasn’t stopped thinking about her encounter with Percy. Now it’s time for her lab and she can’t tell if she’s yearning or dreading seeing him again.

Category: smut

Part 1 | Part 3

__________________

          One week later and you walked into your lab again. This time however, your table was empty. Disappointment curbed your mix of nerves, excitement, and dread at seeing Percy again as you sat down. 

          Good, you thought. Gives me a chance to calm the hell down and stop acting so childish.

          But as the minutes ticked down to the start of class and Percy had yet to make an appearance, your eyebrows creased in thought. 

          Where was he? Was it normal for him to roll in at the last second?

          Before last week you hadn’t paid any attention to him, but since last week he had rarely left your mind. Shamefully, you admit it. Those few hours with Percy had played on repeat since they ended. And not even just when he was kissing you, although that part was frequently visited. No, you were hung up on the most mundane things about him, like how he ran his hand through his hair whenever he got stuck on a question. Or the way he always had a beat going in his fingers or legs. Or the way actually opened a door for you. Do people even still do that? 

          Mack started the class with a greeting and you snapped out of your head. 

          Percy still wasn’t here.

          Is he avoiding me? No, he’s just a college student that’s running late or skipping class. Well, he better not be skipping class because you have a tough assignment to do today. Speaking of which, you forced yourself to listen to your TA explain it. 

          “What did I miss?” A familiar voice whispered in your ear and you jumped, whipping your head to see Percy in the seat next to you, failing to suppress a grin.

          Your frazzled nerves made you want to respond with a few choice words, but the mischievous gleam in his green eyes made it hard to stay mad at him.

          “Where were you?” you asked him, passing over his copy of the work. 

          “I had to take care of something.” 

          The cryptic answer gave you cause to look over him as he turned his attention to the front of the room. His hair was messy, his cheeks slightly flushed, and you couldn’t be sure since he caught you staring, but you think you saw a cut in his shirt. It looked like he was just in a fight. 

          “Is your shirt cut?” you asked and reached out to inspect it, fingers meeting his side through the hole and making him jump. Percy took your wrist and brought it back up to the table.

          “Hey, wait till after class,” he slyly reprimanded you, drawing a scoff out of you. Which drew the attention of the people sitting closest to you, so you both lowered your voices further.

          “Seriously though,” you nodded your head to his side. “How’d that happen?”

          “I snagged it,” he started. “On a tree.”

          “Right.”

          You were about to ask him what he did to make the tree mad when the feeling of something on your hand drew your attention. He was absentmindedly rubbing circles on your skin with his thumb, and it wasn’t until then that you realized he was still holding your hand. This made him also notice that you were holding hands and you awkwardly pulled away first. An uncomfortable silence fell over you both that lasted the rest of the lab.

          It was weird how natural it felt to hold his hand and to talk with him like that. You had barely spoken since you met and while you had been moderately physically intimate with him before, you hadn’t been this kind of intimate. This whole relationship with Percy is unlike one you’ve never experienced before. You’re not quite strangers, not quite friends, not quite together. The massive grey area surrounding Percy made red flags pop up in your head. And yet, when he casually invited you back to his place once the lab had ended, your mouth accepted before your mind could stop you. 

          This time you actually made it into the living room before you started making out. Even going so far as to make a show of setting up your lab books on the coffee table as if you were actually going to get work done before you couldn’t take it anymore and pulled him to you by his collar.

          This time, you set a slower pace than your frenzied kisses against the door, allowing you to savor every move he made. Percy relinquished control of the kiss to you and tugged on your thigh until you were straddling his lap. His hands pressed flat against your lower back until your chest was flush with his and tilted his chin up to catch your lips again. 

          You felt him shiver when your fingertips met the back of his neck, tugging on the hair there. As a result you felt Percy smirk against your lips and in a deep voice that made heat flare up through your core he told you, “Hold on.”

          Percy paused in kissing you and his warning made your eyebrows crease in confusion until you felt his hands hook under your thighs and he shifted his weight until he was slightly standing. Then he twisted and laid you down on the couch and had his mouth back on yours before you could process what had happened. 

          In the new position, Percy took control of the kiss and sped it up a little, but still took his time tugging your bottom lip between his teeth. His thumbs made little circles on your thighs from where he was still gripping them and it brought you back to earlier in the day. In response your own hands moved down his back and to his sides where your finger found the hole in his shirt again.

          “It was a tree,” he said against your lips.

          “Sure it was,” you replied.

          At that Percy pushed up into a kneeling position with your legs still on either side of his hips and you worried for a second that he was actually bugged by your insistence with the hole-thing. Until he pulled his shirt off and your mind short circuited. He balled it up and tossed it across the room with a final, “There. Outta sight, outta mind.”

          Your jaw was still partially dropped from the revelation of his surprisingly toned abdomen and you gave a distracted “Uh-huh” before you all but yanked him back down to you, surprising him with your strength and the newfound urgency in your kiss. He matched the new tempo and your legs hooked around his waist, causing him to groan and rock his hips down into yours. 

          Percy savored the gasp you let out and ground into you again. One of his hands hitched your thigh up higher and the other traveled up your hip and under your shirt to grip your side. He allowed you to catch your breath as he leaned up to your ear.

          “What do you want, princess?” His husky voice blew any and all recollection of red flags and warnings straight out of your mind, in fact everything was emptied from your head except for thoughts pertaining to how good he felt pressed against you and how much more of him you needed.

          “You. All of you.” 

          Percy could’ve died a happy man right then and there. 

          He ducked back down to your mouth, recapturing it with his own and picking up where he left off. This time he felt the heat of the mutual understanding of where the situation was headed and braced his hand above your head on the couch armrest. However, that action did bring up the first smart thought he’d had since he sat next to you earlier.

          “Wait.” He pulled back and eyed your lips, which were red from his kisses.

          “What’s wrong?” You asked and brushed a chunk of hair away from his eyes.

          “If I get to have you, we’re not doing it on the couch my roommate got off Craigslist.” 

          You threw your head back laughing and Percy could only stare and smile dumbly, feeling something new he hadn’t felt in a long time.

          But then he remembered what was to come and hooked his hands underneath your thighs again to lift you up. 

          Percy was conflicted. On the one hand he wanted to get to his bedroom as quickly as possible. But on the other he loved the way your arms were wrapped tight around him and how you had occupied yourself with placing kisses along his neck. So he decided to take a detour through the kitchen to grab some granola bars.

          “Are you kidding me?” 

          “We might be hungry later!” He defended himself and felt you drop your forehead to his shoulder.

          “Just walk.”

          Fortunately the granola-detour didn’t completely kill the mood and Percy kicked his door shut and somehow stumbled to the bed while completely lost in your kiss. His plan was to drop you onto the covers and then take off his jeans, but you had other plans and refused to let go of him so he fell on top of you. The bouncing from the fall made your shirt ride up and Percy took the opportunity to run his hands up the exposed skin, stopping just as his fingertips were in reach of the underside of your bra.

          You broke the kiss for a moment to grant his unspoken request and pulled your shirt off, but when you laid back down his lips didn’t return to yours. Instead his mouth dragged down your neck, conscious of the marks he would leave. When he reached your collar bone, your hands buried themselves in his hair as his hands squeezed your bra and placed hot kisses on the skin that spilled over the top. 

          “Percy,” you moaned as your back arched up into his touch. “Percy, please.” 

          “Please what?” He looked up at you.

          “Please, touch me.”

           “I am touching you.” He responded and proved his point with another tight squeeze to your chest.

          “You know what I mean,” you huffed, knowing you were playing right into his teasing by getting riled up but dammit, you needed him badly. 

          He tilted his head innocently. “Do I?”

          Even though he was looking up at you with those big green eyes, you could tell by the way his thigh pressed between your legs that he knew exactly what you meant. As hot as his teasing was, you had spent all week thinking about him and you just couldn’t wait any longer, so you pulled him up to you by his hair and tried to speak as evenly and clearly as you could. 

          “Percy Jackson if you do not quit teasing me I will-.” Your gasp cut you off when his hand slipped beneath your pants and pressed against your core.

          “Oh, you meant here?” The cocky bastard punctuated his words with a pinch to your clit. “Is this what you wanted?”

          Percy committed the speechless look on your face to memory as you glared back up at him. 

          “I hate you.” you ground out when the initial shock of his touch faded. You hated his infuriating smirk. You hated his disheveled dark hair. You hated how his hands left you to pull down your pants at an achingly slow pace. And you especially hated how he somehow knew exactly how to touch you. 

          “Is that so? Then you’re gonna really hate this.” 

          His warning barely registered with you before two fingers plunged into you. Percy cherished the way you cried out and clenched around his fingers, imagining how it would feel around his dick later on. 

          The achingly slow pace he set as his digits pumped in and out of you turned you to puddy in his hands, eyes screwed shut so that you didn’t notice Percy lean down until you felt his breath against your ear.

          “You like that? You want more?” he asked, but grew unsatisfied by your lack of response. The hand that wasn’t currently brushing your g-spot with every curl came up to your jaw and turned your face to his. “Answer me.”

          “Yes,” you panted as his palm pressed on your clit. “I want more. Please give me more, Percy.”

“Good girl.” He praised and swiped his thumb across your bottom lip. “But I don’t think you deserve it. You’ve been greedy for my touch and ungrateful for what I give you. Distracting me all through class with your leg pressed against mine and your cleavage teasing me every time you leaned into the table.”

          The way his fingers were speeding up made it hard to focus on his voice in your ear but he continued anyway.

          “Barely said a word to me but now here you are,” he took his time pressing a kiss to the spot below your ear. “So desperate for my cock.” 

          Your approaching orgasm made your pride disappear and you readily begged him for release. 

          “Look at you, so pretty when you beg for me.” He watched you intently, taking in every signal your body gave until he knew you were seconds from going over the edge. “I bet you do this all the time.”

