#and it just feels like at this rate my only option is to spend the next 20 years chasing the next potential fix

[msburgundy]

in so much pain that i'm honestly second guessing if any of this is worth it lol

[miraclemaya]

MADOKA - “I’m thinking I’ll order a beef udon bowl, since Sayaka-chan told me that they make those really good here. What about you, Homura-chan?”

CONSERVATION OF ENERGY - Food needs can be met with an expenditure of 1.23% of total magic. Proceed?

GRIEF SYNDROME [Trivial: Success] - MAGICAL GIRLS THAT IGNORE FOOD ARE OFTEN MORE PRONE TO GRIEF ACCUMULATION. MY ARMS WILL ALWAYS BE WAITING FOR YOU, HOMURA, BUT IT’S IMPORTANT TO BE HAPPY UNTIL THAT DAY. BESIDES, MADOKA WANTS TO EAT WITH YOU. DISAPPOINTING HER WILL FILL YOUR SOUL GEM WITH A HALF A GRIEF SEED WORTH OF DESPAIR.

TEA WITH MAMI-SAN [Legendary: Success] - Sayaka says the beef bowl is good? Maybe go for that. She knows Madoka’s tastes better than anyone — and if Madoka likes something, you will certainly like it too.

“I will have the same as you, Madoka.”

“I’m not feeling very hungry.”

[CALL AND RESPONSE - Medium 10] Come up with an order on your own

CALL AND RESPONSE - [Medium: Failure] - You’ve eaten here before, you’re pretty sure. Was it Loop 32… no, Loop 12..? No, wait, it was on the first Friday of Loop 68. No… that’s not right. You’ve never eaten here before. In a stunning display of incompetence, you have taken Madoka on a date to a restaurant that you have never experienced before.

THE ANGEL - It’s okay, Homura-chan! I don’t mind if you haven’t eaten here before. Remember what real me said, Sayaka thinks this place is good! And even if it’s not perfect, that’s okay, just spending time with you makes me happy.

THE CRAVEN MASSES - Sayaka has raised her blade against Madoka 16 times before. You should leave this restaurant and kill her. It would only take-

FALLING SAND [Trivial: Success] - 1528 seconds on average.

CONSERVATION OF ENERGY - It can be cut down to 1243 seconds with an expenditure of 2.7% of total magic pool.

THE CRAVEN MASSES - Exactly. Do it in front of her family and make it bloody. Kyoko would likely try and stop you, but even she isn’t immune to bullets. And if Mami comes for revenge, well, you know the exact words you could say that would destroy her, don’t you?

THE ANGEL - A-Ah, I think that’s a bit of an extreme reaction, Homura-chan!

HUMAN SHELL - Your heart rate is increasing. Stop that. You have absolute control over your flesh. Act like it.

MOE INSTINCT - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHAT ARE WE GOING TO ORDER MADOKA IS GOING TO LAUGH AT US

WITCH’S NIGHT - Is… is this a trap? Walpurgis may be defeated, but you know that the stage witch never truly ceases its show. Perhaps this restaurant is a part of the stage?

MADOKA - “Um, are you okay, Homura-chan?”

MOE INSTINCT - OH GOD SHE HATES US

“I’m going to kill myself.”

“I’m so sorry. Would killing myself make you feel more comfortable?”

Isn’t there anything else you can say?

YOU - Isn’t there anything else you can say?

THE DEVIL - Come on, Homura. It’s high time you do it. Really, this is just another in the long, long chain of failures that make up your life. The only way to fix it is to kill yourself.

CLOCKWORK PRECISION - Target: Located on right ring finger. Target is not moving. Chance to hit: High. Plan: Retrieve pistol. Aim pistol at ring. Pull trigger.

THE ANGEL - Oh my god, please do not do that!

"I am going to kill myself."

"I'm so sorry, I'll kill myself if it makes you feel better."

"I'm so sorry. Should I kill myself?"

There. There has to be better options than this.

YOU - There. There has to be better options than this.

MOE INSTINCT - I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY MORE. THE ONLY RECOURSE IS IMMEDIATE SUICIDE. THAT’S THE ONLY WAY MADOKA WILL LOVE YOU AGAIN.

"I am going to kill myself."

"I'm so sorry, I'll kill myself if it makes you feel better."

"I'm so sorry. Should I kill myself?"

YOU - “I’m going to kill myself.”

MADOKA - Madoka’s face twists, her eyebrows raising slightly in shock. Whatever response she was expecting, it was clearly not this.

GRIEF SYNDROME [Challenging: Success] - IF MADOKA WAS A MAGICAL GIRL, HER SOUL GEM WOULD FILL BY A QUARTER HEARING YOU SPEAK THOSE WORDS. THAT WAS CRUEL, HOMURA.

MOE INSTINCT - WHY DID YOU SAY THAT?

MADOKA - “I’m so sorry, Homura-chan. Please don’t do that. I… I really care about you and so does everyone else.” Madoka’s eyes fill with tears as she speaks. She hugs you.

