#Snippets galore

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

fic snippet (starting line)

Be unobtrusive, Edwin told himself. You can manage this.

So he nodded at Headmaster Theodore and robotically thanked him for allowing him a tour of the premises. Then, he pushed the door to his dormitory room open to reveal five other faces.

“Our roommate,” one of the boys laughed, stretching his hands out toward Edwin. He was large and had close-cropped hair. “Finally. We’re all here together. I’m Sawyer, but everyone calls me Skinner.” He gestured to the other boys sitting beside him. “Barrow, Clive, Clayton, and Simon.”

“Cheeseman,” Barrow laughed, pointing at Clayton.

“Shut the fuck up,” Clayton snapped. “I only ate those cheese bits from the bin once-”

“And yet,” Simon clicked his tongue, “you will forever be known as Cheeseman.”

Clayton mumbled something under his breath. Edwin could not hear it, but assumed that it was unimportant.

“In any case… you are Edwin Payne?” Simon tilted his head to the side.

“Yes,” Edwin said, seeing no way out of conversing with the strange boys who he now lived with.

“What kind of name is that?” Clayton sneered. “Payne?”

In that moment, Edwin decided to refer to him internally exclusively as Cheeseman.

[the-bluepoet]

Oh great mer au artist blue, I've heard that there exists a discord server for Gladumf's fics that may or may not include exclusive fanart, theories, and maybe even... sneak peeks of an upcoming mer au ranchers story??

ohohohohh there is! and all you have to do is:

✨click here✨

[thegreatobsesso]

OOF!!! 🥲

It's Saturday, it's snowing profusely and I am alive. And I got a portion of this scene done that I like a lot.

Context: The trap Detective Cole has laid for Octavius with Milo's help is going down the next day and Milo knows it. In other words, PEAK ANGST that you, the reader, understand, but Octavius doesn't.

A choked sound escapes Milo’s throat. “That’s it, darling,” he breathes, planting his hand between Milo’s shoulder blades to thrust at a better angle. “Tell me what you want.”  “I…” He feels Milo expel a trembling breath, but he doesn’t continue. Octavius stills and rakes a hand through his hair. “I said, tell me what you want. You’re not getting anymore until you ask for it.”  Milo only drags another ragged breath where please, Sir, give me more belongs. Something is wrong. He pulls out and takes Milo in his hands, turns him around to find him crying.  The thing he claims he cannot do, even when he wants to. "Color?" Milo sobs and does not reply. There are no restraints to undo, so he simply takes his hands off Milo and sits back. Milo hangs his head and pulls the comforter around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he gulps, voice thready.  Octavius doesn’t understand. “What did I do wrong?” he asks. It seemed a safe and fair question, but it only upsets Milo further. “Nothing,” he says miserably, wiping furiously at his tear-stained cheeks. “It’s me, I’m… god, I’m the worst. I’m horrible, Octavius, I’m, I’m a horrible person.” The sight of Milo’s tears is still impossibly attractive, but hearing him say something like that brings him no pleasure. “By every objective measurement I’m aware of, I’m a horrible person, Milo,” he offers. “I’m certainly no scholar of morality, but it seems an absurd thing to say about yourself.” He’d swear by the look on Milo’s face that he wanted to be held, touched, comforted. But this is why the strict framework of safewords suits him so well; he has no innate sense of other people’s desires, feelings or intentions unless they are explicitly color-coded, and no color at all is red by default.  “I need to go,” Milo says, voice tight and movements stilted as he rises from the bed and dresses himself. Octavius allows it, not wishing to contribute to his distress but flummoxed all the same. The only thing he’d done out of the ordinary tonight was push his luck during their dance, state a desire for an additional claim on Milo’s time and attention to which he didn’t seem entirely receptive. But he hadn’t demanded it, only asked. Was that still wrong of him? At any rate, if Milo was dressing, then perhaps he ought to at least put on his robe. He’d intended to simply let him take his leave, but without warning Milo tugs him close and kisses him, close-mouthed and chaste. It’s unexpected and Octavius finds himself blinking into the seemingly overwhelming sadness in Milo’s eyes. “I just,” he stumbles, clutching at his velvet lapels, “I just want you to know, you, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m gonna go now, but can you just… just remember that, okay? Just promise me you’ll remember that?” Octavius has no clue what he’s on about, but it feels important, so he nods. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll remember.” Milo cups his face and manages a poorly constructed smile. “Good,” he says simply, and then he goes. Octavius can only stare at the door after his departure, mind whirring pointlessly over matters beyond its capacity. People are strange, he concludes, and goes to bed.

✨ WIP intro

🔖 tag list: @winterandwords // @foxboyclit //@revenantlore

@space-writes // @indecentpause // @words-after-midnight

comment to be added or removed!

📝 all posts from WIP: gay crime bdsm story

[irellia]

I AM ON MY KNEES SCREAMING ALL OVER THIS VID goodness me!! it takes a lot of NERVE to stare into someone BURSTING like a mf firework with rage and beg “COOL IT COOL IT COOL IT”

he is so SLEEK. so focused, ruthless, relentless, an agent of his own will, he can already see the finish line and nothing’s waiting for him there but death but he’s already dead anyway, he’s got nothing to lose. LIKE.

i can’t explaing how much I LOVE writing modern mizu as yakuza-born vengeful, furious, tormented orphan unleashed like a raging inferno upon the world, hungered for revenge!!!!! this is my fav AU and i am OBSESSED

he is the boogeyman? mizu is the onryo. he kills for what’s been violently taken from him? so does SHE and she’s unstoppable, uncompromising, ferocious, unhinged I AM RAMBLING but some parts of my story just have me so floored because I frantically, fiendishly adore this modern version of Mizu SO BAD

“One of the russians asks him incredulously if he’s got a woman stashed away somewhere. ’‘probably in a freezer” Vladmir, the driver, comments later. Mizu does not answer. She does not smile. Apathetically she slowly dons her leather jacket, readjusts her shades on her nose. In the morning, a man washes up on the banks of the river. Vladmir does not show up at work.

LIKE SHE. SHE!!!

and when she cries out in desperation, says “Mizu please. Fuck, please—” Mizu stills the hand between her legs to complete motionlessness, growls. “No— ride my hand.” And she does, god, she does, she’s a wild thing on her lap, feral with desire; she clutches at her shoulders and rolls her hips violently back and forth, lets her fingers sink inside her again and again, snapping her hips forward, hungered for more. Mizu keeps her hand achingly still, tightly pressed against her pussy, but she, too, is completely gone, hanging on by a thread; she watches her ride her hand, feels her walls spasm around her fingers, feels them quiver, god she’s burning from the inside out, taking her in again and again, she’s barely lifting her hips off of her now, keeps her fingers buried so deep inside her, Mizu thinks nothing will ever be able to fill her like her fingers have,

LIKE BITCH. why are you so FERAL.

She looks like an electrical storm waiting to happen. There is thunder in the way she cracks her bones, slow, precise, everything about her is so, dark and hungered, even the way she looks at you has teeth. She wonders who Smoke really is at 4 a.m. when the rest of the world is sleeping. She’s never seen her fall asleep, just once, back in that room, overtaken by fever…

listen writing this chapter is absolutely DEMOLISHING me. I am trying so so hard to find the right words and ways to make you all understand how INSANE she is, trying so hard to somehow cross all the wires. all of them. every wire in her very human damaged beyond repair (huh) brain—rage and fury, love, desire, sex, hatred, hunger, repulsion, shame, pragmatism and choice; affection and how she LOATHES it because she is so unworthy she doesn't know what to do with it , her anger that eats her up right down to her bones, pride, betrayal, her selfishness. her lies. all of them, every single one—make it snarl up like a bunch of her lover’s necklaces left on top of her dresser before she leaves her.

She rips right through the night like a bullet, fills her hands with blood. when she comes back she sits soaked in blood that is not her own on the floor and slowly, perfectly, unerringly unpicks those necklaces left on her dresser, so that Geraldine can wear them again. She does not react when she thanks her but eats her out like she is starving for it and when she tries to return the favour Mizu shrugs her off and takes the COLDEST iciest shower possible. when she leaves, she does not look back. BYE this girl is insane I love her. Mizu in her dapper suit, shades on, neon light glinting off its pristine skeleton, that sleek curling strand of her hair falling into her eye, sprawled out, legs open, the two top buttons of her shirt undone and a perpetual cold snarl on her mouth which is very sweet and sometimes slick with lipstick.... PEACE OUT

[inaudible-summoner]

Serious? He supposed he was a bit serious or stoic, putting a hand quizzically to his chin, he never thought about it.

A pause

He'd then shake his head. "Guess I'm just...quiet by nature. Was like this since I was a kid." He'd response with a small smile. One of the few times he told the truth, Bas didn't know the group were humans, but that was a real snippet of his life. He got it when he was attacked, and now. it's tiring to talk. "

Help? If you wanna keep watch with me, I wouldn't mind...to company." He responded.

@inaudible-summoner continued from here: X

"I was just checking up on you. You seemed so serious so I wanted to know if I could help you with anything."

*Bas had been watching for a while but hadn't said a thing as the male didn't want to disturb him should it be important. However it was a while and he was concerned for his friend.*

[mariasont]

Casualties Of Control - A.H

caught in a moment of panic, you freeze, but hotch guides your next moves, revealing just how comforting surrendering control can be

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: age gap, power imbalance, sexual tension, anxiety/self-doubt galore, gun violence, near-death experience, hurt/comfort, depictions of trauma responses, authority kink, themes of submission and control, brief mention of parental emotional neglect wc: 3k request: here

You were starting to think someone should stage an intervention, maybe Garcia or JJ, because this is getting borderline pathetic. More specifically, you, are getting borderline pathetic.

The second Hotch speaks, reality melts into background noise, and you’re zeroed in on the column of his throat, the subtle movement of muscle beneath perfectly pressed shirt collars.

You’re standing in the middle of a crime scene, dirt kicking up around your sensible shoes, yet all you can think about is the shift of tension in his jaw. Tighten, loosen, swallow — rinse and repeat. It’s mortifying, really, this fixation.

You wonder why it happens or if he even realizes he’s doing it. Maybe it’s an unconscious reflex, his overwhelming need for control compressed into a single, visible place. Authority, responsibility, and his entire leadership style condensed into that twitch. It’d be poetic if it wasn’t so distracting.

And really, truly, genuinely, you need to pull yourself together because Morgan is giving you a side-eye that suggests he’s not only noticed your gawking, but worse, has developed several theories about it.

Hotch’s instructions spill out rapid fire, and you’re halfway to zoning out, catching snippets — Morgan, perimeter. Reid, coordinate with local PD. 

You force yourself to tune in just in time to realize you’ve missed most of what he’s saying, something vaguely alarming about the missing witness slipping past your ears. When Hotch says your name, you flinch, probably visibly, and snap upright, trying (likely failing spectacularly) to look alert.

“You’re with me.”

And then he’s turning, moving, and naturally, instinctively, you fall into step beside him.

It’s fine, you reason, it’s not that you mind. You really don’t. Still, there’s a small part of you, buried beneath layers of admiration and self-doubt, that’s starting to twitch with impatience. You’ve been here for five cases now and you assumed by this point you’d graduate from perpetual trainee shadow to, well, anything else.

You remember Reid telling you he earned independence fairly quickly, and Morgan practically started the job fully formed. But you’re still following dutifully in Hotch’s shadow, like a duckling too nervous to swim on its own. Is it him? Is it you? Is there some glaring flaw he sees, something that screams liability, too-green-to-function-alone? You bite the inside of your cheek, silencing your insecurities before they start screaming louder.

You’re practically speed-walking at this point, struggling to match Hotch’s long strides as the sun cooks your brain into a scrambled mush.

Your fingertips shield your eyes, squinting hard against the glare, cursing your impulsiveness — rushing out this morning after the team like a lovesick intern, leaving behind basic necessities like water. Rookie mistake. You’ll be dehydrated and delirious by noon, hallucinating your own incompetence in vivid detail.

Hotch doesn't even spare you a sidelong glance your way when he thrusts a water bottle toward you, eyes still scanning the horizon, speaking into his radio.

You stare dumbly at it for a second, and he must sense your confusion, because he tacks on, “You always forget to grab one. Drink.”

It sounds more gentle chiding than reprimand, but your face warms all the same.

The moment the bottle touches your lips, your body moves on autopilot, obeying Hotch’s casual command like it’s ingrained in your DNA. You’re pretty sure that’s concerning, how effortlessly you bend to his wishes, but introspection on that front can wait, especially since you’re burning alive under more than just the summer heat.

Without conscious thought, you offer the bottle back to him. 

Hotch pauses mid-sentence, the radio chatter fading momentarily as he eyes the bottle in mild confusion. 

But he takes it, pressing his mouth exactly where yours had been just seconds ago.

The simple action triggers a cascade of horribly inappropriate thoughts — mostly involving other, much less professional ways you’d rather be sharing space with his lips. Your imagination provides a cinematic experience of saliva exchange methods that have absolutely nothing to do with staying hydrated.

Wonderful. 

Your brain officially needs adult supervision.

Hotch, unfortunately observant, asks immediately, “You okay?”

“Fine!” Your voice pitches too high. Words tumble recklessly from your lips, an avalanche of rational-sounding nonsense designed solely to bury the fact that you’ve gone and made this weird. “Actually, if the unsub abducted the witness from the parking lot instead of her home, doesn’t that significantly change the risk factor? Public place, daylight — it would require confidence. That implies either past experiences or familiarity with the location —,”

You’re practically tripping over your own tongue, but your reasoning sounds airtight, thankfully. Because while your mouth may be spewing perfectly acceptable analysis, your brain is still utterly fixated on Hotch’s lips and their newly established indirect intimacy. 

Please let him not notice that.

Hotch considers your point, oblivious to your internal meltdown — or mercifully pretending to be. “That’s a good point.”

You’re in said parking lot before you realize it, baking on the blacktop, the car ride here an absolute blank.

It’s so hot your shoes practically fuse with the pavement, sticking with every step. Hastily shoving sunglasses onto your nose provides some mercy, but it does little to shield you from the full-body assault of sunlight, droplets of sweat quickly making trails down your collarbones. 

Reid would undoubtedly be rattling off something about albedo, thermal something-or-other, or some complicated explanation he pulled from a random academic paper. You simply classify it as outrageously, freakishly hot.

Hotch stands near the SUV, jacket discarded in favor of rolled-up sleeves. 

You discreetly pop open two buttons at your collar, self-consciousness momentarily forgotten in your bid for self-preservation, fingers grazing sweaty skin. 

Hotch’s mild, pointed throat-clear pulls your attention sharply, and your hands fall innocently back to your sides. 

He returns his gaze to the lot, brow furrowed in thought as he begins, “So, our unsub takes a woman from a busy parking lot in broad daylight, and nobody notices. What’s your read on that?”

You swallow painfully.

“Either he’s invisible, or everyone else is oblivious. Maybe both. More realistically, he’s non-threatening — at least initially. Approachable, trustworthy enough to not raise any red flags.”

His eyes flicker to the security cameras. “The unsub knew enough to pick a blind spot and a busy hour. Probably wasn’t his first time.”

“Right,” you agree. “Plus, no personal items were left behind, her keys, phone, everything gone with her. She went willingly at first.”

“Or he was convincing enough to make it appear that way,” Hotch adds.