          At that he suddenly pulled his hand away from where you needed it. Your whine of frustration had no affect on him as he leisurely brought his fingers to his mouth to clean them of your juices.

          “Huh? I bet you tease any poor guy who happens to sit next to you. You get them so hooked on you that they follow you to bed. Isn’t that right, baby?” Percy’s words and lack of contact made you hurriedly deny them.

          “No,” you insisted and turned your face to his. “Of course not.”

          “No? Are you sure?” His hand caressed your jaw and moved down, tempting you with feather light touches.

          “Yes. There’s only you.” Your assurances earned you a kiss.

          “Good girl. Now roll over and stick that pretty ass up for me.” 

          Doing as he said, your cheek pressed into his pillow and your back arched for him, hoping that your eager compliance will get him to forgo any further teasing and just rail you. 

          Percy brushed the hair from your face and leaned down to place a sweet kiss on the back of your neck and whisper, “You’re so beautiful.”

          The softness of his tone distracted you until his hands found their hold on your hips and he thrusted into you. 

          Percy’s low groan filled your ears while his cock filled your pussy. You don’t think you’ve ever been this stretched before and you weren’t sure you could’ve taken him if you hadn’t already been so wet. The way his hands gripped you tighter made you peek over your shoulder to see his eyes shut and arms strained to keep himself from ramming into you. 

          I mean what can you say it was fucking hot. 

          To put him out of his misery you rolled your hips against his as a signal that you were ready and it apparently caught him off guard since he let out a cute little gasp. Then he caught you looking at him and his cheeks reddened at your smiling to his boyish response. The only way you could describe his following look was “You’re gonna regret that.”

          But when he started off at a brutal pace you honestly could say you didn’t regret a thing. His dick pounded into you and hit deeper than anyone else had before. Your hands desperately tried to find purchase on his sheets and gripped them tightly when one of his hands snaked around and found your clit again. 

          Percy hung on every noise you made and wondered if anything else would ever sound as good as you moaning his name, which made him want to see your face as you did.

          He pulled out of you and turned you onto your back, your eyes meeting as he propped one of your legs against his shoulder and went back to work. He liked this. Being able to watch you come undone around him, your hair a mess and your chest bouncing with his thrusts. But he also saw your hands grappling the sheets for something to hold onto and he thought he would offer his services one again.

          Percy leaned down over you and captured your mouth with his once again, not breaking his rhythm even as your hands tugged on his shoulders and pulled him closer to you still.

          “Y/n,” he groaned into your mouth when your hand gave a particularly hard pull to his hair.

          “Percy, I’m… I-.”

          “I know.” Your climax was moments away and Percy’s was right behind it. “Cum for me, babygirl.”

          This boy was going to be the death of you. Percy leaned back from the kiss to hear all of the pretty sounds you made as you came around his cock, the clenching of your walls sending him over the edge with you.

          You pulled Percy back down to you for one last kiss as you rode out your highs, this one slower than before. His forehead rested against yours as you were catching your breath and he kissed it before rolling over to lay next to you. Time passed as you both lay there for a while coming down from your highs and your eyes remained on the ceiling as your hand tentatively found his. 

          This is probably too weird he’s going to ask me to leave now that it’s over and in what world do you hold hands with somebody you just hooked up with? Your worries were silenced as he confidently took your hand in his and squeezed it. 

          “You want a granola bar?” he asked, causing a tired and satisfied burst of laughter to come from you. 

          “Fuckin… sure,” you replied and he reached over you to the nightstand and on his forearm you saw the “mysterious gang affiliated” tattoo that Lauren had been freaked out about. You admit, it was kind of weird, but it was probably nothing. 

          It could be initials or something, you pondered. The ‘P’ could stand for Percy.

          “Here.” The boy in question offered you a granola bar and you unwrapped them before cheersing. You were kind of hungry, content to just lay there and eat the stupid granola bar and breathe with him.

          “You did clean that couch after you got it off Craigslist, right?” You asked him after it popped into your head.

          “What? Oh… yeah. Yeah.”

          “Liar.”

Part 3

[magalidragon]

you are my sunshine | a Jonerys FluffxInfinity Drabble

Um….this was inspired my a post that I shared a few days ago somewhere on my dash. It’s just fluff. I needed to write it because my life is soooo stressful and I was sick to death yesterday with a Hell Trifecta of food poisoning, migraine and heatstroke 💀 Plus work. Enjoy!

When Daenerys woke up every morning and went to sleep every night, she did so as Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.

it was a title she had been born, fought, conquered and bled for. It was her reason for being.

And then there was the other name. The other title.

Muñnykeā

Mai

Mother

Muna

It was Muna, not the Queen, who crawled on the floor in her heavy skirts, stifling her giggle and attempting to school her face— futilely— into one of absolute seriousness.

The witch’s curse had not taken when it came to her Wolf King. Jon Snow was right. The witch was not a reliable source of information. He proved her wrong. It took about a year, not for a lack of trying, and she found herself with child. She was going to be a Muna.

The nine months of growing a babe had been exhausting, rewarding, and she savored every ache and pain and morning with her head in the chamber pot as the babe did its best to bring her to her knees. She refused.

Laboring in a snowstorm, for close to thirty hours, she gave birth to the most perfect creation the Known World had seen.

And it was the perfect creation who she surprised, popping up from the floor, her schooled face exploding into a bright smile, violet eyes expanding, sparkling like jewels, and she blew out her cheeks and shouted: "There you are!"

In the wooden seat atop the Chamber of the Painted Table, where Aegon had planned his conquest and she had planned hers, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms burst into bubbling giggles, waving his fat hands and wiggling in place. His face beamed, a bright light, as if the sun had relocated into the babe before her.

She grabbed hold of one of his waving feet, fat little pillows and soft as one too. His skin was pale velvet, chubby cheeks tinged rosy pink. His black hair curled at his ears and reminded her of silk, his eyes the same jeweled tone as hers. He was the perfect mix of them both, a true Targaryen. His fat foot kicked out again and she snagged the other one, holding them both up to her ears.

Loudly, she asked, "Who's there? Is that Aemon? Is this Aemon?"

He began to laugh, so loud and hard his belly shook, and she saw it before he even realized it was happening, head tossing back and shaking. It made her laugh, although she knew she'd have to clean up the mess, but he was so perfect and adorable and she loved him so much, it didn't matter.

Aemon kept laughing, when she did it again, kissing his feet, making loud chomping sounds. "You taste soooo good! Sooo yummy! Yummy Aemon! Gimme these feet, gimme these feet!"

What amounted to his breakfast a few hours ago came right back up, spitting out of his mouth as he kept laughing, unbothered at all that his tunic was wet, because when he paused, spit up still dribbling down his double chins, he began to laugh again, finding it uproariously hilarious that he'd been so entertained by his mother eating his feet and jumping from under the table that he'd thrown up all over himself.

He kept laughing, waving his hands, trying to snag one of her braids when she laughed, leaning forward to remove him from the chair. "Oh baby!" she exclaimed, taking the bottom of her skirt and wiping at his face, not caring at all that she was ruining her dress. She laughed again, when he squealed like a piglet, not of distress, but because she was picking him up.

She cradled him to her chest, carrying him to the basin of water on a stand near the corner of the chamber, lifting her skirts again to dip them in the water and began to clean him up.

He babbled, chubby hands trying to splash the water, and wiggling like a worm, feet shoving under her ribs. “Bah bah bah!” he chattered.

The water would not do enough and in another burst of giggles he threw up again. And laughed some more. She sighed.

“Aemon, I am afraid we need to do this in a rather undignified way,” she apologized, leaving the room and carting him down the corridor.

An Unsullied immediately followed behind her and Aemon made a face at him. If she looked very close she knew the corners of his eyes creased, maintaining full control but allowing a softness there at the sight of the future King.

By some mysterious power, Missandei appeared. “Oh no, Your Grace, can I help?” she asked, concerned.

“No, no it’s fine we had a bit too much enjoyment for the moment, but that’s perfectly alright, we will just clean up and go right back to having fun.” She kissed Aemon’s curls, humming to herself, Missandei sensing she was not needed and fading back to return to whatever she was doing before she appeared.

In Aemon’s room, she cleaned him up in the large basin for his baths, scrubbing his skin clean and pink. She kept humming, beginning to sing, softly under her breath. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…you make me happy…” her gaze darted through the open windows, to the gathering clouds, grinning at Aemon. “When skies are gray…my only sunshine…”

With clean clothing and linens, she placed him on the bed she sometimes slept in when he might have had a difficult night, when he was teething. She kissed his feet, singing again to him. “Who is there? Is this Aemon? Aemon’s feet! Soooo yummy!”

He laughed again, eyelids drooping, fighting sleep. He yawned, cheeks dumpling, smiling and closed his eyes, sighing, content. “My sunshine,” she breathed, dragging her finger over his curls, pushing them from his forehead. “Issa byka vēzos.”

My little sun.

He snuffled, wiggling in place and she stretched out beside him, ignoring any commitment she had, tracing his perfect lips and nose and face. “I spent,” she began, trying to smile, but finding tears overcoming her instead. “Thirty hours giving birth to you…nine months growing and keeping you safe inside me…and years…” She gasped, laughing. “Years and years wishing for you. Believing you would never happen.”

And you did, she thought, laughing again, nuzzling his sleeping face and squeezed his chubby foot. “And you throw up from laughing so hard…because I make silly sounds and kiss your feet.”

She rested her head beside his again, closing her eyes. Maybe she would take a nap too.

Until the bed shifted and she opened her eyes, peering up into the shimmery gray ones of her Wolf King. “Issa zokla,” she murmured.

“My queen,” he replied, kissing her forehead. He picked up Aemon’s foot, squeezing lightly. “He throw up from laughing so hard?”

“Yes,” she chuckled.