DAMAGED MORALE -4

CALL AND RESPONSE [Trivial: Success] - Quick, tell her you were making an edgy joke that didn’t land. You’ve gotten away with that before, you’re pretty sure.

SPACE-TIME MASSACRE - Twelve quarter shifts left and two up from your current space-time position, and there’s a Japan that it’s actually illegal to not commit suicide in.

FALLING SAND - You’ve been seated for 5 minutes and 32.5 seconds already and still have not ordered. Mami has requested your presence at her apartment in 3.4 hours from now.

TEA WITH MAMI-SAN - She wants to help you find a hobby. She’s really worried about you, you know.

STRINGS OF FATE - You can feel Madoka’s heart beat in sync with yours as she holds you. Everything will be alright, as long as you follow the beat.

THE ANGEL - Yeah! It’s okay Homura-chan. Just explain what’s been going on and Madoka will understand. And then order something, it’s important to eat a full meal!

YOU - “Ah, sorry Madoka. I was… overwhelmed with choice, and my… brain spit out the first thing it thought. I am not planning on killing myself.”

MADOKA - “Um, I think we should probably talk about this more, Homura-chan….”

CALL AND RESPONSE - Ask her a question to change the topic. It’s worked in three different loops, it should work here.

RATIONALITY COMPLEX [Trival: Success] - Ask her if she wants to try anything else and then order that for yourself. This will accomplish your goal of deciding on what to order, as well as showing Madoka that her desires are important to you.

YOU - “Is there anything else you’d like to try, Madoka? We can share our dishes.”

MADOKA - “Uh, okay Homura-chan. Maybe get some tempura?”

Order 10000 yen worth of tempura

Order 1000 yen worth of tempura

Order 100 yen worth of tempura

YOU - “Excuse me waiter, give me 10000 yen worth of tempura.”

HUMAN SHELL - Calories and magic are just two different types of fuel. Feed me and control me.

THE ANGEL - T-that’s probably too much, Homura-chan. Maybe you can sneak some into your cool shield, though!

MADOKA - Madoka doesn’t say anything, but her eyes do bulge out slightly. She gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder and smiles at you.

HEALED MORALE +1

RATIONALITY COMPLEX - Displays of wealth like this can broadcast value to potential mates. This will increase your value in Madoka’s eyes, furthering along one of your goals.

THE ANGEL - I think you should just focus on enjoying the food, Homura-chan. Take a break, everything is okay.

Thank you.

Why don’t you hate me?

YOU - Why don’t you hate me?

THE ANGEL - Because I care about you, Homura-chan! And besides, you hate yourself far too much already.

Thank you.

THE ANGEL - You’re welcome! Now, please, enjoy your meal with real Madoka. She loves you a lot too, you know.

[unintentionalseductress]

Natural Breeding Clinic - Prologue

warnings: MDNI, breeding kinks, general sex, mention of infertility and insemination methods

a/n: It's here. Finally.

Teaser - Prologue - Patient 1

You take a deep breath and sit down in front of the laptop, waiting for the other person to join the call. Never in your life had you heard about such a unique reproductive center but lately, you’d been feeling the pull to start your own family. You’d discussed this with relevant people in your life. Everyone had said if you really wanted a child, then you should go with the options you thought were right for you.

You’d done the research, looking into different doctors and fertility clinics, but this one just stood out. There were testimonials from several happy families, saying their methods, though unconventional, were effective, and the doctors showcased on the website were all incredibly striking, each one handsome in their own way. But it was the success rate that caught your eye. A 98% guaranteed rate that you would be pregnant, and that pregnancy would be healthy. The site didn’t go into too much detail on their method, but the wording caught your eye.

“A natural breeding clinic” they’d called themselves. You’d finally bitten the bullet and called, requesting an information session. The screen suddenly lightens and you focus your attention as an attractive woman with shoulder-length brown hair comes into view. She smiles in a welcoming way before speaking.

“Hello. Am I speaking with Mrs. L/n?” You nod and smile back, trying not to look awkward or uncomfortable. 

“Perfect! My name is Shoko Ieiri, I’m the main coordinating nurse here at Jujutsu Fertility. Thank you for scheduling an information session with us.”

“Yes, of course. I just needed more details before I booked an appointment.”

“Indeed.” Shoko claps her hands together before continuing. “Let me start by telling you a little bit about ourselves. We’ve been around for almost 6 years now. What sets us apart is that we focus more on women’s comfort than most other clinics. And we are sought out by people who are willing to use a sperm donor. We do not perform insemination services with sperm that are not from our own stock.”

“Your own stock? Are you associated with a sperm bank? And screen all the donors yourself?”

“Not a sperm bank in the conventional sense. We have 5 doctors who keep excellent health and their sperm is regularly screened to ensure quality. They are the only stock we allow for insemination.”

You blink to make sure you haven’t misheard. “The…doctors? Are you saying the fertility doctor I’d be meeting with will also be my sperm donor?”

“That is correct.” Shoko nods her head to confirm. “You will be meeting with the doctor of your choosing for at least 5 sessions. They will need to be at least once a week. Some women take the week off and come in 5 days straight.”