Sweat trickles annoyingly down your spine, pooling uncomfortably between your shoulder blades. You glance sideways at Hotch, baffled by how unfazed he seems, looking like he’s casually waiting in a nice, breezy room rather than cooking alive in this inferno masquerading as a parking lot.

“I want you to check the eastern side, see if local PD missed anything.”

There’s a flash of doubt, a brief impulse to argue that maybe your efforts would be better spent elsewhere. A tiny voice in the back of your mind suggests hesitantly that maybe you’d earn his respect if, just once, you challenged his orders instead of quietly complying. But that impulse quickly wilts under the addictive rush you feel in gaining his approval.

It’s uncomfortable to admit, even privately, that you like the certainty of following his lead. You trust his judgment implicitly, which is a dangerous revelation you haven’t been able to shake. But even as the realization unsettles you, you’re already heading toward the eastern side, willingly and undeniably eager to please.

You’ve built your whole identity around color-coded calendars, neatly ordered lists, and near-pathological insistence on control. Yet, somehow, here you are, feeling embarrassingly grateful, borderline euphoric, simply because Aaron Hotchner told you exactly where to stand. You’ve either hit rock bottom or stumbled onto a whole new level of pathetic, jury’s still out. Deep down, you suspect you should be significantly more concerned about your state of mind than you actually are.

After a fruitless couple of hours spent cooking yourself alive on the asphalt, Hotch finally takes mercy on you, shepherding you back into the blessed relief of the artificially cooled paradise of the station.

You have a complicated relationship with local police stations. Sure, they’re usually air-conditioned, blessedly cool havens compared to the heat simmering outside. But then again, they’re always saturated with that same smell of charred coffee and day-old donuts. This station, particularly, is no exception. 

You push aside your petty complaints, focusing instead on Hotch’s directive to pair up with Prentiss and sift through alibis the local PD has halfheartedly checked.

You had gotten straight to work, ostensibly because it was necessary but mostly to distract yourself from the soul-crushing awareness Emily’s presence always inspired. She’d always been calm, collected, entirely too put-together, a combination that paradoxically eased your mind while also amplifying every self-conscious insecurity you owned.

You vividly recall your first few interactions with her, particularly the time she’d gently pointed out you’d been reading the map upside-down for five solid minutes.

The memory makes you cringe even now, but Emily had laughed with you, not at you, instantly easing your embarrassment. From the start, she’d balanced teasing and patience, correcting your mistakes without ever making you feel incompetent. It only deepened your appreciation, and, if you were being honest, your mild hero-worship of her.

Your nostalgic reverie about Emily implodes instantly, ruthlessly obliterated by the sudden deafening crack of gunfire. 

The room seems to tumble sideways, your equilibrium evaporation, replaced by sickening vertigo. 

The bullet glimmers so close to your temple that it nudges your hair, a grotesque mockery of intimacy. 

Your mind barely has time to piece together what’s happened before the shouting starts, voices exploding around you. In a dizzy blur, uniforms flood the space, tackling the unsub to the ground.

You stare forward, dazed, your senses dialed down to a murmur as if you’ve sunken underwater without realizing it. Emily materializes in front of you, blurred at first, then rapidly sharpening into focus, her lips moving quickly, shaping syllables you can’t fully grasp. Her face reflects fierce urgency, her stance instinctively protective, something that vaguely registers, but your thoughts stay stubbornly cloudly, lost somewhere between numb disbelief and fragmented comprehension.

Reality rushes back in as Emily’s voice finally floods your ears, her gaze anxiously probing yours for confirmation that you’re alright.

“I’m fine,” you reassure quickly, the words steady enough that they almost convince even you. “What do you need me to do?”

How could you freeze like that?

Breathe in. Count to three. Exhale slowly. You push the panic bubbling up into a box neatly stored behind well-worn barriers of composure. Control slides gracefully back into position, a transparent illusion spun from willpower alone. 

Your mother had been your first and relentless instructor, composure valued above tenderness, flawlessness demanded before comfort was ever considered. Beneath perfectly pinned-up hair and practiced smiles, she’d etched these lessons deeply. You’ve always been made from shards, a careful mosaic of concealed fractures, sewn together by unsaid apologies and quiet disappointments.

You learned early on that the safest place was behind a perfected facade.

She places a hand on your arm. “Maybe you should sit down for a minute.”

“Really, Em, I’m okay,” you assure her quickly. It fits perfectly, even if it feels painfully dishonest now. “Just tell me what you need next.”

You feel your reassurance wobbling like a well-used record, repetitive and empty, but you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. If you speak too openly, you risk Emily seeing the brittleness beneath your words, the terrifying image branded behind your eyes — your body lying cold, lifeless on the station floor, if you had just been one inch to the left. Your father would’ve gotten that call, your desk would’ve been quietly emptied, and your entire life would’ve ended mid-sentence. 

Hotch moves purposefully into your line of sight.

Your attention snags on the empty space where Emily had just stood. You hadn’t noticed her leaving, but that’s typical — Hotch tends to clear the space around you, intentional or not, whenever he addresses you directly. You wonder briefly if it’s because he senses your tendency to falter under scrutiny, or perhaps because he expects you to embarrass yourself again.

How long has he been standing there, waiting patiently for your response?

“Sorry,” you say quickly, refocusing on his face. “Could you repeat that?”

His voice is steady as he repeats, more gently this time, “I asked if you’re hurt.”

“No.”

You glance down quickly immediately afterward. You’re not even sure that’s true — had you actually checked, or had the adrenaline blocked out any injuries? You scan yourself quickly, a little unsure, a lot overwhelmed. Nothing seems wrong, at least nothing visible, but then your attention flits anxiously around the room, eyes instinctively looking for the unsub.

They tackled him, right? So where did they take him afterward — was he cuffed, detained, secured? More importantly, did they figure out why he barged in and opened fire? 

Hotch’s gaze sweeps quickly over you before his hands are gently tipping your head, his fingertips lightly exploring the place where the bullet almost found its mark. Warm fingers carefully part your hair, brushing just above your ear, and suddenly, you’re painfully aware of how tender he’s being, despite everything.

“Just to be safe, the EMTs will check you out,” he says, confident you’re unharmed but cautious nonetheless.

You nod, but you know exactly what he’s thinking, exactly what he must have seen. You were careless, oblivious — frozen solid at the worst possible moment. You’d slipped, and it almost cost everything. Your incompetence nearly ended your life, it could’ve endangered Emily, Hotch, the team. 

How could he trust you after this? Shame blooms hotly, choking your breath, because you know better.

This job doesn’t allow second chances, and you nearly used yours up.

“I’ll just — let me find Emily, then we can —,”

“You’re not doing anything right now.” Hotch’s interruption is firm, an immovable wall you know you can’t scale. “You’re staying exactly here until I say otherwise.”

You feel the sting of his words, immediately interpreting them as proof he no longer trusts you. 

“I’m not restricting you because of anything you did or didn’t do,” he says firmly, understanding clear in his eyes. “You’ve just experienced severe trauma. The EMTs will check you out first, then I’ll bring you up to speed. You’re not being sidelined. I’m going to handle the scene, and once everything is secure, we will regroup and go from there. Do you understand?”

You nod, but your trust feels tissue-thin, easily shredded by self-doubt. Hotch studies you carefully, eyes narrowing just enough to communicate clearly that he knows exactly how hollow your assurance really is.

Still, he nods back gently, pulling out a chair. You sit.

Hotch effortlessly stepped into the space your panic had left open. You watched as he moved calmly through the room, issuing commands. He spoke briefly with the EMTs first, outlining precisely what they needed to check, sparing you the uncomfortable necessity of trying to articulate your confusion.

Moments later, another water bottle appeared in your grapes, placed decisively by Hotch, who barely broke stride in his quiet management of everything around you.

He anticipated your questions and worries before you could voice them, confirming that the unsub was secure and that no one else was injured. 

Each directive he gave on your behalf made you aware of just how badly you needed this — someone stronger, steadier, more certain than yourself, carefully taking control away.

Discovering that surrendering control could feel like finally breathing after holding your breath for far too long was unsettling yet profoundly comforting.

The EMT now moves cautiously around you, examining the side of your head, brushing your hair aside to search for injuries you know aren’t there. Still, you remain perfectly still.

You find Hotch standing nearby, arms loosely crossed, fixed on the EMT’s every movement. He occasionally interrupts with instructions, and the micromanagement that should feel excessive but instead makes you feel grateful.

“I’m sorry,” you finally blurt out. “I completely blanked today. I didn’t respond when I should’ve, and it put everyone in danger. I should’ve been more alert, and…” 

You swallow thickly, shame edging painfully into your words, gaze fixed stubbornly downward.

“You didn’t blank,” Hotch interrupts. “You experienced something called perceptual narrowing. It’s common under severe stress, especially when you’re caught completely off-guard. Your brain was trying to process too much at once, it’s an instinctive reaction, not a failure.” 

You nod hesitantly, biting your lip as you struggle to voice your lingering frustration. “I know that makes sense, but it’s more than just freezing. It’s afterward when I realized how little I actually contributed.”

“You weren’t supposed to contribute right then,” Hotch reminds you. “You were under strict instructions to stay exactly here and let me handle the rest. Trust me, I can manage just fine.” His eyes glimmer briefly with amusement. “Unless you’re saying you don’t trust me to take control?”

You quickly shake your head, cheeks burning hotter now that the EMT has moved away, leaving no buffer between you and Hotch.

“No — no, that’s not what I meant,” you stammer. “Of course I trust you. Probably more than —” You catch yourself abruptly, clearing your throat awkwardly. “I mean, I trust your judgment completely.”

Hotch regards you for a moment, a faint, knowing smile ghosting briefly across his lips before he masks it again.

“I know what you meant,” he says evenly, though the warmth in his voice suggests he heard far more than your careful correction. “I appreciate your trust.” He pauses briefly. “I’ll try not to abuse it.”

Abuse it. That is such a potent phrase. Could he? Would he? The rational answer is no, but another voice counters with maybe. The potential hangs there, tantalizing and terrifying in equal measure. You’ve handed him someone precious, breakable, and yet the risk of abuse feels softer, sweeter, when it’s him.

“You wouldn’t,” you whisper after a moment. “But I think even if you did, I might forgive you.”

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[arbitrarykiwi]

will there be more producer reader x thanos??

i loved the last one so much!😫

LIVE in the Studio

Originally it was planned as a one off…but ask and ye shall receive 🤲🤭 hope you like it nonnie!!!! sorry for the wait 🧎‍♀️

A/N: if you haven’t read the first producer!reader x thanos you can find it here! This can be read as a one off, but is based on the relationship from my previous fic :)

Warnings: smut (18+) , p in v sex , dry humping , oral (f receiving) , doggystyle, creampie , squirting , multiple orgasms , sex while being recorded (audio), dirty talk , may be more read at your own risk

It was so late…you hated yourself for doing this once again. You really needed to separate work from life. Yet here you are- on your scheduled off day- working over the same small snippet of a beat over and over and over.

It’s not even the actual music composition! That would interest you! That’s why you became a producer! It’s the fucking intro. You know…the maybe 3 second clip of the rappers tag or some cheesy line spoken by some girl about how badly they need the rapper of whatever song it’s on.

You know it’s important, all part of the song is. And arguably the intro is the most important, the part that grabs people’s attention and gets them hooked. But since you know that, you’re prepared! You have samples and tracks galore of various women speaking into the mic in a girly, high pitched tone. Each saying different things in different cadences in different languages. You have enough of these sound files to have finished 300 song intros by now!!

That was if your current client was normal. But he wasn’t. Far from it.

“Nah…too boring.” He says, lackadaisically- you can hear the disinterest in his voice. “C’mon señorita…” He dramatically groans, “that’s all you got!? I know you can do so much better.”

You groan, elbows thumping against the desk as you put your head in your hands, palms rubbing at your tired as you suck in a deep breath. “You do realize I took the time out of my day…my off day…to help you with this and you’re being a fuckin’ dick.”

You deadpan, turning away from the computer in your studio. Your eyes are burning and you’re so exhausted. You have no idea why you agreed to do this.

But when you turn completely, making eye contact with the hazy eyed, every cocky grin of the late night client. A smile breaks through the annoyed frown.

“You’re complaining but yet, you answered my text, you unlocked the studio, and here you are 3 hours later working your magic….all for me.” Thanos grins, leaning forward on the couch and resting his elbows on his knees.

A blunt hangs lazily from his hands, his purple hair is a mess- sticking up in every which way. He makes a show of looking younger you over, drinking you in like the finest wine he’s ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

“You love me! Don’t deny it. That’s why you answered and let me in so late. You jus’ love spendin’ time with Thanos.”

You cringe at him referring to himself by his own stage name. You’ve known him for so long, he’s Choi Subong to you. You were making beats for him since before he even had his stage name!

“I let you in and answered you because you said all you needed was a simple intro for a song you already had written…” you say, scooting your desk chair across the floor, closer to him. “But that’s not what we’re dealing with here…now is it?”

You lean in, matching his position- elbows resting on your knees. Your face is inches from his, as you speak he is overwhelmed by your perfume.

And hes but a man! When you lean forward hes graced with the perfect tease of your cleavage, tits very obviously not contained by a bra- evident by the visual of your nipples poking against the shirt you wore. He wants to make a comment, one that will make your thighs rub together like they did that one night…

The night he’s thought about over and over since it’s happened. Hell, he’s fisted his dick raw remembering the way your cunt felt wrapped around him. Neither of you mentioned it though. You two went about your normal routine, sure you both flirted a bit more than usual but neither of you brought up the night he fucked you stupid while you were both tripping.

While he’s distracted, you yank the blunt from his fingers and glare at him- it has no real mirth behind it. You take a long drag, the weed relaxing your body and wrapping your mind in a warm silken feeling that makes the late night in the studio a little more tolerable.

“I have gone through all the files I have, Subong-“

“Thanos.”

You roll your eyes and playfully huff, “Okay…Thanos” you emphasize his stage name in a tone that has him shifting in the couch, legs spreading to ease the uncomfortable feeling in his pants. “I’ve gone through all the fucking files. You liked none of them. What the fuck do you want for this intro?!”

“I mean seriously, I’ve gone through every possible option and even edited the ones I have to fit whatever image you had in your head for this, it’s been hours and we have nothing. Not even an idea of what you want for this.” You say, scooting your chair back and turning to face the computer once again. Your fingers work against the keyboard, blunt loosely hanging from your lips.

He wants to hear you, he does…but the way you’re rambling about your practice with an enthusiasm that almost seems engraved into your bones and mixed within your blood- he thinks it’s the prettiest you’ve ever looked.

His body moves on its own. He stands from the couch and walks across the studio. Once behind your chair he stills. Thanos smirks, planting his hands on the desk on either side of you, effectively caging you into your seat. He leans down, his head resting on the back of the chair to your left. He’s so close you can feel the warmth of his breath fan your cheek.

“I dunno what ya’ want me to say sweets…none of them are what I’m looking for. None of them fit.” His voice is low and gravely, flowing through your ears and filling your mind with static. “And you’re gonna tell me I’m wrong? I think you know just as well as I do that none of those are exactly what I need.” He says, lifting a hand up to point a finger at the monitor open to a file of audio snippets.

You sigh, as much as you hated it, he’s right. Not one of the hundreds of clips you have fit the song. Sure the work. But they aren’t perfect. “Okay fine. What do we do then? It’s 3am I can’t call up anyone else to come record some voice line for an intro.” You respond, turning your head to look at him the best you could.