“Did that to me yesterday when I tried to get him to eat his midday meal and instead of trying to feed him I pretended to be Ghost eating it.” He rolled his eyes, but grinned wide, his eyes crinkled and gray irises bright. “I think everything is hilarious to him.” He paused, softening, and whispered. “That’s good. The world should be funny to him.”

Like it wasn’t for us, she deduced, nodding. She kissed Aemon’s foot and Jon kissed the other. The baby curled up, yawned, and his eyes flicked open, spotting them both. He grinned, kicking and flailing. “Ah! Ah!” he huffed, trying to reach them both.

She watched, amused, when Jon rolled into his back, bringing Aemon with him and pretended to eat his feet, sending Aemon into giggles. “Oh Jon,” she began, noticing Aemon’s belly bouncing. “Be…”

Aemon opened his mouth, spitting up, right onto Jon’s chest. And then he burst into laughter again.

“Careful,” she concluded.

Jon sighed and rolled off the bed to his feet, bouncing Aemon and singing off key. “My sunshine, my only sunshine…”

She smiled and closed her eyes, ignoring the knowledge that she had to get back to the decisions of the realm, preferring to listen to her husband’s terrible singing and her baby’s bubble laughs.

She deserved it, after all.

[kim-monsterlings]

Brae - M Merman x M Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; flirting, merman’s insecurities from his family, blowjob (+ mention of teeth, nothing too explicit), drinking alcohol, NSFW scene involving handjobs by the merman, mention of touching the merman’s slit, kissing, then angst with thoughts of drowning and a fluffy-ish ending

Wordcount: 6539

“Tropemas” Summary: when the mer insisting on befriending you returned day after day, falling for him was inevitable

Notes: this comes at the beautiful request of @nikipuppeteer​ and unfortunately I had already planned a soulmate au, but I loved the idea of a mlm mer fic too much to not do it!! This really got ahead of me and I love my boys, but so much I couldn’t let it go without it being up to my really annoying standards. I hope you love them <3

Masterlist // “Tropemas” Masterlist 

No matter the dangers accompanied by falling asleep on an unanchored boat, lethargy always overcame you. It was only a small rowboat and one swayed by the gentlest of waves, hardly a comfortable place to rest and your neck always ached the evening after, but time on the sea had become like second nature to you now, and the napping was long ingrained in your afternoons out.

Though waking with water dripping on your face was rare.

Only one cloud needed to mar daylight for you to wait indoors for a brighter day. Beyond the threat of losing yourself at sea, a storm would ruin the sketchbook tucked to your lap. Fragile paper couldn’t survive the wind or rain. Scattered scrawls were no works of art, but after hours rocked at sea and memorising the crags of the cove, it was your treasure, one you took to after moving from the cities and finding peace in the small costal town, and the view was the first you’d had not from cramped flats.

Rare enough, another droplet cool dribbling down your cheek roused you to find the sketchbook damp too, tossed open. Pages wettened still from slender fingertips – clawed, tracing your latest landscaping of cliffs, pencil lines smudging into faded lines. Of all sketches, this hardly finished and quickly ruining one was nothing to prize, but the creature tipping you and your boat precariously lower with every breath seemed enamoured by it.

Watching the creature, you were torn from wanting to scare him off – if you could even scare a thing like him, corded muscle trembling with balancing your boat, sharp-finned where saltwater shone on his dark skin – or wanting to feign sleep longer, just to admire how his teal scales shimmered, clashing and darkening with navy and streaks of black. The darkest scales tipped pectoral fins, sharpened points glinting like the narrow slits in his throat, or the ridged scales rising from the curve of a dark back, down to where his long tail swayed in the water.

You itched to draw him. If portraits were your talent, the sloping of his tail beneath the water would be decorating your papers before night, if he hadn’t ruined them.

Each touch of claws almost tore through the soggy paper and he turned the page. Saltwater dripped from hair curling in the heat of the sun when the creature lurched up and the boat jostled. His hand came to your thigh before you rose from the bench, like he had known you were feigning sleep. Where he was so soaked by the sea, you hadn’t thought it possible the slender fingers stroking up your leg could be so warm, pressing against you to trace a more developed sketch – of the same view, but he admired all the same.

Seasickness had never plagued you before in all your time at sea but how the creature rocked it then made your stomach lurch. He had torn through the paper and some noise tumbled free of you, a panicked cry or curse and you reached to snatch it back before he could damage it more. The merman had stiffened. Claws you hadn’t felt before snagged at you bare thigh and the swaying of your small boat only ceased when he rose and clutched the edge tight. In a small way, you were grateful for that.

You weren’t so thankful that it brought him closer.

For the depth of colours in his scales, the sunlight brightening his rounding eyes forced back your bitterness. Equally dark hair shone a hidden navy with his head canting, though he remained as silent as you. His thin lips pulled back and you thought it a threat with predator’s teeth bared, until a black tongue slid against the points of his teeth and he smiled; a macabre smile, but the beauty of it was like the rest of him.

The sketchbook rested on your lap now, cradled, and that was where he lifted a slender arm, down to the book. Pointing to the paper then to himself, and back to you. Again. Once more, before the boat rocked.

“Do me,” he whispered, soft, disarmingly so that he came an inch more from the water and sunk the boat that much lower. “Do me or I may tip your boat.”

He dizzied your head like the boat had your senses. “You want… you want me to draw you?”

“Draw,” he echoed. When he stretched out to the paper, you let him trace the faded pencil lines and bright eyes peered up at you beneath uneven hair tangling along his forehead. “Draw me. Tomorrow at noon. Or the boat tips,” the merman breathed again through a glinting smile of daggered teeth, not entirely a tease. Smaller claws once on your blank sketchbook traced across your bare thigh, grazing up before nudging the hem of your shorts.

The boat tipped without him to held it steady, and only when he began to retreat did you catch his hand. His fingers slid through yours, claws falling to trace the deeper grooves in your palm when you asked, “do you have a name?”

“Don’t you?” In sharing yours – and hoping he wasn’t in any way fae, he smiled wider. “Brae. Noon.”

The waters carried you another hour before the touch of his thumb tracing along your wrist as he had the sketches left your thoughts. It was harder to banish him from your mind completely and he followed you home, the odd warmth of him smothered to the back of your chest where it ached. Wondering how his scales felt against you in place of his claws did you no good.

Noon came and inevitably, you were settled as far out as the day before, though you hadn’t a real choice in whether you were to return, regardless of this being a day you would nap in the sunlight without his demand.

Mer roamed the cove – it was renowned for them, notorious creatures known for luring humans out to toy with them far from land. If Brae had looked before at your art when you napped, you had no way of knowing, of knowing whether any mer had approached you before. If you left the boat moored today and returned tomorrow, you had no doubt that you would be turned into the sea.

Maybe, a little part of you so far hard to smother, wanted to see him. It was curiosity settling you on the bench of the bench, a pencil twisting through your fingers above a blank page. Most mer, those who made their homes at the cove, shimmered brighter; not so much navy but sky blue, softer hues. Brae’s fins were just that bit sharper, eyes smaller slits with less light to them, his body far stronger than any others – the first like him you knew of.

Time passing beneath the sun worked in convincing you Brae hadn’t been anything more than a hallucination. Only the damp blemishes and ripped pages anchored you a little longer – and the memory of his touch was too hard to forget, until a splash of water tipped the boat and lips pulled back into an attempted smile.

You curled the open page from range of where his head canted and saltwater dripped.

With him leaning closer, now was an opportune moment to tell him that, actually, unfortunately, portraits weren’t you specialty, else he wouldn’t need to ask for his, but the words never came when light warmed his rounding eyes.

“When will you start?”

“Start drawing?”

“Start drawing me,” he said, though his stare had risen from the blank page. Like you had only the day before, Brae appraised from your crown to your toes, tongue caught in his teeth the whole time. The weight of it settled in your chest uncomfortably; whatever mer standards were, you doubted you were anything but unappealing to a creature so beautiful, but no comment came. “Now?”

“If I’m to sketch you-“

“You are.” Deep beneath him, the slow swaying of his tail rose through to his arms curling on the boat’s edge. He rocked with every move and his attention flitted from your towels bundled at your feet to your satchel bag. “To draw me. You are.”

“I need you to-“

“On the beach.” Words overrun as you lost your thought. He hadn’t once stopped moving, dipping under the water and rising the other side of the boat, or reaching out to just brush his hand to yours before rushing back. Only his chin rested on the boat now as he said, “we should do it on the beach. Safer. Dry.”

Safer.

Coughing over your laugh couldn’t muffle it when you turned closer. “Weren’t you threatening to throw me out my boat yesterday?”

He frowned. “Not now. Tomorrow. The beach tomorrow.”

“Brae-“

Claws tipped your chin and all breath rushed from you. They were weapons, like daggers poised to cut as the predator he was, but it felt like a caress how he brought your face closer, near enough the cool air from water clinging to him brushed you. “Tomorrow.”

Being so near, the strength to protest waned. How the pencil hadn’t snapped between your fingers was beyond you; it was all that was left stopping you from returning the touch, wanting to feel his scales – were they smooth or rough, how would they feel against you? – and all you knew was that the touch of claws against the tightness locking your throat didn’t feel like a threat anymore.

If this was how mer lured humans out, you weren’t against following.

“Will you lay still on the beach for me?”

“So you can stare at me?” Brae’s black tongue traced along his teeth with a low hum. “If you wish.” he said, a rising smile binding your throat tighter.

The claws now tracing against your top’s neckline bound your throat tighter. “So I can draw you.”

“Why still?”

“If you move, it’s harder to focus. Harder to draw you. I could- can I take a photo of you?” His answer came without a need to verbalise it; his smile was nothing like a threat, far from the twisting of his face and pressed fins beneath his jaw flaring. Under passing clouds, his darkening face harshened. In an effort to calm his growl, you swallowed. “Won’t people see you on the beach?”