He turns his head, mirroring your movement, a devious grin on his lips. The low light of the music studio and the blue hue of the computer’s monitor makes it to where you can almost see your own reflection in his pupils. Blue eyes, pupils blown so big you can only see a sliver of iris, dart from your eyes to your lips.

It takes everything in him not to jump on you then and there, looking up at him from your chair oh so expectantly, lips slightly parted as if you were just waiting for him to kiss you. You were- but you would never admit that to yourself, let alone him. Images of your plush lips wrapped around his cock dance in his mind like his own personal porn video.

“You’ll have to do it then.”

His words make you come out of whatever trance you were in. “W-what? No i’m not….” You look to your computer, the trinkets on your desk, really anywhere but him. “You don’t want me to do that…I won’t sound good. I don’t have the voice like those girls-“

“Bullshit”

You pause, turning your chair more to face him. Thanos is stood tall now, stepping to the side to look you directly in the face, arms crossed.

“Thanos…be serious you don’t want me to do the intro. I don’t have that…” you trailed off, hands waving in the air as you try to find your words, “that whiny, needy, breathy tone you’re looking for here.”

He scoffs at your words, looking at you as if you just tried to argue that the sky was red. “You sure had that tone when I was balls deep in you the other week.”

Your eyes widen, face flushing as the unspoken night of intimacy was brought up. The redder your face becomes and the wider your eyes get as you try to find your words has his grin growing into something sadistic- like he’s finding joy in your embarrassment (he is).

“F-fucking hell…” you choke out, trying to sound indignant. “You’re unbelievable…” you grumble, crossing your arms and scowling at him.

“Yeah, yeah…” Thanos says brushing you off, eyes rolling nearly to the back of his skull. Tattooed hands grip the back of your desk chair and spin you back forward, facing the microphone that sits on your desk, pop filter inches from your nose. “I’m unbelievable, annoying, making you work on your off day…blah blah.”

As he speaks he puts your headphones on your ears and leans over you, hand on your keyboard and mouse as he begins to set up to record. “Why don’t you….” He begins in a singsong voice, “give me what I want and then you’ll be free to go back home and sleep…” He clicks record.

“Spending all this time complaining when ya could have just gone and done the damn thing already and I would have been out of your hair…” A finger finds itself twirling a strand of your hair as he speaks.

You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, his cologne is all you can smell. Drawing in a shuddering breath you look blankly at the filter in front of you, thighs pressing together to ease an ache you didn’t realize had began to bloom. “What the fuck do you want me to say?”

He shrugs, “give me somethin’ like…” He hums to himself and smirks, “‘Thanos it’s so hard~’” he mocks a female voice, voice cracking as he moans out the words. You can’t help but laugh, your own giggle echoing out through the speakers. The sound dies down when you realize that it’s now your turn to do something, give him the intro he wants.

Your eyes flutter shut drawing in a breath as you lean forward closer to the microphone. “Thanos~” You draw out the name with a wanton purr, you might as well do it right if you’re gonna do it, “…it’s so hard.”

You sit back, opening your eyes and spinning your chair around to look at the purple haired rapper behind you. “That work?? Can I go back to bed now?” You ask. Trying to do anything to end this torment you’ve been put through.

Your eyes look over him from bottom to top, catching the very obvious tent in his pants and the was his cheeks are flushed. “Are you seriously hard right now?! From that?!” You say, trying your best to sound mad but admittedly the visual is making your mouth water.

He shakes his head ‘no’, that’s the only reaction you get. “W-what?!” You babble out, it’s cute, he thinks. “You do it then!!” You say, glaring at him like it would do anything.

He makes his way across the studio in two long strides. Large hands grip the back of the chair and tug it to the side. You assume he’s gonna sit down and direct you to what he wants, that would be easy. But no, when you stand up out of the desk chair, offering it to him, he pushes it out of the way completely.

With practiced effort and in quick succession- he moves. He’s pressing himself behind you, one hand gripping your shoulder and pushing you forward. You hate how pliant you are under his touch, immediately folding forward with his light push and landing chest first on the desk.

You lift your chest up the slightest bit to look behind you. You’re trying to catch his eye to glare at him with feigned anger but his gaze is trained downward. His hand that’s not outstretched to your shoulder is pushing up your shirt, fingers dancing over the dimples in your back before going lower to feel over the globes of your ass.

“You didn’t need a f-fucking intro you just wanted to get your dick wet- ohhh fuccckkk” your sentence is cut short when Thanos, the ever confident man he was, grinds into you. He’s not teasing with it, no, he’s pressing his clothed bulge in between your ass cheeks and making sure he catches the zipper of his jeans just right on your cunt. His hips roll slow and steady, pressing into you as if he’s trying to fuck you through the layers of clothes between you two.

“Oh yeah! Seeeeee~ That’s perfect!” He chuckles out, hand crossed over your back and gripping the plush fat of your hips. “Somethin’ jus’ like that…” he says, the octave of his voice dropping. The hand of on your shoulder moves, reaching further over you to grab the microphone and move it in front of you. “Let’s see if we can get you to do something like that again….gotta get the perfect take, huh?”

You bite your lip, eyes already threatening to roll back into your head as you feel the thick imprint of his cock grind into your shorts. A muffled moan is caught in your throat as the fabric of your underwear and shorts, pushed by his cock, rocks into your clit in the most delicious way.

“Awh c’mon…” Thanos whines, you can practically hear the pout on his face without even turning back to look at him, “don’t hide all your noises now…don’t you wanna finish this up quick and get back to bed?” He teases, leaning over you so his lips ghost along the shell of your ear.

You sigh out, the feeling of him trapping you against the desk, pushing his clothed cock harder against the now soaked fabric of your shorts has your mind hazy, all notions of being bratty and talking back are swept from your mind and replaced with the long suppressed need you had for the egotistical rapper.

Painted nails dig into your hips, both of his hands finding purchase on the plush skin. He pulls himself back up to a standing position, eyes turned downward to look at the way your ass is pressed against him, his fingers digging to the the flesh that spills over the waistband of your shorts. A low, animalistic growl reverberates within his throat has he keeps the steady rhythm of rocking you back against him.

Suddenly the feeling of his cock pressing into your covered entrance is gone. His hands remain on your hips, slowly dragging downward to splay his palms across your ass. When you crane your neck backwards you can’t even stop the wanton moan that falls from your lips.

Thanos is on his knees, hands gripping at your ass cheeks and pushing upwards, spreading you open for him. His face is so close to your clothed cunt, eyes right in line with the large darkened area of your shorts you know is there. “Fuckin’ messy thing….” He mumbles in an awestruck, breathless tone. One hand pulls away from your ass to trace a finger down the emphasized crease of your pussy in your shorts.

You keen, hands clawing at the desk as a shaky, soft moan rolls off your tongue, hips moving on their own and pushing back into his hand. “Seee~” He coos, “I knew she missed me…soaked right through these shorts…” as he speaks his fingertips slide under the hem of the shorts that fall on your ass. He pulls at both sides of the fabric, exposing more of your ass to him. His eyes are fixated at the imprint of your cunt that is so very visible, the fabric of your shorts impossibly soaked.

One of his hands drops from your ass, fingers coming up to ghost around the silhouette of your clit in tight circles. “Mmmphf fuck…” you let out after a shaky exhale, knees nearly buckling from the stimulation. Your head snaps back forward, forehead falling to the desk. Thanos chuckles, he’s so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cunt.

“Hmmm…” he says, as if he’s thinking over the answer to life, “not quite what I’m looking for….need something more.” He teases, like it’s even for the intro at this point.

“Y-you gotta give me m-more.” You’re spitting out, trying to sound some kind of authoritative. You weakly lifting your head off the desk to look back at him and if you were in any other situation, the mocking look he gives you would have nearly made you kick him out but at this point….fuck he looks so good.

“Ohhooo…look at you tryna’ be all bossy and dominant.” Thanos laughs in your face, eyes trained on you like a hawk. He nods his head to the side, motioning to your pussy, “not really workin’ when you’ve soaked through your shorts like some teen seeing her favorite boyband.” He pulls at the fabric of your shorts, gripping the middle of them with one hand, fingers looping through both leg holes. He pulls up, dragging the seam of your shorts right against your aching clit.

Your back arches, hips pressing back searching for any kind of stimulation, a broken whine of his name ripping through your chest. “That’s more like it….” His hand slides lower, back of his hand pressing against your cunt, “tell me what ya want sweets, I’ll give it to ya’, you know I will…jus’ gotta ask.” He practically purrs out, adjusting his grip on your shorts to slip his fingers under your panties as well, gripping both of the garments in his hand, face moving impossibly closer, his breath fanning your cunt.

Your mind spins, fighting to have some decorum and to list all the things you wanted him to do to you like a mile long check list. Lust wins over in the end and you suck in a shaking breath, “N-need your tongue, fuck, please…” you whine, pressing your hips back, searching for his face. His grin widens, just thinking of the way that would sound being played back.

His hand pulls the fabric of your shorts and panties to the side, letting out a low moan of his own when he’s inches away from your glistening cunt, puffy and leaking for him. “I’ve been thinking bout this cunt every fucking night since you let me fuck…” Thanos drawls out, free hand reaching up to trace a line up and down your cunt, collecting your arousal on his fingers.

“You’re fucking dripping, haven’t even touched you….dry humping gets you going that bad, huh?”

You mewl, scratching at the wood of your desk, trying to have some restraint not to push yourself back onto his fingers. It would be so easy to sink the long digits into your cunt.

“Just fucking do something!” You cry out, getting impatient. The need you felt in your lower stomach was becoming unbearable.

He laughs, a sound that soon becomes muffled as his mouth engulfs your pussy. Your eyes are rolling back, a sound akin to a mewl falling from your lips.

Messy as ever, he eats you like he would never get the chance to eat your cunt again. His tongue lathes over the entirety of your cunt, rolling between your puffy folds like he’s mapping you with his tongue. He’s shameless, moaning and groaning into your pussy as he slurps down everything you have to offer him.

“Sweetest fuckin’ cunt I’ve ever tasted.” His words are muffled against your pussy, lips tickling you with every word. “So pretty too…” he muses, pulling back to admire your pussy, one of his thumbs pulling apart your lips, spreading you open. He watches as you clench desperately around nothing, the visual making him feral.

He’s back on you, lips wrapping around your throbbing clit and sucking. His tongue rolls over the bud, flicking against the bundle of nerves. Your hips jerk back, a wanton cry of his name falling from your lips.

“Yeah….” Thanos groans, a hand coming down in a sharp slap against your ass, the flesh recoiling against his palm, “ride my fuckin’ face, baby. Take what ya’ need.” He hisses through clenched teeth, hands moving to the sides of your hips to guide your hips up and down.

He lolls his tongue out, grinding you against it and swallowing down every drop of your syrupy arousal. When you begin to move on your own he drops his hands completely. He’s so good, you can’t help but chase the pleasure he offers.

Your hips move viciously, dragging your pussy along his tongue and nose. He shifts slightly, moving his tongue to circle your entrance. “Oh fuck, please!!” You cry out, hips jolting downward to spear yourself on his tongue.

He lets you, moaning into your cunt when your velvety walls close around his tongue, completely engulfing him with your taste. You have to still for a moment, catching your breath in a needy cry as you feel the pink muscle lick around your insides.

A hand comes down on your ass again, encouraging you to move again. You whine, moving your hips, lifting yourself up and down his tongue as he kneels below you. You can feel his blissed out grin, he’s practically in heaven- tasting your sweet cunt while your ass bounces against his face.

His tongue lathes against your clenching walls, echoed by obscene slurps. The only thing louder than him devouring your cunt is you moaning, crying out mixes of praises and his name.

Thanos wants nothing more than to continue eating you out. But as much as a front he puts on….he’s an impatient man. His cock is aching and straining against his jeans. He’s certain if he keeps this up he could blow his load in his jeans as he’s kneeling below you.

He pulls away in a mess of saliva and your wetness. You turn back over your shoulder, whining at the loss of contact. “Easy, baby…” he chuckles as he stands up. One hand splays over your back, running down the curve of your spine as the other one works hastily to undo the button of his pants, “imma give you what you need…”

He lets out a hiss as his cock is finally freed from its confines. It falls out hot and heavy, resting against the curve of your ass with an audible ‘plap’. Just the weight of it on your ass has you moaning and pushing back onto him desperately.

Thanos grabs the base of his dick with one hand, dragging the thick cock-head up and down your weeping cunt. Everytime the head of his cock catches your clit, your knees buckle and a whimper falls from your lips.

“Been thinking about this…your cunt squeezing me…” he muses, pressing the tip into your entrance. You barely have time to moan before he’s pulling back out. “Never had a fuck like you…hadn’t fucked anyone since you..”

The admittance makes your heart swell in the oddest way. You know he’s a player- he has a new girl around his arm every day. But since the time you fucked weeks ago, bordering on a month now, he’s not seen anyone else.

“H-hah…please put it in…f-fuck don’t tease.” You plead, turning around to look at him with wide doe eyes.

“When you ask like that how could I deny you, sweet girl?”

When he pushes into you, it’s a stretch that has you arching your back and rolling your eyes back. You know you’ve left claw marks in your studio desk by now.

“So f-fucking right…Pussy was made f’me.” His words hardly register as he continues to bottom out. With a final surge, he’s sinking balls deep into you.

Both of you let out moans, a sinful harmony that is soon over taken by wet squelching sounds. You feel so entirely full. You swear you can feel him in your throat.

“O-oh my fuck-“ your words are cut off in a choked sound as with a slow pull of his hips, his cock is pulling out of you. He pulls out only half way before driving back into your warmth.

“G-gonna fuckin’ ruin you.” His words are a low growl, his hands dig into the far of your hips, eyes fixated on how the flesh spills through his fingers.

A purr of his name rolls off your lips as he begins the rhythmic thrust of his hips. He drives his pelvis flush against your ass with each thrust, making sure he sheathed himself fully in the heaven that was your cunt.

He’s rutheless, driving you back to meet his thrusts. “F-fuck!” You cry, head turning heavenward, eyes screwing shut in overwhelming pleasure. “O-oh s-shit! F-feels so fucking good!” Your words are pathetic, weak syllables that are broken by the rough drive of his cock into your pussy.

“Takin me so well. Fuck…you should see how stretched you are.” Thanos huffs, pulling harder at the fabric of your shorts and panties to pull them further to the side, giving him a better view of the mess he’s making of your cunt. “Pretty little pussy’s taking me so so fucking well.” He’s repeating like a mantra with every thrust.

Your mind has become hazy, the head of his cock bullies itself against your g-spot every single time he thrusts back into you. You need more. His thrusts speed up, becoming violent. It’s a deliberate, delicious pace that is mind numbing. Your thighs are a mess with your arousal coating them, anytime you tip your head down to look between your thighs you’re met with a creamy mess that only becomes larger by the passing second.

“I-it’s too much!” You whine out, syllables broken up by choked moans. Wet squelches fill the room, echoed by slapping of skin. He laughs, low and sadistic, his hands raise up, holding themselves in the air as if he’s at gunpoint. “It’s too much?!” He mocks, “you’re the one fucking yourself back on my cock, sweetheart. ‘S alllll you.”

His words make you realize he’s right, your hips are moving on their own, brutally slamming back into his pelvis before drawing forward so just the bulbous tip of his cock rests inside your wet walls before repeating the motion again and again. He’s completely still.