Curiosity drove you to again. Before him, you hadn’t seen another mer so close. Flashes of scales glimmered beneath the water but they were a reclusive kind. Why he demanded a portrait yet refused a photography intrigued you, though not enough to outrightly question.

“See me?” Brae’s cheek turned onto his forearm. Beneath the high sun, seawater glistened on his dark skin, the edges of his gills and faint scales almost glowing. “Why would anyone rather look at me than you?”

The truth tingled on your lips. That he was beautiful, and your art could never do him justice nor any photo, but you swallowed it back. Until daylight fell and left a chill, the merman curled against your side, close enough one tremor could tip your boat. Only small talk passed between glances down, and each turn was returned with a small smile until those teeth earlier bared in threat no longer focused in your thoughts. Brae fell away with a lingering run of claws against your hand and the touch stayed with you long after you found yourself retracing the beginnings of his portrait that night. After the fuss of asking, it turned out you didn’t need a photograph to remember him.

Tales of reclusive mer lessened the popularity of this cove, which had been the enticement to it in moving. Finding a shelter of jagged rocks just beyond sight of anyone passing wasn’t hard, nor was it hard to find Brae among the waves when he crept up the beach- rather inelegantly but you couldn’t have done so any better with the huge tail dragging through wet sand.

“I see you sometimes.”

Brae heeded your plea that afternoon, resting not far from reach. Returning to water wasn’t a pressing urge when he only rested, hardly an exertion, but he thanked you for the slight shelter. His knuckles reached to brush you when he spoke and otherwise cushioned himself on his arms while you contented yourself by marking him.

“Sleeping is dangerous.”

That made your pencil slip. “Have you looked at my art before?”

Brae scoffed but turned away, not before his teeth bit on his lip. Shading came easier with the slight warmth in your chest that blossomed. If he had, he must have liked the art to want his own portrait and after a minute, you looked up to find your muse gone.

Not too far but a length of his tail away, the merman dug through hot sand. Looking beyond the way his scales glowed in this light, differently to when they shimmered beneath water, he cradled dozens of pebbles in his arms, face scrunched in looking for more. The pebbles mirrored him: some dark like coal, others among the occasional shell a soft blue. He continued unaware of your standing, muffling the pain of hot sand beneath your bare feet, how it stung like needles until you crouched and kneeled beside him.

“They’re pretty.” Brae clutched them closer. He attempted a sneak at your paper like he had all afternoon, and, like you had all afternoon, you tucked it away faster. This far, so soon, it was nothing of significance, but it had promise; promise from the evening of tending to it and tonight would be the same. “Will you take them back with you?”

“We gather pebbles.”

“Why?”

Brae’s teeth nibbled on his lip. “Mer secret.”

“Pebbles are a… a mer secret?”

He moved in silence, lifting two shades of pebbles before humming. “Yes. Pick.” One pebbled a blotched black, it was no hard choice to pick the softer teal pebble. Brae slotted it in his pile before his thin lips twitched. “Can I see?”

“No.” His smile fell, and his arm trembled beneath the stones. Had they not threatened to fall, the paper would’ve been in his grasp by then. “How will you take them all with you? Do you have something to carry them in?”

On your next afternoon by his side, Brae fawned over the netting pouch with holes just small enough pebbles wouldn’t slip through. He entrusted them to you overnight for safe keeping, had watched you clutch your bag tight as it weighed you down walking along the cove, and was quick to welcome you back, already settled and sprawled against the sand. He hadn’t understood the purpose of snow angels nor sand angels, but his arms turned out in the sand, close enough to snag your shorts, until he left you again.

From that day, your time together crept earlier. Unintentionally, but he always waited no matter how early you came to the cove, and he began returning your questions. Never telling the mer secret of why he hoarded colourful pebbles, but little questions, the most repeated being why you refused to show him his portrait, and you had to swat him away from your paper each time. On hotter days when the rocky shade didn’t suffice, he crept closer until his cheek nestled to your thigh beneath the shade of your sketchbook and when a quiet overcame you, his fingers ran along your forearm, following the twitching in your hand as you drew him laying against you.

Once, he slept on your lap. The running of claws fell low and only then you succumbed, carefully tucking back the dried ringlets from his smoothed forehead. Little scales scattered his jaw and glided beneath your fingers, though you stopped yourself from following them further when he turned closer and against your palm.

You missed him when you were home. On the evenings with only a nearly finished portrait to call company, you missed laying with him.

It hadn’t taken long for you walk down late one night, a half-opened bottle tucked near your supplies. Being near the cove now helped calm you, even if you came now only to settle against the familiar rocks and close your eyes to the crashing waves. Like the swaying of your boat, the faint warmth of sand beneath you lulled you, and you woke only to a soft whisper of your name.

“I drank… I drank this.”

Damp hair fell to your lap, a quiet groan turned into your thighs. The now emptied bottle fell into the sand and rolled down when Brae laughed, at first quietly, before turning and reaching out to your face. The touch of his claws fell to a loose embrace around your neck, where now he swallowed.

This late, you didn’t want to ask why he was here, how he had known – if he had even known, or if he came just like you. You only wanted to enjoy his company, however… inebriated. It hadn’t been much alcohol, and you would only feel slightly lightheaded had you finished it, but with Brae running his claws down your chest, it had to have been a little much for him.

“Wanna see,” he whispered – slurred, trying and failing to lean up on an elbow. “Me. Show… show me.”

Perhaps through pity, you did. Only through pity, and not from the slow rolling of heat in the pit of your stomach from his claws flexing, drawing you down closer as you opened to the page. It had come a long way, far from ever doing justice to the creature gasping, his defined jaw lowering and dark eyes lifting to you, but you welcomed the flush of pride from his growing smile.

“You make me look pretty. Pretty here,” he tapped the unfinished page. “Am not-not so pretty.”

Your voice came out a whisper as you returned the sketchbook, empty bottle with it. “You don’t think so?”

“Me? Pretty?” Brae huffed, a hot breath blowing his dried hair. Falling in long ringlets, your fingers twitched and in the hopes he wouldn’t remember, you reached out to tuck it back. “My tribe. They’re pretty. Pretty. Not me.”

His cheek turned into your palm when you traced the smoother scales scattering his jaw, down to the dip of his collarbones. “Did they tell you that?”

“Always. Not-I’m not them-like them,” he mumbled, losing himself to the alcohol still thick on his breath. “Never one of them.”

The sincerity sickened you. You wished your art could be better, so Brae saw a true reflection of himself but if it couldn’t be, if your work wasn’t enough, then all you could do was say so. “I think you’re beautiful,” you whispered looking out to the calming see, so lost in it you hadn’t noticed Brae shifting closer until he was level with you. “You are. Your colourings and how you lay in the sun and… you’re beautiful.”

You had more to say, so much more, but sand became your pillow. It dirtied your hair with your head tipping further back, a deeper angle to the kiss with Brae’s thumb pressing down on your chin. His parting lips carried a salty tang, a stronger sense of your emptied alcohol, but it fell away with his breaths hastening when his curling tongue tasted you, too.

Those same lips rose into a sly smile when you found the strength to reopen your fallen eyes and found Brae kissing himself lower. Drunken touches only minutes ago felt coherent now, bunching up your shirt for his lips to warm your stomach. Pressed beneath the muscle of his tail, a slow friction worked you into a heat but he fell further with his kisses nesting lower, a pause when he tugged on your shorts.

Every touch made you tremble. Brae settled between your legs and the sight alone was burning through you. He ran soft fingers down, following your stiffened cock as it twitched and ached. His tongue jutted through his lips to the side almost in thought, a breath before his fingers stroked up your length.

“All this for calling you beautiful?”

The merman’s head canted and that curling tongue flicked up the underside of your cock. Brae’s kiss rounded against your tip until he had you hard in his mouth and your eyes rolling back from the heat of him. For a creature of spines and claws and fangs, he kissed you reverently, deeper breaths growing shallow until he swallowed around you.

Through blurring eyes, barely lifting from the sand feeling hotter beneath you, you watched and felt his lips closing around you, groaning with his flattening of his tongue along the sensitive skin. Brae braced a hand on your tensing thigh and when the other stroked lower, a slight touch of claws grazing, you groaned and rolled your hips deeper against his hollowed throat.

Soft hair threaded around your hand. His growl rumbled deep to your hips as he bowed with your guidance, arching up until his throat tightened against you. Heat rushed in your stomach and his thick tongue swirled across your tip. The warmth of his lips fell down to your thighs the longer your body trembled.

“No.” Gentle fingers pinched your jaw until your lips met his. He tasted of saltwater and you and faint alcohol, nipping your tongue. “For… for being you.”

Until the sheen left his eyes, his smile no longer lopsided, Brae rested against you. Passing whispers came beneath the darkening sky and many were from you; with each whisper of his beauty, though you burned saying it, he turned impossibly closer and ghosted lips down your throat, your chest, wherever you were nearest.

“Remind me to call you beautiful more often,” you said, leaning over him. Weak arms ran up to your neck and it felt like a goodbye when he kissed you sweeter. No teeth caught your lips and no claws curled into your nape, only a touch of foreheads before he struggled into the water.

He had told you not to watch – “it’s embarrassing,” he’d frowned, the dead weight of his tail dragging in the sand – but you watched him go, and it was the last you saw of him for almost a month.

Your corner of the cove remained abandoned by the merman. No marks in the sand were left to show if he had ever come and from there, you couldn’t see far out to the waves, not like a mer could. If he watched you where you waited for him with your heavy bag and a nearly finished portrait, he never came.

Floating no longer felt right. Being on the water wasn’t right. This beach was wrong without a glimmer of navy flitting near you and on the sunniest days, the water almost clear, a hint of scales wouldn’t be missed when you stared down. The portrait was finished now; it had been finished for days.

If something had happened to him-

The thought burned in your throat and you swallowed it back.