It is too much, every time your hips thrust backwards your body is locked up with spasms of pleasure that has tears pooling in your eyes. But you can’t stop, it feels so fucking good. Every time you sink all the way back onto him, your cunt is stretched so wide to take all of him in. His cock reaches depths you would never be able to reach yourself, bullying its way through your clenching walls to kiss against your cervix.

“H-holy fuck, feels so fucking good~” you cry out, body falling slack against the desk. Your hips slow, your muscles aching.

“Ahh, princess work herself up too much? All tired…” He hums, hands lowering back down to run over your sides before settling on your waist. “Need Thanos to help you out, huh?”

You nod, already fucked too dumb to care about talking back. “Yes! Yes please!” You cry out, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. “Fuck I-i need it…T-Thanos please, want you so fucking bad.” You sob out, begging for your release that you can feel blooming deep within your core.

The cat like grin stretches so far across his face it almost seems inhuman. He can just hear how that little sentence of yours would sound at the beginning of the rap song right before the beat kicks in. That’s exactly what he was looking for.

“Mhm I know you do…fuckin’ squeezing me so hard.” Thanos muses with a nod of his head, chin tucked downward so he can watch everytime his cock slips out of your cunt, glistening in your syrupy arousal and every time he thrusts back forward, he watches with a salivating mouth, the white creamy ring that forms at the base of his cock- getting messier with each erratic thrust. “Creamin’ all over my fuckin’ cock…so messy”

You whine, his words making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. His fingernails grip crescent moon shapes into your flesh, using the leverage to bring your hips back to meat each one of his devious thrusts.

Your head is peeled off the desk by a large hand threading into your hair. “You gonna cum? I can feel it, you’re close, just suckin me in anytime I pull out.” Thanos lips dance along the shell of your ear, rough voice filling your mind with fuzz. As if to prove his point, each time he draws back his hips, far enough to rest just the head of his cock in your cunt, you can hear a lewd sound, something between a squelch and a pop coming from your cunt.

“I wanna cum, please, fuck, ohmygod.” It’s shameful, really, he already has you begging for a release without even asking you. “Yeah? Wanna cum pretty girl?” He laughs into your ear. “Begging without being asked…well aren’t you bein’ so good f’me.” He praises. As he speaks the hand in your hair moves across your sternum, pulling you flush against his chest.

The angle drives him deeper into you, stretching you out in ways that have you seeing stars. His thrusts are unforgiving, animalistic even. It’s so sloppy. You can hear the droplets of your mixed arousal fall out of your cunt and onto the tile floor of your studio with a sick wet ‘splat’. “Mhm!! Mhm!! Please!! Ohmygod I’m so fuckin’ close, right there!” You moan out, rushed and babbled, your head kicking back to rest against his shoulder.

His other hand snakes down your stomach, tattooed fingers splayed against your skin as he works his way down. Like he mapped your body out with years of studying and exploring, his fingers find your clit. It’s a sensation that makes you nearly fall to the ground.

“That’s it’s….Thanos’ got you, wan’ you to cream all over my cock pretty girl, make a fuckin mess.” His fingers work your clit in circles in time to his thrusts, it doesn’t take long till your orgasm crashes over you, hitting you so violently you have no time to even prepare. “Oh fucking shit! Yesyesyesyes!!”

Your cries echo out through the studio, one of your hands reaches behind you to grip at his purple hair at the back of his head, trying to ground yourself, you almost think you’re going to pass out.

He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, never letting up and stringing out your high. It’s almost like you’re hit with a second wave, your orgasm gushes out of you- clear liquid spraying on the floor and onto Thanos’ thighs.

“Oh there we fuckin’ go!!” He chides out like he won the fucking lottery, his thrusts becoming sloppy. “Knew you could squirt again f’me. Always so fuckin’ messy. God I love it.” Thanos growls, hips slapping against your ass with reckless abandon.

“Gonna fuckin’ cum so deep in this cunt.” He growls in your ear, “been dreamin’ of it since last time.”

His words make you whimper, eyebrows upturning as you pass the point of fucked dumb, you’re being fucked into another dimension. “Yeah, I know you want it too. Want me to fuckin’ fill you up, hm? T-tell me you want it.”

His voice begins to waver, teeth gritting as he holds off, wanting to hear you say it. You sob out, tears wetting your eyelashes as you feel yet another orgasm begin to bloom, one after the other, giving you hardly anytime to catch your breath.

“Yes! Want it so f-fucking bad! N-need to f-feel it!” Your words are jostled with each of his thrusts, coming out in pathetic hiccups as you weakly move your hips back in time with his thrusts.

You feel his body lock up behind you, his arms tightening around you- pinning to him. When you feel the thick spurts of his cum paint your insides, you’re cumming again, eyes rolling back and body convulsing against him.

“Thatssss it…” he growls behind you, hips jerking up into you sporadically, fucking his cum back into you. There’s so much you can feel the thick, warm globs be forced out of you with each thrust of his cock back into your raw pussy. “So f-fucking good. B-best fuckin pussy.” He’s babbling out obscenities, words slurred as he works himself through his own orgasm.

He stills, chest heaving, arms staying tight around you as if he was afraid you’d leave. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t, you were still trapped against the desk.

“I think we got what we needed, pretty girl…” he muses, “did so good f’me..”

You hum happily, blissed out. You can still feel the dull stretch of his softening cock in your cunt. An almost comforting fullness. Your hands picking up off the desk to lay on top of his, fingers interlacing.

“I know exactly what sound clip I’m using” He huffs, nose nuzzling along the column of your throat. You can hear him draw in a sharp breath, inhaling your scent.

“Mhm….” You mumble, fucked out of your mind, hardly paying attention. Your eyes and body are tired, you’re sure if Thanos wasn’t still holding you up, you’d fall down to the ground with how weak your knees were. “Use whatever one you want…’m so fucking exhausted…” you sigh, head lolling back against his shoulder.

That was a mistake on your part. Those words. ‘Whatever one you want’ because sure as shit when you send Thanos the finished file, not even listening to the part at the beginning he mixed and added whatever intro he desired from your little recording session, when the song drops your moans are being streamed left, right and center.

It’s not just a noise in the background to emphasize a high hat or a snare, no, it’s so very obviously you getting railed by him, moaning out a ‘fuck Thanos! You’re so good with your tongue’. Your words are even broken up by pants and whines!!!

That’s the last time you let him have any say in what you produce for him.

I reallly hope you guys like this one! This is kinda my first big ask I’ve answered since I’ve been back (besides my sub! Namgyu x thanos x reader fic) so I’m a lil nervy to put this out. This one was started like two days ago because I’ve been thinking about this ask (it’s been in my inbox for a hot minute I’m so sorry) and I just HAD to do it. I love me some producer!reader x thanos. It was so fun to write the first one and this one!

Thank you for your support as always !! - <3 kiwi

[court-jobi]

The Bet (Hawks' Version)

((Banner by me!! I don't own Horikoshi's works/characters))

Pairing: Hawks x reader (fem!reader)

Words: 7k //good grief//

Rating: M | 18+ (put down the spicy chicken bucket, baby birds)

Warnings: NSFW, foreplay confessions, DTR, first time, piv smut, porn w feelings, flirting, kissing galore, biting & marking, vocal Hawks is vocal, wrap it up this is fantasy

Summary:

You turn the tables on Hawks' games -the ones he insists are crafted with you alone in mind. You've benefited from his tokens and gestures for long enough, and plan one of your own. You'd think he'd be happier to see you strut around in it once you're home and 'Keigo' can enjoy it all to himself… but once your heels come off in the doorway of your apartment, he makes one thing clear: he'd rather take it off. He’d damn near tear it off you with the promise to buy you a dozen dresses just like it, if you didn’t make such a sweet appeal to 'get comfortable' together~

A/N: as promised, part 2 has arrived!! Missed Part 1? Not required, but makes it a bit sweeter, IMO, so catch up if you'd like~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Three months since your shopping excursion, you turned the tables on Hawks and placed a one-sided bet yourself. It was a harmless game, just as his had been from the start. 

You’d watched him pace on the edge of a building by happenstance, noting how he walked the teetery edge like a tightrope against the harsh wind. He's incredibly athletic -that point, you never doubted- but surely he couldn't make it clear across the edge without tripping off to the side… 

His wings would pitch in at any sign of a fall, but you made the sneaky bet that even their offset couldn’t keep him upright the whole way.

…but he did~ graceful and with a little personal stroke of pride as he batted his feathers back onto the roof of the building when he reached the rain gutter at the end. So cute, he even marked himself ‘safe’ like in baseball as he accomplished his goal while waiting for his intern to arrive. 

From the ground below, you couldn't believe how such a man had caught your eye- one as  flashy as he was. Normally you'd have veered far away from big personalities like that… but look at this kid, here. 

He's taking names of bad guys across the country and raking in hundreds of thousands of dollars in promotional money alone (much of it funneling secretly to charities, you came to learn), but here he is entertaining himself: like the child he is at heart. 

… That little show earned Keigo a text. 

From your cell, you sent a far off video snippet of your dashing Pro-Hero traipsing around, with the overlaid caption: 

You win, pretty bird ♥️ Made it across, and didn't tip over once! Still want that dinner?

Just your luck, Hawks pulled out his phone in real time after you sent the message. 

He's swiping, he's shielding it against the glare of the sun to read, and– yup, now he's jumping. And hollering for the whole wide world to hear, if they were only paying attention to the punk on the roof across the street. 

You giggled to yourself, shaking your head. What were you gonna do with him?

That question was easy to answer; you know exactly what you'd be doing and wearing. 

Hawks will be granted his wish after losing that first bet after all, with you completing the perfect night out in that stunning red dress. 

Sake-soaked words, a lovely meal, and a thousand endearing stares later, you two are seated on the way back to your place courtesy one of Hawks’ longtime drivers employed from his agency- where he could unabashedly makeout with you in the backseat. He's come through with enough personal favors with the hero to take him on harmless outings without snitching: movies, the rare sportsball game… dates, you ask him, but Hawks assures you this is the first time fairer company has joined him for a ride.

Mindful as you are, you’re careful not to make too much noise, though Hawks says his valet hates him just as much as yours does. 

‘Some people just don’t see the appeal, and can't handle me~’ he’ll goad, but you still make a pitiful attempt to make him behave in mixed company. 

Hard to do, when you're backed up against the seat of the car with an adoring angel of a man testing the limits of his seatbelt to a ridiculous degree-all for the simple plea to hold you closer: 

How he can't wait another minute. How good you look. How really good you look. 

It doesn’t help the Hero’s impatience when you’ve draped your legs across his lap, exposing the thigh where your dress cuts open. Hawks has a handful of it the entire way home, content to massage and fondle any inch of you he can get. 

After several months of teasing that this thing has been in the back of your closet, you'd think he'd be happier to see you strut around in it… but once your heels come off in the doorway of your apartment, Hawks makes it clear: he'd rather take it off. He’d damn near tear it off you with the promise to buy you a dozen dresses just like it, if you didn’t make such a sweet appeal to dress down and get comfortable together~ 

Obviously, Hawks sees no need for wearing night clothes to bed with what you tease in his ear. Though you laugh nervously about that very fact the whole way to your bedroom, to your walk-in closet where he unzips you fully: and to now as you’re slung over his shoulder wrapped up like a cigar in the towels you’d grabbed for your inevitable shower together... 

You wonder what he'd done that for when you just planned to toss them into your ensuite bathroom– only to realize he wanted to unwrap you himself. He’s in full playtime mode, and that makes you hysterical as he whistles along to your bedroom despite your squirming. 

"Keigo!!" you mind your volume a second too late, muting your giggles, "Keigo, what in the hell do you think you're up to?"

"Getting you to bed-- what's it look like I'm doing?" your Pro-Hero rumbles as he drops you gracelessly on the mattress. Off-hours Keigo was fun- and a welcome sight after his long-awaited return from Tokyo. 

No longer the apartment he simply drops you off after nights like this spent out on the town: he spends a few nights a week here. The home where he can snuggle in and shut out the roar of nightlife more than his solo apartment. 

Though till now, you’ve not traipsed this close to the edge of the intimate boundary.

You scramble for the sheet’s edge, still minding your tucked towels as much as you can before Hawks’ impatience gets the best of him.

"It's freezing though; get in if you wanna mess around!" 

Rolling a little eye, Hawks rests back on his heels where he’s perched on the mattress, and  makes a small, swift flare of one wing with a few feathers shooting out, and the flames on your small portable fireplace rekindle themselves with a feather’s arrow-straight press. Your head shoots to the noise and light suddenly casts the warm, flickering glow on his skin and yours.

Bright eyes look up at him, impressed by his little trick,

"Woah! Is that new??" 

"New to you. I try not to show off everything my feathers can do to the fans right away. Gotta leave ‘em wanting more."

You collect your hair above the pillow and flop back alluringly, having forgotten for a moment altogether his glory is on display just a foot away from you laid hidden by a quickly slipping towel around his waist, too.

"Uh-huh, smart move,” you admire Hawks in both the professional and personal sense, “So I've earned that distinct honor, have I?"

"Oh, you? You're gonna get more from me than basic Pro-Hero tricks, lovedove." Hawks kneed off the bed to come around to your open swath of blankets, “You have somethin’ of mine that no one else on this earth has...”

You open the covers dressed only in a waiting smile, having shucked the towel off in your settling in, allowing Hawks to take his time joining you into your makeshift nest. Soon he’s ditched his towel as well, favoring the covers. 

You’ve laid like this before, with him propping an arm above you, and your joint expressions glazed over while soaking in the sight of each other… 

…but like a warning memory flashed before his eyes unseen, Hawks paused; he’s brushing your cheek with utter fondness, yet his smile drops from his face. Like he did before he left town on that mission over a long week ago.

Naturally, you picked up on it. You always did.

"Uh-oh." you coo lightly, "Where'd you go, ‘Number Two’?"

He couldn't say right away, but his brow furrows at being caught. His hand pets firmly along your jaw to ground himself. Careful, reverent, his roughened fingers brush along your face’s comforting fullness, studying you - in no other words- adoringly.

"Nowhere pleasant. Not like here."

"Then come back here." you whisper and lean up to catch a kiss. 

You kiss a few times in quick succession, Hawks sighing into each one heavily; for the first time, feeling at home in who knows how long. 

“I just love it here,” Hawks whispers to you in such close proximity, “Wish I could be here more often. Was hoping this ‘villain boom’ woulda died down by now… work myself out of a job, be able to spend more nights like this…”

Cupping his face and guiding his forehead to yours, you offer a word up to him softly: to will away the furrowed lines hardening his face.

He’s far more serene in private than he is out in the public eye. ‘Hawks’ can act devil-may-care as a comforting, assuring tool in interviews as it boosts his ratings- but you hope for real peace for ‘Keigo’ when he can go home at night.

"Y'know you don't need to be 'big bad Pro-Hero' here. I know I joke all the time, but.. You are Keigo to me, now-- not the famed ‘Hawks’, not the Winged Hero, or some fanciful title the people carry on about in the streets."

Hawks gave pause, sinking into your touch.

"Those names, it’s part of you, yeah- but you know holding your own with a blade in each hand isn't what deems you perfect in my eyes. If I’m honest, your realness does. Your openness does. The care you give me? Everytime I ask, and you answer me? The aches you’ve told me about that no one else hears, because they aren’t the prettiest…” 

Hawks’ gold chain around his catches your attention. Well, his now- but it was originally yours. 