Worse: if something hadn’t happened to him, Brae chose not to see you.

And if Brae truly avoided you, he couldn’t stop whatever creature had begun bumping under your boat. The surface barely rose with the smallest of waves but your boat rocked again, until water splashed with every jolt, not so different from the day Brae had almost toppled you, but different in every way.

Brighter scales darted beneath you before you ducked back into the – relative – safety of the boat. This wasn’t your merman, but the churning in your stomach made you think it was his tribe. For whatever reason, they taunted you, and at least two were on you now, countering the other’s hits so all you could was curl your knuckles against the bench until they ached.

You were going to be sick.

What could a frail oar do against creatures like them?

You were going to be really, really sick.

Any option was as bad as the other. Shore was too far to swim to if you wanted to avoid a watery grave. Trying to row and lowering the oar into water would be surrendering your only paddle. You couldn’t leave your boat. The portrait bundled on your lap would be ruined; they would ruin it.

It stopped with a heavier jolt, tipping so far water flooded your feet. The jaunts fell away minutes ago but your head swum too much for you to notice anything more than the shaking in your knees, chest braced against your thighs. One final shove to your boat shoved everything against you forward. Your bag skidded, the bench almost giving out beneath you, towels tangling, but the final shove didn’t topple you.

It surged closer to shore.

Only the faintest glimmer of navy disappeared when you looked back.

Water hadn’t felt right because it wasn’t. The rumours of mer weren’t folktale falsehoods. Maybe Brae wasn’t like them, but they tried to overturn you. They tried to ruin you and your portrait and had they succeeded, the promenade steady under your running feet wouldn’t have been something you were likely to experience again.

Leaving the cities had been your distraction. Leaving your family and friends for a calmer life by the beach had always been your dream, to turn to a simpler, less stressful life, yet the beach couldn’t be your solace anymore. Thinking of even your boat made you lurch to your feet in need of something to occupy you, anything but that merman lurking in the sea, anything but the creature you still wanted to see again, the same whose face mocked you from a hidden sketchbook.

After hardly any time at all, the sudden loss almost brought you to your knees. If this was grief, you didn’t want it. If that pang in your chest was heartbreak, you didn’t want it. Flames came so near to the portrait born of hours and sun and kisses it singed, but burning the paper felt like a burning your heart from your chest.

One last time.

One last hope.

Once more, before you burned him from your thoughts. The same taunts that occupied you like intrusions softened at night, when you imagined that in place of your fist was his touch, slender fingers rolling where you cock twitched beneath him. They came in dreams, in moments you lost concentration, and stalked you down to the cove where you settled the bag, the portrait tucked beside a lighter and driftwood.

Whispers of your name from the stirring waves doused the fire in your chest. Brae made it no further than the reach of waves when you collapsed against him, rambling to his lips, “it’s done. I finished it for you but-“

“It will be beautiful.” Brae framed your face in cold and trembling hands. “Like you.”

There was a haste to his kiss unlike before. When he teased you before with light nips rousing your desire, those touches tore back your shirt and bared you to the cold night. Brae wasted not one breath that was better spent settling against you pushed apart thighs, where the hard palm of his hand fell low to rub over your shorts until he coaxed you to roll up into his touch. Slender fingers curled around your hardening cock and stroked how you had dreamed of for weeks, the pad of his thumb following up to tease the seeping slit at the head.

“I want to touch you too,” you rasped. Brae’s laugh softened in the whistles of wind at your grunt when he rubbed tighter to your thick base, but he was soon to gasp with your fingers curling into the rougher scales on his hips until he dragged against you. “Here?”

Not even the crashing waves at his back could drown out the small whine. Where his taut stomach melded with the lightest of his scales, a slick coated them. The touch of it burned against your fingertips, tracing the swollen slit. He pumped your cock in his tight fist how you teased him, arching up when he ground down, his erection rising thick from the slit.

From laying over you, Brae’s trembling lips brushed yours once more. The slow fall of his forehead brushed your hair, his curls loose against your cheek and fluttering with every deep breath. How long he could breathe without struggle on land changed, and the touch of your hips rolling up, rolling against him, clearly took a toll, shorter gasps nestling into your neck. This was an exertion for him; how he trembled at your thumb following where his hand, rolling over the slick on the swollen, purple head.

Grinding his cock to yours came with difficulty as his tail dragged in sand, but a shock of pleasure bolting up to your crown until you strained to rut against him again. The desperation locked in your bodies wouldn't settle for anything less than his cock against yours. Soft blue and deeper navy nearer the tip, your mouth dried. The memory of his lopsided smile after stealing your alcohol struck you, too similar how he slurred you name from curling his fingers and gripping your cocks together. The cry lodged in your throat muffled against the slope of his throat where you kissed the scales there, chasing the rush of his pulse beneath his jaw.

Slick from his slit and hot, it was too much to bite back every moan and curse when he rolled his hips in time with yours. Brae learned fast. His palm rolled your sac slowly, drawing rougher pants, but it was a tighter rub that made you buck up. Your cock jutted against his base, far thicker and swollen, but against the wetter scales and he cried, “again. Closer, please.”

His hot touch stirred you into a delirious high. Brae was twitching, his body rocking hard and harder when you met him faster, arching up to graze the slick, sensitive skin of his slit.

"I want you," he breathed, disoriented kisses slowing when he trembled. "Come. Come for me."

If not for him, you dragged against his waist so you could feel the heat of him yourself. Brae’s fingers locked and he felt it as you did, your cock stiff when you came against his stomach, his scales, rasping when he rutted into his palm and a thicker release came minutes later against your thighs after you traced where his cock thickened at the slit.

In the moment his final gasp left him and Brae fell against you, he ought to be drawn, to be remembered forever. Soft arms wrapped you close to the warmth of him, away from the colder winds in the shelter of the rocks. Hot sweat glistened on his scales. It stuck your hair to your cheeks, where he brushed it away with kisses and closed eyes.

“Do you think anyone saw us?”

Brae's breath caught, but he swallowed past it. His knuckles grazed down your chest and up again. Stray scratches stung beneath the touch and his parted lips kissed it away. "I hope so," he breathed, and the words stirred something in your chest. Something primal and prideful; you wanted to be seen with him, this merman come to you one day, who decided they wanted you. "You were very loud."

Panting to his chest, you smiled. "And you were beautiful."

If there were mer watching, you hadn't noticed.

No head rested heavy on your chest when you woke. Evening had been a blanket to his embrace, but the stars were your only companion at the cove. Sand settled without hint of a trail leading down to the sea and if it had been windy, you might have excused it, pardoned the long-lasting cold on your bare body.

Those questions he had brushed away with a press of his tail to your hips rose to your throat like a fuel on fire. Brae came back. Brae left, after taking you on the beach. He returned to the sea and he left you alone and bare and shivering. He abandoned you where his tribe could see, where they could reach you and your bag-

Your bag.

It had been right there, right on the rocks and wedged firm. No wind could part it from them. No wind had, and no wind would lay it so carefully by the sloping of the beach, the flap resting open. The bag looked deflated, almost like… like it was empty.

“This isn’t funny,” you called out. It was a joke. It had to be a joke. If not a joke then something far, far crueller and each staggering step nearer the waves was a twist of the knife in your stomach. “Brae?”

Harsh water frothed at your ankles. It rose in spitting shivers up to your knees then thighs, where the evening’s memories dried and washed away. The waters this shallow were clear of mer but not of what you prayed was litter. Up to your hips now, stumbling in choppy waves and the cry that tore from you was unholy. It burned up through throat like bile and stung in your eyes. It stung in your chest where your ribs caved, the soaked papers and hours of nights in your lounge wasted in one, cruel jaunt.

Not just his portrait wrecked on the waters he crawled from, but your sketchbook.

How you found your way home was a miracle. You should have stayed in the water. You should have let Brae drown you, too.

Had his tribe done it? Had they been there while he stroked your cheek and lifted your chin in a soft kiss, his scales warming where your thighs tightened? That was all you could think and all you could bear to think. If it were anything more – if he really was so cruel, you’d rather never know, would rather blame it on his tribe for tearing him away.

You could drown your boat like your sketches. That cove belonged to him. It belonged to his tribe and you wouldn’t go near the water again, not willingly and if you saw him again, it would be in nightmares.

The only family you had lived in the cities far from you and too far for them to consider buying your boat, even taking it off your hands. The wood of it was old and would burn on a fire; best to be burned completely than sunken. Brae didn’t deserve anything of yours. He’d drowned your heart with your treasure.

If this was how mer lured humans out, you weren’t against following.

Finding your boat moored and undamaged rose with a sting. The cruelty of his tribe ruined the wood beneath the water from their earlier taunting. You wished they had done more. If his tribe had sunken it, finding a dark bundle of seaweed cradling pebbles wouldn’t have made your legs sway beneath you. Whatever the mer secret behind them was, it wasn’t enough to entice you back. They weighed down your boat as they weighed on your shoulders but in settling into it before setting it alight, you couldn’t help but lift one.

It was the pebble he had asked you of, choosing from two. In your hand it felt like his scales, smooth and cold and wet.

It was still wet.

Pebbles scattered among larger stones as it fell from your hand but you didn’t watch them fall. You watched the fingertips careful on your arm, how they traced down your tense muscles with an unwelcome familiarity.

“The pebbles,” you seethed. “What do they mean?”

His touch softened and both hands rose to stroke against your unyielding fist. “Do you like them?”

Brae yelped as the favoured pebble smacked his forehead; you held another ready, but you hoped not to use it. Not to hurt him. The pain fresh in your chest urged to you but you couldn’t, and the tenderness in his hands slipping through your unfurling fingers held you closer.

His face scrunched. “When we wish to court a mate, we present pebbles. Do you like them?”