It’s a small token you’d given him after your first accidental late night sleepover together, because he loved how thin and subtle it was, shining on your jewelry tree. Loves shiny things: just like the pretty bird you are, you’d teased him- but it was a darling reaction from him. So you gifted it away, without a second thought.

It’s those moments that you catalog as reasons to fall for this boy again and again- even months after you know you know he’s got you locked in.

“The imperfectness: it’s untouched– and it’s the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever seen, when you let me in. When you be yourself.”

His pretty eyes soften, hedging back ever so much in surprise. Crimson feathers plum behind him in interest. 

“It’s heavy, isn’t it,” you look up to the top of his wings unfurling above you, reaching high from the space between his shoulder blades where they stem from; where you hold him tenderly. “I can see that.”

By the look of emotion growing in his eyes, you know you're the only one who sees how heavily life can weigh on him.

“And I know- I know someday,” light tints your voice, trying to offer the same treatment he gives you, “you’ll believe me when I say I will never once slight you for things you choose to share to me- even if they’re out of my depth. Even if you think it's too much for me. You can be anything you want to be with me, tell me anything. This... is what I'll be here for. No sugar-coating. No pity. I’m just here, Keigo."

And if his smitten heart wasn't mush before, it is now. 

Hawks's voice sinks like gravel, "How the hell do you hit the nail on the head, dove…"

"I try- though I do try to save my best lines for you~" you added a hint of playfulness.

He kisses your smug look away, right on the nose.

Hawks’ wings cast a shadow over you as they flare up more when he leans.

"That’s why they pay you the big bucks, isn’t it… You're incredible, lovedove."

"So are you."

With a released hum, Hawks grumbles a little, sinking his head into the pillow beside you, sliding down in the covers to drape a heavy arm over your waist. Some heat has died down from his body -but you feel the tone has shifted past a hot pre-shower makeout to something way more intimate.

Watching him lie here, content on his stomach with his wings at their fullest all the way outstretched, you respect this as a gorgeous, vulnerable state. 

"I don't– wanna sound crass about this..." Hawks mumbles half into his arm.

You look over at the fire over his shoulder. Reining in a snide remark about the definition of the word, 

"Mm, well I am naked in bed with you, having stripped the second you offered to in my closet- into which I fell almost flat on my ass getting in, by the way–the opposite of grace and charm befitting a lady fair as humanly possible. So if you're worried about decorum? You really don't have to hold your tongue with me, Kei."

Hawks laughs with that bright, shallow sound again that shows his full smile.

"Well! Truth it is, then." 

Hawks freed his chest with some honesty. 

"..I've.. I’ve been dreaming about waking up next to you like this since before I made that stupid race bet. It's– kinda what gets me up in the morning."

You balk at the confession. The calendar in your head backtracks that first shopping trip: more than three months ago. He’s spent dozens of nights in your bed since then, and never once made a move like this.

Three months of waiting out a fantasy to become reality- and now he finally has it fulfilled: nestled beneath him in ivory sheets, stripped of the dress that brought you into his arms in the first place, and still hesitates. You couldn’t believe it.

"Are you serious??"

"Yes?”  Hawks answers, almost pained.

"Oh my God!!" you cry out at the ceiling before tucking yourself in your blankets and turning to him fully, "You have the restraint of a eunuch, Kei!"

He swipes a palm down his face.

"Don't get religious on me. Nothing pure about having a hard-on everytime you so much as fix your hair up with a fuckin’ pen. Forget it when you use one of my feathers."

You giggle wildly again. This does little to spare his sheepish embarassent and hides his face with a retracted wing.

"It's not funny, birdie..." the wing speaks.

"No- no, I guess it's not," you try audibly straightening up, running the backs of a few fingers to pet the feathers offered to you. "So– you were saying, about being horny and obsessed with me when you come around? ...Why pump the breaks now, hun?"

"Because-” Hawks’ wings drops ever so much to reveal at least part of his face. “-it's not just 'urges'. I've felt... strongly about you for a while. I know I told you as much back in that dressing room, but that was, like, barely scratching the surface. I've not missed someone like I've missed you." 

His heartstrings shine in his eyes, like Hawks is hoping you'll notice his effort. 

"I've lived long enough and, yeah, maybe flown around the block enough, too.. But it’s made me know what I really want. And for me... It's not just a want. I meant everything I said earlier.”

His shyness leaving him, Hawks finally returns his arm and outstretched wing over you again:

“I wanted to be the one for you. I loved you then,” Hawks tenderly confesses. “I just didn't know how to put it. Had to keep up all those damn appearances and walls up. Lie that I was joking to cover my ass, n’ regretted it ever since."

You soften because you know that fact must be hard for him to admit. 

"And by the time came to come back into town, it’d been so long since I'd seen you, since we last even could talk freely. You’d accomplished so much here and in Mustafu. I… honestly feel kinda shitty that I didn't tell you after so long away… before you were pulled in twenty different directions too, I bet– back when I should have slowed down a damn second to tell you so. I should have, you deserved to know."

"Oh, Keigo..." you loop your arms around his neck loose, brushing his hair back over his ear within reach.

"Sooo, you're not mad?”

"No, I'm not mad."

"Long time I wasn't exactly honest with you,” he presses with apologetic eyes, “I know how you get around all the PDA and stuff.”

You value how much Hawks is trying to be as open with you as he can. You know his limitations and pressures full well that keep him from speaking his mind in the moment as he might like to, and know his affections holding true despite the formalities he’s forced to keep up must have been torture itself.

It shows adorably, on his pouting face, even now. 

"That kind of 'dishonesty' is the only one I can live with, hon’. It was worth it in the end anyway, wasn't it?"

Hawks smiles -finally- and pushes up to kiss you chaste on the mouth before melting into your forehead again, 

"Every time our paths crossed, baby. even for a second- I ached to get my hands on you any way I could.. but after this last mission, the only thing I wanted was to see you safe and sound, here at home. Nothing more. Just safe. So now- even this-  has a bigger weight than ever."

"What do you mean?"

"Being with you, like this..." 

Hawks’ hand sweeps down, rubbing long strokes up and down your side. You turn further into him, encouraging the touch. 

"I want this,” Hawks utters with soft reverence, “I want you.. but sweetheart, it's not just about a bed anymore. Not for me. It's a connection -an important one- and it goes two ways. I don't want you nervous in any way around me. I want you to be sure. All of this is completely up to you- and I can wait. I will wait, if that's what it takes for you to feel ready."

You cringe at how firm yet desperate he sounds. 

See, you’d finally opened up about your hesitations too, about dating heroes in general. It was a funny topic in quirkless circles, as you’d shared with him: widespread assumptions about unfair power dynamics, acclimating to fame by proxy, privacy retention, the like. It made you doubly cautious in your line of work, as you surround yourself with Pro-Heroes on the daily– only to find out one held your heart in a perfectly private place that you were nervous about letting slip and smack you in the face should it go wrong. All irrational fears, truly.

"Dammit, I wish I'd never worded it like that.." you moaned at your past slip. "Keigo, I feel nothing but safe with you. It's--" you flit your gaze around bashfully, "This-- may be something to explore and fumble around a bit with. But it's not because I'm scared, it's because I-- I dunno, I don't want to-..."

He raised a patient brow to you, kind and reassuring.

"... Dissappoint you, I guess?" 

With a funny pout, Hawks waits for you to explain.

"I can dole out all the pretty words on a page I like, but things are different when you're right in front of me. Looking at me like this… like I’ve wanted all this time, too,” 

You cup his cheek, which he totally sinks into the moment your skin makes contact- 

“I get nervous because you're so damn incredible and I want you so fucking bad too… I can't help it either."

Hawks chuckles, relieved in his shoulders as your hungry tone shimmers over your words.

Looking up at him just as tenderly as you touched, you trail a hand along his shoulder, down to his arm. There’s tiny, light freckles there, if you look hard enough.

"Self-conscious is a better way to put it,” you decide, “You've never given me a reason to think you'd hurt me, never... But it's just a fact; you've lived and operated in a different world than I have, Kei. I hope to not be all flustered and blushing through the newness, but I might, still. I know your heart has the best intentions, but I couldn't help imagining you making– comparisons.”

“Comparisons?-”

You swallow your nerves and insecurity rarely voiced to others.

“Just… want to be enough for you. For what you need me to be- if you even wanted that with me."

In favor of fixing his necklace’s clasp, you settled. Inside you knew this wasn't a fair stereotype for heroes, given all he'd shared so intimately about what the life was really like, and he confirmed this suspicion with his displeased reaction.

"You think because I’m out front and center that I should be with someone else.”

You toss the thought away, but answer him in the way you might have months ago, “Maybe?”

“And you think you're lesser because you don't have ‘experience’- because if you're unprepared, you're not of value? That I wouldn’t still want you that way?”

Heat creeps up from your neck, “I- I mean…” 

Hawks further stops your preening of him, and holds your hand instead-

“--And because no one's fucked you right in the past means youre unworthy to have it now?”

You dropped your head back immediately in regret and looked off. "Ok crass, but sure."

"Baby, look at me."

At his word, you level out and meet his gaze again. He cups your face again more gently.

"We're going to make another promise to each other, here and now, okay? Gotta make one thing crystal clear, if nothing else."

You nod to agree.

"One, no more bullshit mind reading. I've had enough of that."

A snort leaves you and he smirks to match.

"I mean it! It won't do either of us any good. If you -or I- need to talk, we talk. You said you were here to support me, and you always have been."

Hawks smooths out his hand to grace your collarbone- meant to soothe. 

"But that means you need to let me be the same for you. I would never, ever judge you either. You are important to me- as an equal. In so many ways. You have my word on that. Deal?"

"Deal." you agree.

"And for two," the kind tone flips to annoyed, "I’ll rid that 'blushing bride' streak out of your head about this amazing body of yours myself... And I'm willing to use any means necessary. I am a Pro-Hero with training and coercion strategies under my belt. With a problem staring me in the face, I’ll fight it until it’s done- and I'm patient."

You quirked your lip while trying to maintain the sensitive conversation.

"Uh-oh. That sounds serious." 

"It will be if you make my job difficult, sweet thing." His eyes jump down to your increasing blush. “Which is why -by the way– it's laughable that you think I'd ever have had time for any chasing tail. Have ya met me? I'd never hear the end of it from my agent!”

That’s funny, but– fair. Another unfair assumption on your part, but Hawks’ easygoing attitude has you bursting into a fit at how easy it is for him to make you laugh.

You really do adore him, and if you can trust him to protect you against a world full of villains, you could give him grace in the love department too.

"Now I'm going to ask you something…”  

Hawks turns to an amorous side of him: where you expected him to land once your head hit the pillow…

“and you're going to answer me honestly…"

"Yes, sir?"

Hawks' top rung of feathers ebb, enough to buffer his telltale control. Seems he’s just as susceptible to a sultry title as you are... 

"See, that shit?” Hawks pipes up, “That's what’s made the last three months a living hell!"

"What, being polite?" you tease your leg to nudge against his from where you’re pinned beneath him. "I thought you liked that I was a nice girl..." 

Lowly, Hawks growls an appreciative moan. He rubs the pads of his fingers along your shoulder all too sensually with just enough pressure to prove his point.

"I do, lovedove. But now, you're my nice girl. Can’t keep you from being yourself… but it's going to be twice as hard not to show everyone who so much as looks at you just how much you're mine."

Behind a demure smile, your heart pounds at this possessive Hawks. Quick instincts targeting prey cross over into the pleasure realm it seems, too.

"My question is..." Hawks leans in shifting lower to nose your hair aside– punctuating his options with a kiss at each stop along your cheek:

"How would you like me to warm you up tonight, lovely? Do you want my hands... my mouth... or something else?"

STARS ABOVE, SOMETHING ELSE YES.

Rather than make the impossible decision, you shudder out a funny quip,

"--Dealer's choice?"

Hawks chuffs against your neck, "That's not an answer, beautiful..."

But how can you answer when he’s so close and siphoning all thoughts from you? All you can do is keen at the sensations on your neck and curl up into him with leisurely hands around his back scratching enticing circles. Kissing gentle suckles at your neck- plus a bite here and there- Hawks sweeps back your waves before he whispers low again,

"Tell me how far you wanna go with this. Can you do that for me?"

"Mhm.." you hum wordlessly. Hawks’ hand presses to the space above your breast.

"Heart's racing again. Does this feel ok?"

You hum back, drawn out and comfortable.

"How ‘bout this?" He dips and now cups a breast in a hand and massages carefully while peppering your neck and chest with the same hot kisses.

A longer moan still.

"There you go. Keep talking to me. Tell me what feels good; you can do it."

There’s nothing you want more than him– nothing in the world.

"You have me. You have all of me," Hawks’ hips curl into the bed in a grind below you getting high off the accidental confessions you let loose.

"I want..." you swallow for control, "... To-- kiss- hah."

His eyes flicker to your face from his perch atop you, seeing you blissed out, lolled to the side: smirking at his success already.

"Yeah?" Hawks drifted a little lower, cooing up at you between wet open-mouthed presses. "Where do you want me to kiss you?"

"No, I-" your voice pitched up higher and he stops, smoothing out his strokes and eyes you as you rouse enough to face him.

From his hand's touch, he surely feels your pulse throb and hangs on your words just as he did before, but you want to take the pressure off of him. 

Just for a little while. He deserves it. He won the bet, after all.

"I wanna kiss you."

Hawks bridges over you to meet your eager arms to pull you in for a hungry kiss. Together, you get an addictive taste of each other over and over, meeting each one with equal passion and excited fervor.

In between heavy breaths, you push your racing heart forward towards his next dousing of affection. 

" I wanna.."

"Wanna what?" Hawks slurs like he’s drunk. Enamored, but rutting into the bed again impatiently.

"Wanna kiss you-- fuckin' everywhere." you sigh, zeroed in on his throat’s bobbing- adorned with your gift of gold there.

Pleased at your growing excitement, he chimes back, "Be my guest~" 

Hawks scoops you up and flips you so you are positioned laying on top. Pleased at the shift, you smile charming as ever and sit up to adjust, putting yourself on full display for him. It’s proof that it was never the dress specifically that made you appealing to him: but the model underneath.

His hands rove over your thighs and hips, getting a good look at you in the firelight, but settle on your angelic face in the end, as usual.

"I kinda like you up there~!"

"Kinda like it, too,” you wriggle yourself with a refreshing rake to your hair's part. 

With Hawks's hands on you, you felt truly as powerful and enticing as he made you out to be-- if his gaze wasn't indicative enough.

"Wish you could see yourself right now… You're damn gorgeous."

"And all yours-" you lean down in perfect confidence, settling on his chest and brushing his hair out of your way as well. "May I?"

"Please." He tease a brow for a 'go ahead'.

Oh was he in for it. 

The moment you latch on, you suck and mark at his neck like a pro, pulling a groan from his sweet spot already. How the hell did you find it so fast? You're just that good.

You caress his chest with the hand not crucial for balance, fingers beginning to memorize every soft-lipped jump in the skin where a faint scar splits it. It’s the tender attention he deserves that you know from his offhand comments that he does not and has not received in the years spent under the Commissions’ eye. 

Taking your time and attention, you lavish on worshipful kisses across the column of Hawks’ throat and have to flip your hair again when you switch sides. Hawks seems to enjoy its drape like a curtain across his field of vision in the few moments where his eyes flutter open. It's a reverse of what his wings do for you; he's enamored by the sight. 

"Ohhhh, that's perfect. Oh, you're so perfect- fuck, you're good at thi--S-MMMMM."

Hawks cut off his trill when you sucked another equally tender spot and hum along with him. Lost in the moment yourself, you roll your hips to meet him; how he trembles under you and against the cock twitching to life- hot against your bare skin. 

You’re just about to move away from a high point of his neck, when his hand comes up to fist in your hair and hold you in place–

"Harder."

"Hm-what?"

"Bite me--Harder, baby, please."

At the hoarse request, your eyes flash wide open… but who the hell are you to refuse?

So you give him a little nonsensical melody, sung just soft like so along your kisses’ trail, then tease his throat with your teeth before nipping him gentle enough in play. But it’s enough of a shock to make him groan–

"FFFFuck, YES."

You chuckle low, followed by a little hushing finger on his lips.

"Keigo, baby… You don't want my neighbors and half the joint to give my shit about the Winged Hero’s volume, do you?"

"I don't fucking care." Hawks rasps, "Let em hear what you're doin’ to me- let ‘em hear what they can't fuckin’ have."

His lovesickness makes you proud in the most selfish way, and reward him by blowing on the hot skin rising and falling with breath as you kiss along each pec next, lightly singing bits and pieces of no song in particular. For as much as this boy has made your heart sing just by looking your way, you try to give him a piece of that back. Just wordlessly praising him along every scar and response to the sounds he’d make; in want, plead, hunger for more.

Slow torture.

Shockingly- and much sooner than you expected from his control so far- Hawks had enough.

His eyes flash open in molten gold.  He’s capturing you with strength you’ve so far only witnessed on tv and is pulling you into his lap in full force. Sitting with legs astride him, you gasp at the heat of him again- even more at how desperately your source of need literally weeps for him. 

Blindly Hawks reaches for himself and prods you with some gently-paced rocks up and down, kissing you back and with renewed vigor as your breaths got faster.

"Ready for this?"

You nod and cast every ounce of trust to him with a grounding breath, taken with his eyes for about the millionth time tonight– strong jaw and blonde whisps crafting his face.

"Y’gonna hold on, pretty girl?" Hawks scoops under your shoulder blades, a more mischievous smile gracing his kissed-bruised countenance.

"I got you," you echo. "Your turn to tell me just what you want, huh?"

"Got all I want right here."

And you believe that softness from him: private and earnest and shared as gently as a secret.

It brings a barely audible word of love from the pit of you. Hawks breathes it back into your waiting lips before sealing his mouth to yours. 

Then, gloriously slow, he pushes up and moans sinfully into your mouth, low and slow. You made the sweetest sounds in complete rapture once he settles in -full in the best way- slick and deliciously joined.

Hawks curses against your chest, breathing heavily. 

"Mmmmm tell me when–I can move... Y’you say when-”

"Ohmygod yes,move…" 

No more teasing needed. 

Hawks hoists you up and forward suddenly, now bent on his heels. One arm is wound tight around your waist, and the other clutches you to his chest by your warm nape. You release the breath and pull tight onto his shoulders, moaning loud for you. Then, Hawks just went to town: fucking up into you, deep, steady, and hard.

"Oh ssshit, babe, you're so good~~" you praise light and high in your voice, rocking your hips in time, in awe without even the slightest shock of his strength. 

Pressing down against him nudges your own sweet spot every time– a point not lost on your dear Keigo.

You rock with him eagerly, but quickly reach the point of lightheadedness he had when you’d kissed all along his chest… the same shocking sensations flutter through you when he starts to make love to each breast lavishly. All those sensations of hard nips and soft  tracing were quickly building up and up and up.

“Fuck,Keigo– I, ah… AAH!--”

“That’s it, lovedove– say my name. Say my name- I’m gonna have you cummin’ for me, love.”

Kissing praises into his neck, you become entranced by the sounds of your pats of joining, the grunts of Hawks fighting against his moans in between, the reactive bats of those fierce wings and his strong hand petting through your hair. By its steady grip, you can tell he’s possessively keeping you close while he ruts into you. In no time, it was his turn to babble nonsense while deeply buried in you.

"Sweet baby... Fuck, that feels so good-- ughhhh do thatagain, squeezin’ me... Fuck, you could kiss me anywhere n’ I wouldn’t care... Ahhh just wanna feelyou..."

Your insides swell and sigh at his happy cries... and you can’t bear to refuse him. 

So you choose something small~ to test how much your touch truly affects him. You opt for a small, breathy peck at the corner of his eye, where his lashline is fanned out in a darling beauty mark on him by nature’s design. It works: whether it’s a teasing kiss on the neck or a peck on the tenderest skin on his face, you’re making him drive extra punches in his thrusts.

His name is your steady prayer in this treasured, rare time with him,

“You waited a'long time for this haven't you, pretty bird... Missing me so much, loving me from afar, and I didn't even know it yet…"

Hawks chuckles a savory growl, "Missed me too, didya. You missed me? This what you wanted? Feels good, huh?"

"Hell, I couldn't even have imagined it would feel this good, -near- this good-- gods, you're so strong.. and safe- fuck, I'm so safe, and all yours. All yours."

Hawks' pants pick up, almost feral again-- 

"Say that again."

“I’m– yours?”

“Again.”

Pushing back on his shoulders, you find balance framing his face and pushing his hair back to study his glazed over eyes-- the ones staring right through you with his love’s fire consuming him from the inside out.

Purely on instinct, you tug Hawks’ hair back to whisper against the sensitive skin under his ear,

"I'm yours, Keigo Takami."

Sealing your declaration with a hot mix of tongues, Hawks brokenly cries out, squeezing you tight and pushing you down so hard you felt the stars shoot through you in a blazing hot wake. The burning heat makes you gasp at the fullness now warming you through. Too quick to even ask where you’d have preferred he cum in you, you wouldn’t have honestly had it any other way,

…telling him you were his is what did him in, and you take a special stroke of pride knowing your claim on his heart.

After his strangled grunts give way to deeper breaths, Hawks collapses to the side, sending you in a barrel roll along with him extending his legs under you- still submerged in you. His fingers trail along your back leisurely while he catches his breath, which made for such a comforting cool down. 

Breathing normally and opening your eyes again, you notice the fire was still alive in your fireplace unit, but barely- as if the heat you were generating was snuffing out the actual flames.  In reality, the timer was just going out.

"Oh wow~" you sigh, "Look at that."

"Yeah- wow~" Hawks sighs.

Your lashes tickle from your pillow -his chest- and remind him, "I was looking at the hearth, sweet boy." 

Beyond the heartbeat making music under your ear, you hear only a small rustle above you, then watch a singular feather make another bullseye, and the light roars back to fullness.

"oOo…” It’s shameless how ditzy you feel, watching him not miss a beat, even in his afterglow.

Hawks chuckles, back to stroking you.

"So.. ‘terms fulfilled’, love?"

"Mhmmm. To the letter-" you tease and slowly manage to rise up enough to cross your arms across his chest as a pillow for yourself so you could look at him. Naturally, a smile settles onto your face at the sight, "How bout you; winnings ‘sufficiently provided’?"

Hawks pillows an arm under his head and caresses your face with the other.

"This winner didn't last near as long as he intended to… with all your ‘fulfillment’, little minx." 

"I think it was worth it. I got you really worked up- which I imagine, is a hard feat given your occupation,” you fall into his touch. “I'm pretty proud."

Hawks praises you with a sexy little smile, "You should be~"

With his sparkling eyes drooping shut for a moment, you press a little kiss above Hawks' prominent winged eye once again. Upon opening, you found him lazily watching you with a content smile.

"What's that look for?" you ask.

"Just kicking myself,” Hawks holds no sweet-talking twang in his voice now, “Why didn't I cut my rascal act sooner?"

You dismiss his fear in a little roll of your eyes. 

"Don't do that. It was meant to be like this. Like you said- no need to rush." Another small kiss is granted on his cheek.

"C'mere," Hawks coaxes you up and gifts you a soothing kiss on the lips. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Your brain still needed catching up, because your muscles seem very slow to move. Shifting off of him,  you felt your 'activities' leak its mess down your legs and you shut them immediately, flopping back embarrassed. Hawks chuckles warmly, grabbing one of those abandoned towels and taps your knee to open.  The prodding renders you more openly shy now, but Hawks only gave a sweet, consoling brow back.

"C'mon, why so shy? Open up." He prompts your knees to open, and wipes you down with a caring touch. 

Even with his task set on purely cleaning your skin, you lay back and stretch your arms just watching him work. Slowing his movements, Hawks meets you eyes again when he makes an unintended jolt along your clit, giving you an appreciative once over, shaking his head with gentle eyes.

“And don’t you think I forgot about you, baby~” he whispers like the rascal he claims to have put behind him: “We’ve got quite the night ahead of us. Can’t be overwhelming you too much too soon.”

You giggle, pulling him down to hide in his shoulder again. Pleased enough at his sense of peace as he breathes, you melt more at the reminder:

"You're gorgeous, you know. Fancy dress or not."

A closed-lipped smile is all you can manage in your exertion. 

"Wish I could see it through your eyes. All I see hangin’ over there is a sure fire way to get me laid."

Hawks’ laugh is near delirious- carefree. 

"I’ll make you see. Just give me a little time. I'm patient." 

Hawks offers you a hand and helps you to your feet- only to catch your unsteady legs, leaving you chuckling into his chest, nuzzling playfully when his wings come around to keep you warm in the meantime.

"Sorry ‘bout that…" you gain better footing.

"What, that I fucked you too good?"

"Keigo."

"Crass, sorry,” Hawks pouts.

"You are not that sorry."

And he agrees, full cheek returned, "Nah." 

When he passes your still partially open closet where you’d tossed the dress back to hang up for dry cleaning, Hawks stops your walk altogether in favor of holding you from behind– just like he did in the dressing room.

“And you know that’s not the only thing to get me to take you to bed, lovedove,” he makes the promise by your mess of hair, “Try on anything else in there for me– and all you need to do is ask.”

[leikeliscomet]

Who’s Afraid of Tenmartha? - Thoughts on Doctor Who’s Most Hated Ship 

All about attraction and desire, fandom morality and ‘ethical’ shipping, if that even exists.

Intro Chapter 1 - She Loves Me, He Loves Me Not Chapter 2 - Bad Girls Club Chapter 3 & Conclusion - All’s Fair in Love and Shipping

Intro

‘Martha deserved so much better than that’

This is the first thing you’ll hear if the word ‘Tenmartha’ is ever typed or spoken out loud. For many, Tenmartha is a problematic ship and one of their least favourites. But Doctor Who’s known for its messiness. The Master with their homicidal tendencies is still a big contender for Thoschei. Meeting River as a literal baby and her brainwashing didn’t stop the DoctorRiver train. There’s people who overlook the platonic bond of Ten and Donna and ship them romantically regardless. People even ship Thirteen and Graham. The ‘normal’ in the idea of a normal ship with the Doctor is doing A LOT of leg work when it comes to this show. But despite all of this, Tenmartha has taken the crown for the worst ship. Or at least, is sharing it with Thasmin. Tenmartha and Thasmin are battling out for the title of ‘worst’ ship but Tenmartha still has the upper (or lower?) hand. Whilst the thassies have built up a small community for themselves with zines and collabs galore, Tenmartha seems to take a beating every week on the tl and even outranking the more ‘problematic’ ships I just listed in most hated ship polls. If Tenmartha’s lucky to rank high you can bet the ‘why would you do that to Martha’ tweets fill the quotes. But on the flipside, we’re also in a Tenmartha renaissance, with Tenmartha archive accounts going viral every other day and viral snippets from series 3 because of how interesting the dynamic was. It seems Tenmartha is a marmite ship; you love it or you hate it. In the eyes of some it’s awful and for others it's Doctor Who’s guilty pleasure.

I don’t ship Tenmartha mainly from the fact I don’t really care about the Doctor’s ships like I did when I was a kid and I care more about companion ships generally (this is strictly a Clani and IanBarbara household only!). But also from the main fact I really don’t like how Ten (and RTD) treated Martha in series 3 at all. But, when you factor in the long-existing Martha Jones hate train, the misogynoir towards Freema Agyeman, the long history of fandom’s hatred of interracial ships, society’s even longer dynamics of romance, sex and how Black people especially Black women participate, or if we’re even allowed to in the first place, plus the concept of morality when applied to Black characters, I can’t say the anti-Tenmartha wave is entirely in good faith. Especially from how I’ve already done a deep dive into how Martha and Freema Agyeman’s treatment was rooted in rampant antiblackness and misogynoir. Is the buzz around Tenmartha fully about her ‘deserving better’ or are there missing pieces of the puzzle? Is Tenmartha even being shipped in good faith? Is there an ‘ethical Tenmartha’? I’m gonna try to unpack my thoughts on Tenmartha, its fans, its antis, everything in between and outside.

It’s time to ask the question, who’s afraid of Tenmartha? And most importantly, why?

Chapter 1 ->

[mmelete]

Ranking the LU Links on Social Media

Wild and Hyrule. Wild would be a a YouTube vlogger. Hyrule is his usual guest and they explore abandoned hospitals/schools. nobody knows how they’re still alive, but hey, they’re making bank so—-8/10

(Wild also has a cooking channel that Hyrule is notoriously banned from.)

Four. I want to say that Four does video essays about random topics, never really shows his face and gains thousands of followers. Sometimes, you can really tell which Color created the video (Blue is notoriously known for hating on badly done smithing techniques and Vio slanders every YA romance book known to mankind). Also has an ASMR channel (fire crackling and 2800 hour loop of metal pipe sounds). 8/10

Time wouldn’t know how to upload a video erm ugh uh I mean, Time would def just video silly clips of his animals or pretty scenery and upload it. Not really one for the views, just for vibes. 4/10 (the video quality is grainier than sand)

Speaking of silly animals…Twilight either just post little snippets of his goats or he’d totally have a channel dedicated to his strangely very intelligent, very strong “husky”…and if Twilight and the “husky” have never been seen in the same room together, well, that’s their problem…5/10

Wind. Girl vs. Boy challenges and trick shots. Occasionally streams a Minecraft SMP. Has over one million subscribers. Need I say more. 7/10

Sky. ASMR and Woodcarving tips galore. Sun runs the social media behind the scenes. Has a bunch of random tips and tricks for very niche things, but he’s super chill. The Bob Ross of Everything but Painting. 10/10

Legend. There is absolutely no way that you will convince me that Legend DOESN’T do fashion/cosplaying stuff. Makeup tutorials, design reviews and color palette challenges…Warriors is his usual guest and the fans LOVE their snappy interactions. 9/10

Warriors. Is a model on the side but only really does YT for his friends. Part of me wants to believe he’ll do some makeup tutorials, but I have a gut feeling this man has a whole channel dedicated to hair care and sewing/knitting. Artemis found his channel one time and that’s why Warriors joined LU and went through Dink’s portal /jk. 5/10

[dn-hc]

Thank you for all the work that you do. Headcanons/snippets for the Wammy's boys developing a crush/falling in love with a classmate at the orphanage? How do they handle it? Do they confess/approach?

Thank you 😊

L Lawliet

L would be awkwardness galore when developing a crush, fidgeting more, struggling to maintain eye contact or on the flip side making excessive and intense eye contact.

He would subtly observe his crush, noticing small details like the way they laugh or how they run their hands through their hair.

His love language is service, so he would be particularly helpful with them, bringing them their favorite snack or solving a problem for them without ever mentioning it.