Brae never moved so slowly before – before he had wounded you enough to want nothing more than to hurt him; him, with the claws gentle on your palm and sharp teeth behind lips gracing your knuckles. No smile warmed his harsh face. Some satisfaction warmed you in shadows creeping beneath his eyes, where he lifted your palm. Loose tickled your fingers.

“I left my tribe.”

Brae’s whine quieted when you said, not in question, “taunting me wasn’t enough for them to accept you, was it?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Will they welcome you back if I take your pebbles?” Water splashed with his surging up and it was then you succumbed, lifting your hand to frame his dripping face. Every whisper and clashing apology fell beneath you, blood rushing in your ears from just his lips turning to your wrist. “I’m leaving, Brae. Pretend I accepted. Say you drowned me if it helps you return to your tribe. Why you would want to is beyond me, but-”

“We mate for life. This is me. These,” he whispered, and beneath the water, distorted netting carrying more pebbles swayed when he lifted another. “These are me. Proposal of courtship.”

Approaching you had to be at their insistence. The threat to topple your boat them, too, and why Brae had insisted on land. Safer, he’d said, but that was where he hurt you more than they ever had. They may have told him to use you or trick you to love him, but it hurt the same, at their tricks or his.

He hadn’t looked up from where you stroked his cheekbones until you asked, “what does it mean to leave a tribe?”

“If I stay, I trespass.”

“What do mer do to trespassers?” Brae turned his face into your palm and your stomach fell. The choice before you wasn’t one you welcomed or even wanted to consider, but you were already reaching for the pebble you had thrown at him and curling it in your hand. “If you follow me, that is your choice. I owe you nothing. Even this is more than you deserve.”

The boat was tipping.

“But if you follow me,” you drew in a sharp breath. “I say when the courting is over and if I accept you. If I refuse, you respect that.”

His breath warmed your lips.

“And I will never draw you again.”

It was a lie. That morning, his face plagued every breath. Every fleeting memory of his touch consumed you. Scatterings of scales covered old papers and already your fingers itched for more, to purge him from you, but when you accepted – if you accepted him, only then would you ever consider sharing your art with him again.

Burning your boat could wait until the water dried from the sloping of scales to your chest, lips soft on yours and apologies sweet on his tongue. It could wait until he followed you wherever you chose, offering pebbles and nights sprawled on warm sand, where you always woke with a head nestled against your throat.

When.

[joaquinwhorres]

Treacherous Waters (Leonard McCoy x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› After finals at Starfleet Academy all of the cadets flock to local bars in search of a good time. Which is exactly where you meet Leonard McCoy. And you are more than willing to show him a good time with the understanding that come Saturday morning he'll be gone, and you'll never see him again. Which is exactly what happens...until five years later your starship has a massive failure and the only ship around to save you is the Enterprise.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,072

WARNINGS ››››› Drinking and mentions of sexy times. 

A/N ››››› Sooooo originally this was just supposed to be a “dancing in a bar with Leonard McCoy” fic but then I got an idea and well, it’s this. 

Prefer OC’s? Read it on AO3.

Finals Week at Starfleet Academy was a glorious occasion.

Or perhaps, more accurately, the Friday evening after Finals Week at Starfleet Academy was a glorious occasion. Because the Friday night of Finals Week was when the beautiful, young, pent up cadets flooded the local bars in desperate search for some unbridled fun.

Which Y/N was more than happy to provide

"Kirk's here," Kiesh hissed, her fingers digging into Y/N's arm in her excitement. Y/N flinched, and Kiesh released her quickly, but was too distracted to mutter an apology, her gaze fixated on the near mythical figure of San Francisco nightlife.

The tales that followed Jim Kirk were outlandish and obscene and wholly captivating.

There was the story of his birth aboard the USS Kelvin minutes before his father saved the lives of everyone who'd been aboard the ship.

There was the story of how he'd earned his spot in the Academy by taking on three security Lieutenants in a fist fight and walking away with no more than a bloody nose.

And of course there were the stories of his romantic conquests. Although romantic was probably not the right word for it. Carnal, sensual, lustful, and erotic all seemed a bit more descriptive of what transpired between Jim Kirk and the girls of San Francisco.

And like any mythical figure, these tales were enough to warn off a good number of girls from falling into his sheets...while prompting others to search for him to either worship or conquer themselves.

Kiesh fell firmly in the later category. She was no Kirk acolyte, but he had become a point of fixation for her because he was what no other man had been to her--unattainable.

Y/N scanned the crowd for the golden haired casanova, but the bar was too packed. It was an ocean of voices and species and color, all flowing to the electric undercurrent that ran throughout the bar. Y/N's eyes caught on the blood red uniforms of cadets too eager to indulge their youth to waste any time by going home and changing clothes.

Two palms pressed into either side of Y/N's face as her roommate turned her attention away from the cadets, past groups of people wearing the colorful and patterned designs native to their home planet, and to the end of the neon purple bar. There, just visible between the bodies of two friends having a chugging contest, was Jim Kirk with his head thrown back laughing.

"He's gorgeous," Y/N murmured. She'd figured he had to be, but it was one thing to hear about Adonis and another thing completely to see him in person. Kiesh's hands fell from Y/N's head, allowing the other girl to turn back to her. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"I might not make it to breakfast." A coy smile curled Kiesh's lips up as she started off through the crowd, disappearing amongst the crowd.

Y/N followed her progress, watching the other girl choose a space at the bar directly in Kirk's line of sight, sliding into the chair and tossing her long purple hair over one shoulder to reveal the expanse of skin from her neck to her chest, and then below the crop top.

And then she waited.

Watching Kiesh work was a sight to behold. Each trap was delicately set, carefully tailored to the man she'd picked on that given night. She planned each movement--the way she walked, the angle of her body against the bar, the look she painted on her face--to snag men like a siren, luring them into her dangerous waters.

As much as she wanted to see this play out, Y/N had other more important things to accomplish.  Like finding her own catch for the night. And she wasn't going to do that by standing in one spot all night.

If Kiesh was a siren, then Y/N was a shark, moving constantly throughout the room in search of the perfect prey. She weaved in and out of small groups, eyes scanning the members therein. There were groups of friends laughing together, cadets challenging each other to drinking games, girls who like her and Kiesh came with one purpose in mind, and others who came to have a good time by themselves, cadets be damned.

But it wasn't until her fourth slow, methodical lap that she saw him. Or rather, she saw Kirk slap him on the back with a large grin before making his way over to where Kiesh leaned on her elbows. More than the broadness of his shoulders, the tussle of dark hair, and the deep red color of his uniform, it was the scowl he was shooting at Kirk's back that caught her attention and drew her across the bar to him as if smelling blood in the water.

"You look like a man who doesn't dance," Y/N said, folding her arms on the back of what was once Kirk's chair. It took him almost three seconds to realize that she was talking to him, and when he did, he lifted his eyebrows--the look an interesting combination of amusement and apprehension.

"Well, that's a first," he remarked. There was just a trace of an accent under his words that Y/N couldn't quite place.

"I highly doubt I'm the first person to notice," Y/N said, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Unless of course I'm wrong, and you're constantly barraged with requests to hit the dance floor."

He exhaled a laugh, the sound sailing past his lips, and into the glass he lifted up to his mouth. "You're not wrong," he said, taking a sip of his liquor and then placing it back down on the bar in front of him.

"Didn't think so. I rarely am."

He gave her a cautious look out of the corner of his eye as if still unsure where this conversation was going and why she was talking to him. As if people chatted up strangers in bars just to pass the time.

"So, since you don't dance, that begs the obvious question…what's a man like you doing in a place like this?"

He cracked a smile then, slowly tilting his head to look at her, really look at her, for the first time. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

"Only if you subscribe to archaic 20th century gender norms," Y/N shrugged, smiling back at him. "Besides," she leaned closer, tipping her head towards his conspiratorially, and he shifted closer as well. "I don't think it's much of a mystery for me. I mean, look at our clothes."

His eyes wandered down to her deep V halter before seeming to realize he was still in his reds. "Fair point," he conceded, pulling back a little to take another sip of his drink.

"So?"

"A friend dragged me out," he admitted, eyes sliding back over to her. She raised both of her eyebrows as if she was surprised and didn't see Kirk abandoning him just five minutes ago.

"And left you to fend for yourself in a dive like this?" She shook her head as if scandalized by the idea. "You need better friends."

The cadet snorted and nodded his head. "You've got that right."

"Well, you're very lucky I found you before another girl did," Y/N said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"That so?"

She nodded. "They may try to take advantage of you in such a defenseless state. All alone by the bar nursing a...what is that, whiskey?"

"Bourbon, actually." His eyes sparkled with an intoxicating warmth similar to the liquor he was drinking.

Y/N rolled her eyes lightly. "Same thing."

"Only technically."

"Technicalities are everything," she grinned. "Anyway, I'm willing to offer my protective services as a long time San Francisco resident to navigate these treacherous waters."

"You're from here?" he asked, genuine curiosity overtaking his features for the first time in their conversation. Y/N's smile turned a bit strained, but she nodded.

"Not quite. But I've been here for fifteen years. Just haven't figured out how to drop the accent," she shrugged.

"So are you from England then?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Next round's on me if you can guess where."

"Lon…" he started, and a grin grew across Y/N's face before he switched course. "Birmingham?"

She shook her head. "London."

"You tricked me," he accused lightly, his brow furrowing slightly but into more of mock offense and surprise at her cunning than anything else.

"You're highly suggestible," she shook her head, fighting to keep a smile down. "Which brings me back to the fact that you absolutely cannot remain alone in this bar tonight. It's far too dangerous for you."

"Guess I'll have to take you up on that offer then, darlin'." His smile was more subtle--apparently the fight to keep it off his face was going better for him.

"Y/N," she corrected, lifting her hand to offer it to him.

The man took it, his fingers surprisingly soft for a cadet. "Leonard," he answered.

Y/N let her hand linger in his, not pulling back until his grip loosened and his fingers trailed against hers to go back around his glass. She leaned her elbow on the back of the chair, placing her chin on top of her hand. "So Leonard," she asked. "Are you going to buy me a drink or am I working for free?"

He smirked, lifting a hand to call the bartender over as Y/N slid into the seat next to him, leaning her arms against the smooth chrome bar. The Tellarite bartender made his way over, and Leonard looked at Y/N.

"Well are you going to order or sit there staring at each other?" the bartender snapped. Leonard shot him a dirty look, and Y/N snorted.

"I'll have a Samarian Sunset on his tab," she ordered, pointing a finger at Leonard, and the man grunted. Leonard still looked rather displeased with the exchange but ordered himself another bourbon. The bartender walked away grumbling, and even Leonard looked rather grumpy.

"You know that's just his way of greeting right?" Y/N asked, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Tellarites consider it polite to attempt to start an argument when meeting someone. If he wasn't mildly insulting I would have been majorly insulted."

"And I thought you were kidding about being a guide."

"I would never," Y/N said with mock indignation, placing a hand over her heart. "Leonard, I take my promise to you very seriously. I will be at your side all night."

"All night?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

"All night," Y/N repeated with a nod, keeping her eyes locked on Leonard. He met her gaze with an intensity that made her stomach twist with delight.  And of course it was right then that bartender reappeared.

He placed a martini glass full of clear liquid in front of Y/N, and a rocks glass with amber liquor in front of Leonard before making a derisive noise in his throat and walking away. Leonard didn't seem to mind as much this time.

"Cheers," Y/N said, reaching forward with her glass, and Leonard clinked his against hers, lifting it to his lips. She watched intently as she swirled her own drink so that a luminescent gold wisp spiraled out, turning the clear liquor the color of a burning sun. He pulled the glass from his lips, and she returned her attention to her own drink, taking a slow sip before placing it back down on the bar.

"So, Leonard," Y/N let the name roll off her tongue teasingly. "Tell me about yourself. Where are you from? What are you studying?"

"I'm a medical student," he said, setting his own glass down. "And I'm from Georgia."

"Ooh, a doctor and a southern gentleman," Y/N teased, shimmying her shoulders. "My mother would be so proud of me."

"Who said I'm a gentleman?" he asked with raised eyebrows, leaning closer to her. Y/N's mouth fell open slightly before she caught herself, stopping her body from melting completely right there in the seat.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Leonard," she quipped, taking a sip of her drink.

"If you didn't want a good time then why did you come over here?" he asked, and Y/N grinned at him.

"Because you look like a man who doesn't dance."

"Well darlin," Leonard started, his eyes sparkling with the slightest bit of mischief and a look on his face that was enough to make something delicious twist in the pit of Y/N's stomach. "The night's still young."

The night grew in both the amount of time passed and the amount of drinks finished. It was hard to state exactly how much of either had slipped away from the two of them as their glasses had been cleared a few times, but the world was just a bit lighter and hazier at the edges than was usual and the crowd slightly thinner than it had been when Y/N entered.

"Well, darlin'," Leonard's accent had grown heavier with the liquor, words dripping like molasses from his lips. "I should be gettin' back before curfew."

Y/N exhaled, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Leonard," she said slowly, dragging out the word. Her own accent adding a richness to her words that had been precise and sharp earlier in the evening. "I thought I made it quite clear that I wasn't leaving your side all night, so you can't go running off to the dorms on me now."

"Need me to walk you home?" he asked, pausing from putting on his coat to settle the tab.

"Such a southern gentleman," the words rolled like waves from her, her voice rising and falling as he lifted an eyebrow at the screen he was signing. "Yes, I require an accompaniment home," she mocked. "And then I need you to pick a side you want me on for the next part of our night: top or bottom."

Leonard's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide before grabbing her hand and leaving the bar behind.

The cab ride to her apartment was...restrained. The two of them sat shoulder to shoulder in the backseat, eyes focused ahead through the windshield. Even as Y/N's hand drifted from her own lap into his, venturing up his thigh, both of them remained focused on the passing San Francisco streets. Leonard's hand came on top of her own. "Just wait, darlin'," he said, his words dripping with the richness of molasses as he folded his hand around hers.

"It's not polite to make a lady wait," Y/N quipped, shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye.

He snorted but made no attempt at a retort, instead patiently holding her hand until the cab stopped. Y/N opened her door, dragging Leonard by the hand and towards her apartment building.

The ride on the elevator was just as restrained as the cab drive, only instead of the beautiful lights of downtown, the pair stared at their distorted reflection in the sleek chrome doors.

There was a hum in the elevator though. Inaudible, but she could feel it singing across her skin, radiating from each part of her body that touched Leonard's. She bit her lip, and could feel Leonard look down at her. She allowed her gaze to slide over to him, drifting up to his face, meeting his eyes, already dark and boring into hers.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the doors slid open, pulling their attention away from each other and out of the elevator.

The pair walked down the hallway, stopping outside of her door so she could punch in the code. It took two tries for her to get it before the door clicked and she pushed it open, revealing her dark apartment. Y/N ventured in first, turning to invite Leonard in, but she'd barely opened her mouth before her face was in his hands, and he was walking her back into the wall.

The light switch jammed into her shoulder blade, and she felt a bit off balance, but his lips moved over hers with such a ferocity, it pushed everything else from her mind. Instead, all she could focus on was the feeling of his lips against hers, the taste of the sharp tang of alcohol he'd been drinking all evening. He invaded her senses, making it impossible to think of anything other than pulling him closer to her.

Y/N wound her fingers into his hair, urging him nearer to her, which he did, stepping forward, and moving a hand from her face to her waist, pulling her flush against him. His other hand wandered down to her chest as his lips began a journey down the curve of her neck. "I don't usually do this type of thing," he murmured against her skin.

"Go home with--ah--a strange woman from the--fu--the bar?" Y/N panted, pushing her hips into his for a taste of the friction she needed.

He pulled himself away from her collarbone to look up at her with hooded eyes. "Exactly."

"You're missing out," Y/N grinned, chest heaving. "Now take off your clothes so I can prove it to you."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of bare skin and desperate sounds and more pleasure than Y/N had gotten out of a night out in a while.

It almost made her sad to see him go in the morning. Almost.

But him leaving was always a part of her plan for Saturday morning. Whether it was before or after breakfast, he would walk out of her apartment, never to be seen again. Instead, he'd fade into a memory of lips trailing against skin, fingers tangling in hair, bed frame rattling into the wall.

At least that's what was supposed to happen.

She wasn't supposed to see him again.

And she especially wasn't supposed to see him in a starship's transporter room, rushing towards her as she pressed her hand into Kiesh's side, desperate to keep the blood inside of her friend's body and not spilling out onto the transporter pad. He wasn't supposed to be there. And neither was she.

[seita]

— disinterest | hitoshi shinsou (m.)

pairing: hitoshi shinsou/f!reader

genre: fluff, smut, pwp

wordcount: 𝟸,𝟽𝟻𝟽

cw: stoner!au (graphic use of drugs, sex while under the influence)

tags: dirty talk, humiliation, cock sucking, squirting, wet&messy, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, choking, hair pulling, dumbification, degradation (name calling), creampie, cum eating, light aftercare

note: my kink is being ignored and being made to work for attention so this is self indulgent—

— you enjoyed being ignored and your boyfriend, Shinsou, is happy to indulge after a night of getting high together.

masterlist | rules

© all content belongs to hshinso 2020. do not modify or repost.  

His eyes fluttered as he took a drag from his joint, eyes fixing back on the television that displayed a video game he’d slowly been playing. Getting high with your boyfriend wasn’t something you could say you had planned for the evening but when Shinsou had gotten a call from his dealer boasting some ‘good shit’, he couldn’t resist. 

That was how you wound up in your current position. 

You were on your knees, Shinsou’s sweats pooled around his ankles with your hand wrapped around his hard cock.  His knees were spread allowing you to sit comfortably between his legs. 

You licked your lips at the sight of his long, thick cock, giving him a couple pumps, watching as a creamy bead of his precum oozed from the tip to drip down the thick vein on the underside. You licked your lips, following the bead until it met your hand, making the movements slicker.

The carpet dug into your knees almost painfully but you ignored it in favor of enveloping the hot head of his cock into your mouth. His precum was sweet on your tongue as you lapped it up, sucking the sensitive skin with quick glances at his face. His fingers twitched and for a second you thought he was going to grip your hair like he usually did when you sucked him off but he didn’t, merely continued staring at the screen of the television. 

The fact he was ignoring you like that sent a shiver down your spine. When he pretended to act as if your mouth wasn’t literally taking his cock down your throat, it never failed to make you soak your panties.

You continued to sink down, tears pricking your eyes the deeper his cock went. He pushed past your gag reflex and you choked, feeling his length throb in response to the feeling. Yet, he made no move to indicate that he even recognized you were sucking him off. 

Instead, he nursed the joint between his lips as his fingers mashed the buttons of his controller. 

For anyone else, this may have felt degrading — being on your knees with your boyfriends cock down your throat as he utterly ignored you. But for you, it was exciting. The humiliation of it made you wet. You wanted to please him, to earn his attention and praise.

Your head slipped into a dream-like haze, your mouth stuffed full of your boyfriends thick cock. His precum melting on your tongue as you swallowed around him. His thighs twitched at the feeling and you saw his thumbs hesitate on the buttons. But he quickly recovered, landing a kill and ending the round. 

He took a drag from his joint, blowing the smoke in your face. You winced, pulling back from his length with a gasp.

He gazed at you for a long second, before the music on the screen changed and he went back to paying that attention. You had half a mind to pout, you had been hoping for some praise. 

But alas, you returned to your task of swallowing him down. He was impossibly hard and you briefly wondered if he was growing any closer. The possibility that you weren’t actually doing well, in your drug-induced haze, crossed your mind and made you feel a bit self-conscious. 