If L sees anyone trying to harm the person he likes, even in the smallest way, he’ll secretly take action. He might leave a subtle message, or cause some strange, indirect situation where his crush feels protected, but never know it was him.

If his crush doesn't interact with him, he would never go out of his way to confess his feelings.

However, if his crush seemed interested in spending time with him, he would likely confess.

His confession would be awkward and indirect.

He awkwardly approaches, scratching the back of his neck, toes wiggling, hands in his pockets. "I've grown to enjoy your company more than others. I was wondering if you feel the same."

Mihael Keehl

When Mello develops a crush, it becomes all-consuming.

He would make any excuse to be around his crush.

However, he would try to hide his feelings, but it would be obvious in the way he always wants to be around them, almost competing for their attention.

Mello doesn’t handle jealousy well. If he sees someone else showing interest in the person he likes, he might act out. His jealousy might manifest in sharp remarks or aggressive body language, trying to show dominance in a subtle but very Mello way.

Despite his tough exterior, Mello is vulnerable underneath. His crush makes him feel uncertain, and when he’s around the person he likes, his guard is down, and he’s more easily hurt. If they don’t reciprocate his feelings, Mello might sulk, but he’ll never admit it out loud.

It would take some time before he'd admit it.

He would actually deny it when his friends tease him about it, sometimes even saying mean things about his crush, such as "Why would I even like THEM", to throw suspension.

However, after some time he would look for an opportunity to be alone with them.

Would likely confess after he was so mean he made them cry.

"Look, I've only been so mean to you because, ... because ... I like you! Okay?"

Mail Jeevas

Matt is usually cool and collected, but when he likes someone, he becomes unexpectedly shy. He may act like he’s too busy with his games or gadgets, but he’ll always be sneaking little glances at the person. He might also get red in the face if they compliment him, which is rare for him.

He’ll show his affection by being supportive or helping them out with things that they may not even realize he’s doing. Maybe he’ll work on their computer for them or quietly assist with something in the background.

Despite his shyness, Matt would sometimes playfully flirt, making sarcastic or playful comments. His flirting is subtle and almost never serious, so the person may not realize it’s flirtation at all.

While Matt isn’t aggressive like Mello, he is protective in his own understated way. If someone is bothering the person he likes, he’ll quietly deal with it, usually through passive-aggressive comments or by simply making sure the situation is diffused without anyone realizing what happened.

He wouldn’t confess until his crush indicated to him that they were interested too.

However, if they were interested he would get them alone and confess "I know this is a bit weird, but ... I like you. Like, like like."

He would then apologize claiming it's too weird if they took too long to respond.

Nate River

Near isn’t the type to openly express his feelings, but when he develops a crush, he becomes hyper-aware of every detail about that person. He’ll observe them from a distance, cataloging little habits and preferences they have, but he might not actually interact with them much at first.

Near's crush will make him more curious than emotional. He’ll want to know everything about the person he likes, including their thoughts, habits, and feelings. He might ask other people questions about them, though he’d never admit it’s because of a crush.

Near is more likely to show his affection through small gestures that might go unnoticed, like subtly helping them out in a situation, giving them something meaningful, or being quietly supportive without drawing attention to himself.

When it comes to talking to someone he likes, he gets unexpectedly shy and awkward. He might stutter or avoid eye contact, and it’s out of character for him. However, he might try to mask it by appearing overly logical or detached in his responses.

Much like L and Matt, he would only confess if his crush indicated they could possibly be interested as well.

"It’s clear that I am drawn to you. I would like to continue spending time with you ... as more than partners."

I wasn't sure if you count L as a Wammy's Boy since he isn't a part of the successors group, but he did grow up in Wammy's House, but I thought I'd include him just for the just in case. Hope you like it 😊

[honestlydarkprincess]

stealing this idea from @thiamsxbitch whose brain is big and beautiful <3

whichever wins is the fic i'll use for seven sentence sunday yippie

tagging: @drmellking, @bigfootsmom, @exhuastedpigeon, @xjeanmoreaux, @thiamsalpha, @genetic-hellhound, @dreadful-doctors, @el-viruss, @fruchtfliege, @psych0ruinz, @maygrantgf, @okay-but-could-we-not, @midsummersmorn, @endlessnightmaress, @melissalangdon, @olivemoths, @robbyrobinavitch

[dragonridersandhighlords]

EE ANY snippets for the next chapter of Chasing shadows need to see jealous xaden and overprotective Garrick sooo bad 😏😩

I'm finishing up edits rn and am about to post but enjoy😈

Chasing Shadows | S I X “You saw…” I trailed off, the memory flooding back with visceral clarity. “What he fucking did?” Xaden growled, springing from the bed. “I’m going to kill him.”  “Xay—” I started, desperation clawing at my throat, but a pounding at my door cut me off. Please don’t be Dain.  “Wren?” Garrick’s voice came through, worry lacing his tone.  “Gare?” I swung the door open, relief washing over me momentarily as my cousin stood before me. His eyes flicked from my tear-streaked face to Xaden, the tension in the air shifting. I could almost see his blood boil, rage simmering just beneath the surface as he tried to enter my warded room and failed.  “What the fuck did you do, Riorson?” he growled, the anger in his voice deepening the weight of the moment. “Believe me, Garrick. This,” Xaden gestures toward me with a fierce intensity, “is not on me this time.”

I will not be apologizing🙃

If you see this first PLEASE READ MY NOTE ON SIX WHEN IT IS POSTED

taglists below cut

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo

Chasing Shadows Taglist: @hiraethjules @fangirling-galore @sande5098 @javden @littlepippilongstocking @what-will-be-your-verse @xadenstyles @daisydark @messageforthesmallestman @taleiaargenis

[disappearinginq]

🌹🌹🌹🌹

I am like...99% positive we share 99% of fandoms, so you a snippet for Slow Horses so I can drag you into that one too and make our circle complete :-D This one is based off of Conspiracy Theory (ye olde whump galore movie). General background - more people than just the Park know about Frank Harkness's child-assassin cult, and some people aren't thrilled with Frank in general. However, they get some wires crossed, and don't realize that River wasn't one of those kids.

“But give me the gun.” He held his hand out for the weapon, hoping, praying River would hand it over without the Dogs doing something stupid.

But if they did…

Lamb would be armed.

And he would do terrible things to protect his people.

River’s face crumpled, the very definition of abject misery, a quiet sob of relief and perhaps resignation escaping between clenched teeth. “I’m sorry…I’m…” he glanced at the Dog he’d stolen the gun from, “sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to…” He let the gun fall forwards, loose in his grip so that he handed it grip first to Lamb.

No sooner did Lamb’s fingers close around the cold metal, River was slammed from both sides by the opportunistic Dogs, thrown to the tile floor hard enough River yelped in pain.

“Hey, hey-” Lamb shouted, “take it easy, he’s one of us!”

Lamb can admit that perhaps he lost his temper, just a bit, when the hand cuffs came out and they wrenched River’s arm around to fasten the metal around his wrist, trying to flip River onto his stomach with a knee to the base of his neck so that he can barely breathe, even though River wasn’t fighting back like Lamb knows he could. Because the problem with River has always been he was a star student - with the worst luck imaginable.

River wasn’t trying to fight them, but he was trying to get them off him, but he’s trying to roll sideways to get his right side off the ground and out from underneath the Dogs’ punishing grip while they tried to argue with Lamb that they’re not hurting him and this is for his safety as well as yours-

Lamb points the gun directly in the Dog’s face. “Let go of him now, or you’re next on the wall at St. Leonard’s,” he pulls the hammer back, “understand?”

[doomful]

The new @sornieth-zines is coming soon! Here is a snippet of my page, featuring Galore.

[jinxyvvrites]

-- summer of 85 [ act iii ]

Warnings:

Writer's own interpretation of canon characters. Absence of sci-fi / Upside Down + integral canon events -this is more a slice of life type thing, I do not fear. Teen dramatics, swearing, angst here and there, topics like teen pregnancy / affairs, etc mentioned. Kissing, eventually. Eventual filth -assuming I don't get bored of this and just stop working on it entirely, boys (billy and tommy, ofc) being kind of douchebags, tommy being a little jealous / v. possessive, steve's kiddos playing matchmaker with awkward and/or hilarious results, etc.. Nicknames and petnames galore. If I'm leaving her unnamed for ya'll -because trust, I almost made reader an oc.. - at least let me have nicknames/petnames.

Warning about reader/you: The reader for this is very, very specific and detailed. If this puts you off, please do yourself a favor and don't read this. The characteristics I've given reader/you are non-negotiable and as follows:

Reader is female. Reader is shorter than Steve/Tommy, think like.. 5'2 ish. Reader has long and curly hair -think 90's Mariah. Reader is a cheerleader but Reader is very much anti-popularity. Reader recently went through what others see as a 'glow-up' but Reader doesn't really acknowledge in anything beyond sarcasm / insecurities that have now stemmed from that. Reader has an older sister -the teen pregnancy mentioned vaguely in previous chapter, and an adorable lil niece named Ruby. Reader is a child of divorce / cheating - her father had an affair and is noted to be not such a good and hands on father -spoiler alert, he wanted boys, lol- Reader loves shopping and fashion and makeup but she's too lazy to make an effort most of the time. Reader wants to be a dancer / plans to make this a career. Reader is maternal af. Reader goes by 3 nicknames -eventually 4, but that last one is a good way off.. Those nicknames are teeny, tiny and pixie. Pixie is specific to Tommy only.

If any of the warnings here bother you, this is not the fic for you.

Word Count:

4.2k+

Pairings:

Mike x Will, endgame

Eleven x Max, endgame

reader x tommy, past - hints of present.

reader x steve, eventual endgame

robin x vicky, crushes, one sided

robin x nancy, eventual, endgame

Previous Parts:

act ii

Snippet:

“I thought Steve liked Robin.” “He does.” Eleven answers, glancing over at where the three of you are sitting, further up the row. She happens to catch him looking from you to Robin and then at the screen as he shakes his head and laughs at the way the two of you are tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths. “Wait..”

“Yeah? You saw the way he looks at _ too?” Max asks, grinning. Eleven nods. “I think he likes them both.”

You know your mom’s talked to your father when you step into your house after a long day at cheer practice to hear Silver Springs blaring from the stereo in the kitchen.

She’s angry baking again, you sniff the air, stomach growling at the scent of her homemade brownies.

“Ma?” you call out, hoping she hears you over the music playing full blast.

Your mom lowers the radio and calls out to you. “Teeny? Are you home?”

You saunter into the kitchen and grab a cup, running cold water into the tap. “Yeah.” you flop down into one of the brightly painted ladderback chairs.

“Your father wanted t’ know if you want to come for Christmas this year. We were figuring out the visits..” she looks so sad. She always looks sad after she’s had to deal with him.  “He’d really like it if you did.”

You roll your eyes. “Riiight. Sure he would. So he can trot me around with his new family, pretend to be the perfect father.”

“Sweetie, he is trying harder.”

“He should’ve tried before he fucked his secretary, ma.” you don’t mean for it to slip out quite so blunt, but you still can’t just get past it. You don’t intend to, either. You are firmly on your mother’s side.. Because it wasn’t like he was actually involved as a parent before he walked out anyway, you think, why’s he wanna start now?” 

“Will you at least think about it?”

“Nope. Not interested.” you answer after not even half a second. You take a few sips of water and after the silence gets too much, you clear your throat. “I’m sorry, I just can’t, ma.”

“I wish you’d try. He is your father.”

You shrug. “Maybe if he’d bothered acting like it with me and Dawn before, I’d be bothered t’ spend time with him now.” you mumble. Your mom nods. “He was taking care of us.”

You snort in laughter. “He was using work as an excuse to not be around, ma. I really wish you’d see that. I wish you wouldn’t defend him. He doesn’t deserve it.” 

“Sweetie, you don’t understand the whole situation.”

“I understand that he said for better or for worse and then he bailed.” you shrug, going quiet. “Can we just not talk about this, ma? It’s kinda been a long day.”

Your mom nods. “It has. I’ll tell him you’re not coming next time he calls.”

“Better yet, let me.” you smile at her. “I’ll be th’ bad guy, ma.”

“Sweetie..”

“I know what you’re about to say. This is a bridge I think I wanna burn.” you insist. “I don’t care how much money he sends. I don’t care how many vacations or holidays he invites me to, it’s not gonna change the fact that you’re my ma. He’s just.. Half of my genes. He never bothered gettin’ t’ know me or Dawn. I really don’t think he even liked us, ma.”

“Sweetie..”

“But it’s fine. I’m dealing with it.” you insist. Your mom studies you quietly.

After a second or two, she scowls at the ringing landline. “That’ll be your father or that little jerk Joey.”

“Got it.” you smirk and she laughs softly, shaking her head. “One of us has gotta be rude, ma.” you shrug as you slink over, picking up the phone.

It’s Joey.

You wander out into the hallway, leaning against the wall. Waiting until he reaches a stop in his speech.

“I’m still done with you.” you speak up, calm and firm. “I told you I wasn’t ready, asshole. You kept pushing me. I told you t’ knock it off, you didn’t. This is where we are now.”

“Aw, c’mon, babe.. I can’t help you went an’ got all hot on me an’ I couldn’t keep my hands off ya.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well.. No is a full sentence, asshole. Just for the future, idiot.”

“Ice queen.” he grumbles. “Y’know, teasing a guy isn’t right. It’s not fair.”

“The fact that you think I was teasing you to begin with just shows me how stupid you are. If I wanted you, asshole, you’d have known it. Don’t call here again. We’re done.” 

You laugh bitterly and slam the phone back down onto the hook just as he’s getting all worked up all over again, pleading for you to at least think about giving him a chance. Your mom is watching you when you wander back into the kitchen and flop down into your chair, you can tell she’s been listening at the doorway.

“Do you wanna talk about it, teeny?”

You shrug. “I had one boundary, ma.. The jerk couldn’t be bothered to stick by it. It’s over.”

“But you’re hurting.”

“And I’ll survive.” you mumble, sighing as you shake your head. “Just once..” you trail off.

“Yeah?” your mom sits down, taking a sip of her long-forgotten glass of tea.

“I’d like t’ meet a truly decent guy.. Y’know, one who listens.. Who respects my boundaries and stuff. Who actually wants me for me, not because I’m supposedly hot now.” you roll your eyes and laugh. “Can’t trust any of ‘em, huh?”

“One day you will, sweetie.” your mom coaxes. You laugh, the laughter dying away when you realize that yes, she does still somehow have a shred of hope left. 

“I mean.. Even the boy I used t’ love so much in middle school and thought would never turn into an actual shithead turned into one, so I’m kinda having a hard time believing that.” you admit quietly as you finish off your glass of water. 

“I promise.” your mom gives you a little smile. “I might have.”

As her eyes light up, you giggle. “Okay, I’ll bite..”

“Bob… That sweet man who owns Radio Shack?” your mom goes quiet, grinning like an idiot. And it’s the first time you’ve seen her this happy - at least not romantically, in a long time.

You’re trying to remember who she’s talking about. You grin.

“No way! I thought I picked up on a lil flirtation between you two when you went to take the toaster in to be fixed.” your hand goes to your mouth and you laugh softly. “Okay, I need to hear everything, ma. Now.”

Your mom smiles and shrugs. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“Moooooom.” you whine. “No fair!”

“A lady never kisses and tells.” your mom answers, making you pout at her.

“Not even to her daughter?”

“Especially not to her daughter.” your mom laughs and shakes her head. “Were you still going to meet Robin at the mall later?”

“Mhm.”

“Maybe you could invite Tommy..” your mom ventures and you shake your head. “I really don’t think that’s such a good idea, ma..” you go quiet. She frowns. “But you two were starting to get close again at Ruby’s party this weekend.”

“We are, I just… I love Robin, okay? She’s not comfortable around new people.”

Your mom smiles and nods, opening her arms for a hug. “Such a sweet girl I have.”

You laugh. “Y’know some people might disagree with that.”

“I don’t care.” your mom smiles at you as the hug breaks. “I’m proud of you and your sister. I think I did a damn good job.”

“Love you, mama.”

“Love you too, teeny.”

You wander into Scoops and get in the line behind a group of girls decked out in leotards and legwarmers. As they whisper back and forth amongst each other about how low King Steve has to have fallen, working at an ice cream parlor, you roll your eyes. You instantly recognize Nicole, one of Carol’s airheaded friends.

“It’s your turn, bimbo.” you cut into their conversation, rolling your eyes as you nod to the counter. “Can you order and get the hell out?”

Nicole’s hand settles on her hip as she looks you up and down. “Did you seriously just..?” she pops a bubble with her gum.

“Yeah.” you laugh. “I did.”

“Nic..” Tina goes quiet under her warning glare. Nicole rolls her eyes. “Screw whatever Tommy said, I still don’t like this little bitch. I’m not gonna be nice to her, either.”

You yawn. “The fact that you think I give a flying fuck is amusing.” you shrug as you say it. “I don’t care. I’d rather you stick to what I’m used to.”

“Good.”

“Great.” you fold your arms over your chest, scowling at her as you shoo her, hoping she’ll turn around and order the ice cream she came for, get out of the way so you can get your ice cream fix for the afternoon.

Up at the counter, Steve’s overheard most of the little confrontation. And he can’t help but chuckle to himself as he listens to you putting Nicole in her place.

Oh, it’s not the first time, not by a long shot. You’ve never had a problem speaking your mind. Not even a little. There’s never really been a shy bone in your body.

,, it’s actually kind of hot.” he thinks, pausing as he turns, sits down the scoop in his hand and holds out Erica’s daily free ice cream. “Your orange dreamsicle, kid.”

Erica smirks. “Thank you.”

As she makes her way past, you laugh softly.

Nicole, Tina and the rest of their little group takes their turn, catty muttered comments about how pathetic Steve Harrington has truly become under their breath the entire time.

“At least he’s doing something productive. Unlike you airheads.” you mutter, hoping to hell it’s loud enough that at least one of them hears you because honestly, you’re just over the little group being in your presence.

Your turn finally comes.

Steve is chuckling as you stop in front of him. “You’re a little hothead, y’know that?”

“They bring it outta me, Steve.” you bite your bottom lip as your eyes fix on his mouth for just a second or two too long for your personal liking. You shake your head and laugh softly. “Is Robbie around?” you ask, bursting at the seams to tell her who your mom has apparently been on a few dates with while you were at your grandparents.

“She’s in back.” Steve nods towards the back of the parlor. “I can go get her?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll catch her in like an hour.” you smile at him but he shakes his head at you. “No, I’ll go get her. It’s my turn t’ take a break anyway.”

As he takes off his apron and the stupid sailor hat, you lick your ice cream cone, reading off the three new flavors they’ve added to the menu. 

Robin wanders out, putting back on her apron. As you flop down into a chair nearby, she nods to your damp hair. “You must’ve gone to the pool.”

“Mhm. I left because that idiot Hargrove wouldn’t take a hint and leave me alone.”

Robin laughs. “Most girls would kill for that.”

“I’m weird though, remember? I like my space. He had the actual nerve to grab my sunblock, Robbie.. Then he starts trying t’ put it on me? Like..” you take a few licks of your melting cone, “Excuse me, man? Did I ask you t’ touch me?”

Robin snickers quietly.

“ I heard the new cheer coach is a real battle axe.” Robin sits down across from you, resting while there’s nobody in the little shop.

“Ugh, I swear to God.. If I weren’t so locked in on being a dancer, I’d walk. Zero hesitation.” you take a few more licks. “That woman had the audacity to tell me I need to drop five pounds.”

Robin gapes. “Ew!”

“Yeah. I told her not a fucking chance. If I stay on the squad past camp I’ll be surprised.”

“You could just take dance lessons.. They opened that studio the next town over.” Robin muses. You shrug. “I’m thinking hard about going that route.”

“So do it.” Robin encourages. “Don’t spend another second miserable.”

“I’m trying not to be a quitter. But I swear to God if she doesn’t breathe down someone else’s throat, I’m done. Because it’s like you said.. Why be miserable? That’ll just make me hate dancing.”

Robin nods. “Exactly.”

“Speaking of camps… Did you talk to you know who yet?” you lean in, giggling softly as you ask the question. Robin cringes. “An attempt was made.. A bad one, but an attempt all the same.”

“Robbie, that’s so badass! I told you it wasn’t that hard!” you’re loud and enthusiastic, grinning brightly at your best friend. Robin is beet red, sticking her tongue at you. “I didn’t say it was a good attempt.”

“Oh no.” your face falls. “What happened?”

“I opened my mouth and instead of words, I squeaked.” Robin hides her face and shakes her head. You laugh softly. “Aww, this is so damn cute.”

“Okay, what about you, hm? I heard a certain freckled prick was over at your house on Saturday?” 

You shrug. “We talked. We kinda had to.. Was Ruby’s party, remember?”

She nods. “Just like.. Don’t trust him, okay? Steve says he’s full jerk, no hint of this so-called sweet side you keep insisting he has.”

“You and Steve talk a lot.” you’re teasing her gently. She shrugs, glancing back at Steve as he peeks around the corner. “Maybe he’s not as bad as the rest of ‘em..”

“Girl.”

“What? I just said maybe he’s not that bad.”

“That’s a doorway though.” you mutter, making her laugh at you as she shrugs. “He asked me to come with him, he’s taking these kids he babysits to see a movie later. I feel soooo bad.. Like.. If I were as bold as you I’d think he was into me and he’s so barking up the wrong tree.. But he’s been through it and I don’t wanna add to that.”

“He’s strong. You can let him down easy sooner or later. I think he is into you. I know he is, actually.”

Robin gapes.

You shrug. “You’re hot.” you smirk, staring her down. “If I were into girls I’d have locked it down when we were in like… 9th grade. We’d totally be married by now.” you make her blush and she’s laughing, it’s the cutest thing. You smile at her. “I’m not lying, either.”

“You’re full of it.”

“Am not!” you insist, staring her down. As melted ice cream rolls down your arm, you raise it and lick it off. “Anyway, yeah.. When you do have to let the big idiot down, just be easy. I agree with you. He kinda went through it, what with Billy knocking him off his throne and Nancy Wheeler ditching him.”

Robin nods and sighs. “I’m dreading it.. I mean, if he actually is into me.”

You smile, nod at her. “I know. It’s not fun. Like, not at all.”

“Hey… he did say you were cute.”

“Uh uh.. Nope.” you shake your head. “I’m committed to myself right now. Until I figure out who I can actually trust and who is only into me because I suddenly and supposedly got cute. Which I still don’t see, by the way.” you shake your head. 

“Oh come off it. You’re hot, okay? Like.. Super hot. If I knew you were into girls..” Robin laughs softly.

“We’d be married.” you answer, giving her a wink.

“I better go, let you get back to work.” you stand, stretching. Grimacing at the way your arms ache from working them all day. Robin notices and gazes up at you in concern. “You okay, tiny?”

“Yeah, just sore as hell. The coach decided she was going to work our asses off. Apparently, we’re all lazy or something.” you shrug.

Robin laughs softly. “Hey.” she stops you as you turn and start to head out of Scoops, “You should come with me? If I go with the dingus and his children..”

You raise a brow. “I dunno, Robbie..”

“Aw, c’mon.” Robin pleads. You rub your forehead. “What time?”

“9.”

“What if Steve doesn’t want me around though? I feel like I’d be third-wheeling you guys..”

Steve speaks up, smiling at you. “It’s fine. I don’t really mind. The more, the merrier.”

You give him a little smile that Robin clocks, files away to tease you about later on. As you tilt your head to look up at him, your stomach does this weird little flip.

“Cool. I’ll meet you guys at 8:30. I’m gonna do some more retail therapy.”

Robin snickers. “Good grief, woman.”

“I haven’t spent the old man’s lousy dad tax yet. I don’t want it sitting around, Robbie. It’s only fair, right?”

As you slink out, Steve chuckles.

“She’s.. Interesting.”

Robin laughs softly, shaking her head while Steve is still kind of staring at the door. “She’s a handful, that’s what she is.”

“Yeah, I kind of picked up on that.” Steve muses, blowing out a breath as he finally takes his eyes off the door, thick digits raking through shaggy hair.

“What the fuck? Why is she so freaking stupid, ugh!” -your little exclamation draws a glare from Nancy Wheeler’s little brother and Lucas snickers to himself. Steve can’t help the snort when it escapes and Robin nudges you, leaning in.

“Bet you twenty dollars that she ends up dead by the end of this scene.”

“Why are we betting, Robbie? We both know it’s inevitable at this point.” you’re scowling at the screen, “I just need her to be smarter. She's truly an idiot..” you go quiet, shoveling popcorn into your mouth as you fix your eyes on the screen.

 As Robin looks up right around the same time the killer bursts through the door with his axe, she jumps, hand flying to her eyes as her popcorn flies off her lap.

Steve looks at her in genuine concern and as you watch the two, you can’t help but feel angsty about it. 

,, He might seem sweet but..” your mind insists. This thought is overshadowed by the next one, ,, Poor guy.” because any idiot can look at him and see just how down bad he is for Robin.

And on a deeper level, yes.. Maybe you’re feeling just a little bit of the old green eyed monster. But you bury it and you bury it quick, reminding yourself that you’re perfectly fine doing your own thing. That you need to have time to yourself, that you made yourself a promise not to jump from the frying pan back into the fire.

Because you’re sick and tired of the disappointment that always seems to come right along with it.

At one point, the girl with red hair nudges you.

“Yeah?”

“Hey.. It was cool when you told my stepbrother to get bent earlier. He’s not a good guy.”

You nod. “Yeah, I kind of picked up on that. He’s not familiar with the word no, I take it?”

Max shakes her head, laughs softly. “He’s never heard it.”

“Yeah, that tracks.”

“Just don’t let him win.. Please?” Max asks, looking at you in concern. You nod and smile. “Oh trust me.” you lean in to whisper, “I don’t think you’re ever gonna have to worry about that one, cherry.”

She laughs. Smiles at you. And as she turns her attention back to the screen, she happens to catch Steve looking away from you. She raises a brow and shakes her head, nudging her girlfriend.

“I thought Steve liked Robin.”

“He does.” Eleven answers, glancing over at where the three of you are sitting, further up the row. She happens to catch him looking from you to Robin and then at the screen as he shakes his head and laughs at the way the two of you are tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths. “Wait..”

“Yeah? You saw the way he looks at ___ too?” Max asks, grinning. Eleven nods. “I think he likes them both.”

“Yeah.” Max agrees, stealing another look. Now the two of you are tossing popcorn into Steve’s mouth, the three of you laughing.

“But which one does he like, like.. Like, y’know, seriously?” Lucas wonders as Mike hisses at all three of them. Lucas flips Mike off, scowling at him. Dustin glares at Mike and leans in, muttering quietly, “He kinda told me earlier that he really likes Robin but he thinks ___ is kinda cute. I’m trying to get the idiot to ask Robin out on an actual date.”

“I dunno.. I kind of feel like maybe ___ is more the one he should ask. I just don’t think he’s Robin’s type…” Max muses, earning her a glare from Dustin which she shrugs off. “Besides that…I like her, alright? And Steve needs a challenge. He needs a little frustration in his life. I’ve seen her around, trust me.. She’ll keep him on his toes.”

“Okay, fine.. You guys play matchmaker your way, we’ll play ours.” Dustin, Mike and Lucas smirk as they say it. Will, Eleven and Max smirk right back at the three. “Fine. Game on. I’m telling you, you dorks are wrong.”

“Maybe none of us are right.” Will muses, shrugging. “If we butt in, we’re kind of taking the choice out of his hands.” he points out, stealing some of Mike’s popcorn. Mike scoffs. “You’re not wrong, but.. If we leave it up to him,” Mike nods, “He’s gonna make the wrong one and then the idiot will get hurt and we’ll have t’ deal with mopey Steve all over again.

“I just don’t know that it’s a good idea, Mikey.” Will argues, pulling the popcorn they’re sharing back into his own lap as he looks over at the three of you, “But I get it.. I mean, kinda.”

“We’re still going to meddle.” Max states, looking at her friends hopefully. “C’mon, me and Eleven are bored, we need some excitement.”

“Okay.. We can meddle a little. At least try to figure out which girl Steve really likes.” Will mumbles after thinking it over. “We can at least nudge him in the right direction if we figure it out.”

Mike snorts and rolls his eyes. “Steve likes anything with tits and an ass, duh. I don’t think the idiot actually has a type.”

Eleven shrugs. “I dunno.. I think he does but he doesn’t even know what that is yet.”

“Yeah, well.. He’d better not even think about it with my sister again.” Mike grumbles. 

Will rolls his eyes. “Nance and Steve are done, stop being a baby.”

“Yeah but how do we know that?” Mike asks, pouting at his boyfriend. Will laughs, reaching out to pat Mike on the head. “Just trust me, Mikey.. They’re done.”

Tommy peeks through his bedroom curtains. 

There’s still no sign of your car in the driveway. He grumbles to himself and makes himself step away from the window just as bright white headlights cut through the darkness.

He can hear Motley Crue playing for just a few seconds, the sound of an engine idling. He’d been tensed up, he relaxes a little. He knows it’s you and you made it home because you’ve been listening to the same Motley Crue cassette since your cassette player ate it at some point just before you left for your little trip to Florida.

Despite the fact, he wanders back over to his window, flopping down on the sill. He reaches out, grabs his pack of cigarettes and the lighter, carefully easing the window open.

You’re just getting out of your car as he looks down and takes a drag. If your outfit is anything to go by, he has to assume you just got back from a date and this thought doesn’t sit right with him, the jealousy starts to rise within before he can stop it from happening and it brings a renewed sense of desperation right along with it.

Dark brown eyes settle on the swimsuit calendar tacked to the wall above his old desk in the corner, the date he has to leave town for college is circled in red permanent marker.

“I gotta do something, this is gonna drive me crazy.” he mutters to himself in the darkness. 

When he looks back down, you’ve gone into your house. A quick glance upward shows that you’re in your room. There’s a hazy glow inside, your frilly sheer curtain and the tapestry you tacked over the top of it are pulled out of the way and you’re wandering around, a pale pink phone cord winding itself around your pretty little body with every step you make as you pace your messy bedroom and talk to someone on the phone.

You stop in your window, hand pressed against the glass. As he stares at you, he gets the feeling that you’re  staring right back. This is confirmed when you give him this little wave. He leans his head back against the wooden frame behind it and exhales, a plume of smoke dissipating into the darkness.

And for the second time in fifteen minutes, he reminds himself that he needs to do something. He can’t leave town with everything so unfinished between the two of you because it’s been eating at him for a while. 

“Tomorrow. I’ll start tomorrow. I can just go over, ask if she wants to hang out with me all day.” he tells himself as he puts out his cigarette and flops across his bed after closing his curtains just a little bit better.