That feeling only made you work harder, however. Drool started to pool in your mouth, dribbling down the sides of his length to wet the tufts of hair at the base of him. It dripped down his balls and he let out a soft sigh at the mess — just how he loved it. 

Your lips and chin were soaked and it began to reach your neck but you paid it no mind. You worked your mouth fast, bobbing your head with your eyes closed as you focused on bringing your boyfriend all the pleasure you could.

Usually, Shinsou would warn you when he was about to cum or hold off his orgasm so he could pleasure you as well. But instead, you felt the sudden rush of heat as his cock violently pulsed in your throat. You swallowed all his cum until he used his foot to push you back, letting his cock fall from your lips. Some cum  you didn’t manage to catch, dribbled down and met with the mess of your drool and his precum, but he paid it no mind. 

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, watching with a pout as he pulled his sweats back up and resumed his game. You were left sitting on the ground, cheeks burning with humiliation at the whole ordeal. 

Despite the shame he made you feel, you still looked up to admire him. He looked delectable. There was a flush to his cheeks due to his orgasm and his eyes were lidded, pupils blown wide either due to pleasure or the drugs. Still, those dark circles against his pale skin never ceased to make your heart flutter.

You managed to snag one hell of a catch. 

That thought had you crawling onto the couch, laying on your side with your head in his lap. He didn’t acknowledge you but adjusted so you could lay against him comfortably. 

Some time, between the feeling of your boyfriend pressed against you and the background noise of his video game, you dozed off. 

You woke up to him shifting, making you sit up a bit to let him slide out from beneath you. You realized he had turned his game off and put on some adult animation show you knew he enjoyed. He mumbled about going to piss and clean up before disappearing down the hallway. 

Shifting in your seat, you frowned at the sticky feeling of your panties that had grown uncomfortable. Just as you were about to stand up, he came out of the bathroom. 

He paused in front of you, eyes still lidded and you wondered how long you had been asleep and if he had continued to smoke during. You still felt the buzz of the pot in your own system and as you gazed up at him, you remembered the feeling of his cock in your throat. 

A small smirk grew across his lips as he stepped closer to you, “Are your panties wet?”

Without hesitation you nodded, shifting in your seat. He scoffed, taking a seat beside you with a sigh, shaking his head. 

“Go change them then,” he nearly laughed at the pout you made but you stood up and did as you were told anyway. 

You didn’t bother putting on your shorts again — the t-shirt you stole from him doing well enough to cover you up. When you returned to the living room, you sat beside him, still feeling the ache of need. You needed to be touched, you wanted him to touch you.

“Toshi,” you whined, scooting closer to him. 

He hummed, sipping on a soda he’d gotten from the kitchen. You sat up on your knees beside him, lifting the hem of your shirt to show him the cute pair you had put on. He took a long look at them and you felt pride at the way his throat moved as he swallowed.

“What?” he grumbled, slow gaze dragging back up to your face.

You whined, reaching for his hand. He let you move his hand beneath the band of your panties until you felt his fingertips graze your slit. You shivered at the barely contained groan he let out.

“Shit, you’re so wet,��� he groaned, middle finger dipping between your folds to find your hardened clit that was so desperate for his attention, “You liked sucking my cock that much?”

“L-Like it when you ignore me,” you confessed, making a brow perk up at your confession. 

“Aren’t you just a little slut?” he cooed, pulling his hand out of your panties, making you whine, “Strip.”

You scrambled to do as you were told, tossing your shirt and panties onto the floor until you were sitting naked before him. With surprising strength, he grabbed you hips and yanked you into his lips so that your back was pressed against his chest. You could feel that he was hard once more in the confines of his pants.

“Sit on my cock,” he ordered you, breath fanning against your sensitive ear.

You eagerly reached beneath you, to free his length. Positioning yourself above him, you slowly began to work yourself down. You hadn’t been prepped so you had to take it slow, wincing every once in a while at the stinging burn the stretch gave you. 

“Don’t move,” he grunted once you were fully seated. You whined, your walls spasming around his length. 

“I wanna cum,” you whined, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

He shrugged, “You can cum all you want,” you glanced up at him at those words. His eyes were fixated on the TV, a bored expression on his face, “Since you like being ignored so much...I’m not gonna help you.”

You were still for a moment, deciding what you were meant to do. You were steadily dripping down his cock as it pulsed inside you. Your own clit ached for a touch. You would love to feel your boyfriend’s rough fingers touching you but you realized it was something you would have to do on your own.

At least you were stuffed full of his fat cock. 

Your fingers traveled down your body to find your clit, a single touch to the bud making your thighs jump. The drugs and denial of pleasure had made you so sensitive to touch that you knew it would take no time at all for you to cum. 

You eagerly worked your bud, walls clenching tight around his cock as your high grew. Shinsou’s eyes fluttered at the feeling of you squeezing him. 

Just as you thought, you were sent headlong into an orgasm. Your body trembled against Shinsou, thighs clamping shut around your own hand at the onslaught of pleasure pummeling your body. Your cum coated his cock as you came down, panting and shaking. Your thighs fell back open, relaxing your body once again. 

Shinsou still didn’t move or comment and all you could think about was how giddy it made you feel that he was acting so unaffected by the fact his girlfriend was cumming around his cock like a little slut. 

God, you loved it. 

Just the thought had the heat rising again and your hand found its way to your clit once more. It took a bit longer to get you there this time but you finally came again with a cry of his name. Your hips circled around his cock, forcing your pleasure to new heights as you gushed messily around his length. 

In the back of your buzzing mind, you swear you could have heard him groan. But when your eyes fluttered open to look at him, he just looked bored. 

Your slick was coating his cock, making a mess that had his mouth watering. He wanted to drop to his knees and lick up every drop of your sweet cum. He clenched his fists tight where you couldn’t see his self control slowly withering away.

Instead of stopping after your orgasm, you continued to circle your clit until yet another orgasm wracked your body. This time, you couldn’t help yourself and eagerly started bouncing on his cock. You whined, still rubbing your throbbing bud. 

A rush of your cum gushed from your cunt, soaking both yours and his thighs. You cried out his name mixed with slurred praises as you squirted. The sight and feeling of painting him with your cum sent his self-control unraveling.

Before you could react, your face was pressed into the cushion of the couch with Shinsou hammering his cock into your poor cunt with everything he had. His balls slapped against your clit, making you tremble in overstimulation. You barely had a chance to come down from your high before he forced you into yet another.

He growled, as you gushed around him again. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he yanked you back on your knees so your back was pressed against him again. The second you were upright, his hand was around your throat.

“You’re such a little slut,” he snarled, hammering into your slick little cunt, “How many times have you cum, now? You’re such a little whore for my cock, just couldn’t resist stuffing this sloppy little cunt full, isn’t that right?”

“N-No!” you whined, grinding back against him, “Y-Your cock’s too good. Makin’ me cum so hard…” your words were slurred as your eyes rolled back in your head. 

He scoffed at your words, “Can’t even talk properly? Has my fat fucking cock fucked you stupid. Hm? Are you my dumb babygirl?”

The condescending, almost cruel words made you clench around him. He could be such a beast when he wanted to.

To outside viewers, Shinsou appeared almost lazy and disinterested. He didn’t talk much nor did he show much interest in things. But with you — you brought out a side of him that was borderline feral.

He lived to see you cry, squirm, and cum so hard you could barely breathe. It was a lifesource to him.

And now as you sat there, helplessly impaled on his thick length as it stuffed your sweet little cunt full, tears dripped down your cheeks at the stimulation. 

“You're never gonna be able to take anyone else’s cock again,” he growled into your ear, “I’ve ruined this little pussy so only my cock can satisfy it. Only I can treat this greedy little cunt this good, right?”

“Yes!” you shrieked but it was cut off by his hand tightening around your throat, cutting off your blood. 

“You're gonna squirt again,” he ordered, “Go on. Make a mess for me.” 

With your thighs open and his fat cock spreading your folds apart, your little clit was exposed and vulnerable to the heavy slap he suddenly laid upon it. Your body froze at the pain but instead of pulling you away from that delicious high, it sent you right over the edge.

“That's it!” he praised, releasing your throat to listen to the way you sobbed, “Such a good fucking girl creaming all over my cock. What a messy girl.”

You babbled mindlessly, gasping and trembling as he continued to ruthlessly fuck you. Your orgasm continued to rise, squirting and gushing everywhere and making a mess. 

“Cumming so hard you've turned stupid,” he teased, a cruel laugh in his voice, “That's okay baby, you don't need that useless brain of yours. All you need is my fat cock in this cute little cunt. That's all you're good for anyway, taking my cock. Maybe I should keep you as a permanent cockwarmer—”

He was cut off by a grunt, the thought of keeping you as nothing but a hole for him to use and dump his cum into sent him over the edge finally. His hot cum filled you up, eventually spilling out due to the sheer amount. It only added to the mess you'd already created. 

When he pulled out, you collapsed face first with your ass in the air. You could feel his eyes on you, watching as your twitching hole spasmed and pushed out his cum causing it to dribble down your thighs. 

You didn't put up a fight as he flipped you over onto your back. He hiked your knees up to your chest to expose your cum-filled hole. You allowed him to maneuver you as he pleased.

He enveloped your entire pussy in his mouth and sucked — his own cum filling his mouth. He groaned, sitting up to meet your lips in a fierce kiss. You whined, opening your mouth to accept his cum, eagerly swallowing it. 

Finally, he sat back and let out a breath. Climbing off the couch, he ran to the bathroom to get a wet rag to clean you off with. 

You relished in his attention, letting him clean you up and pepper you with kisses and praise. Before long, you found yourself cuddled against him in bed, whispers of his love for you on his lips as he promised to take a shower with you once you were more clear headed.

You fell asleep in the sweet embrace of your boyfriend, a full ache of lust settling in your gut at the thought of another round later.