“5…sessions?” you ask, confused by the wording.

“Yes. It’s to ensure the insemination process has occurred an optimal number of times.”

“Wait…so…I’m going to be inseminated multiple times? How much downtime do I need in between each insemination?”

“Hardly any. Our method isn’t like a typical clinic. Most women leave feeling very normal and a lot more satisfied than when they came in.”

“Not like a typical clinic? So…you don’t use the catheter method?”

“We use minimal medical equipment in our inseminations.”

“Minimal…so what does the procedure entail?”

Shoko clears her throat and continues. “So it begins with you choosing one of our doctors. We highly recommend spending some time on this part. It’s essential that you feel attraction towards your doctor. Once you make a choice, they will reach out to discuss how your insemination experience can be optimized for you. You will receive a biodata on their sexual profile, their preferred methods of arousal, and other relevant details.”

“I’m sorry, but what?” You are at the edge of your seat wondering if you’ve entered an alternate dimension. Surely, this was all being made up? “Arousal, sexual profile- why would I need all these details? I thought sperm donors only gave information like height, weight, medical history and stuff like that.”

“Why wouldn’t they? You’re choosing to be bred by them. They would have to make sure their patient is satisfied with the experience.”

“Bred?” You bleat the word stupidly.

“Yes. We are a natural breeding clinic. We use the method nature has provided to us to ensure a pregnancy.”

The gears in your brain start turning and something finally clicks.

“Are-are you saying…I would be having sex with my doctor?”

“That is correct.” Shoko smiles gently at you, pleased that you have finally caught on.

“The human body doesn’t necessarily enjoy having medical equipment inserted into it. All that cold plastic, and the mechanical methods of insertion. It puts the body in a state of stress. Not good for implantation. So our doctors will inseminate you through the process of intercourse.”

 Her words fall like a fog around you. You can feel your heart racing, a flush creeping into your cheeks. It was…insane. The doctor of your choosing was essentially going to fuck a baby into you. As your mind starts pulling up the images of their doctors, each one impossibly handsome and striking, you feel a familiar throb starting between your legs. Wetting your lips, you try to talk to continue with the information session.

“I see. And…there are benefits to this?”

“Yes. Intercourse allows the body to relax, releasing happy hormones. In this stress-free state, in addition to the knowledge that your doctor is someone you’re attracted to and trust, the chance of an implantation doubles.”

You gape at Shoko, your mind reeling from all the information.

“And…when you say the insemination process will be optimized for my best experience…?”

“The doctor you choose will ask you extensive questions about your preferences. What turns you on, positions, dislikes, toys. It’s to determine if they will satisfy your breeding experience. If they feel they might not be a good fit, they’ll recommend another one of our doctors.”

You swallow, your mouth going dry. “I see. And…what else do I need to know?”

“We will start by collecting your medical history and run some blood work to make sure your body is ready for an insemination process. Women who have a domestic partner will need to get both a waiver and a consent form signed by their partner that they have been informed what happens for the insemination.”

“Of course. Makes sense.”

“You will be assigned an emotional support companion during this process. It will either be myself or Mr. Ijichi Kiyotaka. We are there to help ease your nerves and ensure you enjoy the process. And all patients must think of a unique safeword to use during the insemination process.”

“Safeword?” you parrot back, still processing.

“Yes. At any point during the process, should you feel uncomfortable, your safeword ensures all actions cease and your doctor will give you some space to breathe and reassess the situation.”

All you can do is nod along. Shoko gives you a look of reassurance. “I can guarantee that most women are pleased with the results. And our doctors are quite skilled in what they do. It’s natural to feel a little shy and embarrassed but at the end of the day, we all share a common goal- a healthy baby.”

Despite your initial shock, you feel some of your trepidation fade away. Shoko continues.

“If you are ok with all of this, I can send you the forms to get the process started. Once those are filled, you can take some time to decide on your doctor. Then we’ll set up a call with them.”

“Thank you.” You make a split-second decision. “Please go ahead and send the forms.”

“Excellent. I’ll send them to the email you put in your inquiry. Was there anything else?”

You shake your head no. “I think I have all I need.”

“Great! I look forward to assisting you again.” Shoko ends the call and you immediately go the the website again to look at the doctors, one of which will end up fathering your child. Such a hard decision. How will you ever make the choice?

@thesunxwentblack @kentocalls @actuallysaiyan

@belle-oftheball34 @jesssicapaniagua

@figmentforms

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[loverofwomenswrongs]

I DON'T THINK I COULD LOVE YOU MORE

****** Pairing: Billie Eilish x fem!reader Words: 1.9K

****** [So after everything that happened, I really wanted to write something cute and happy for the Grammys, I've been obssessed with Billie these last days, so I hope you like it!!!]

The alarm went off earlier than usual on the morning of the Grammys. Y/n stirred beneath the covers, stretching an arm out to find her girlfriend—only to be met with an empty, cold spot. She frowned. If there was one thing she knew about Billie, it was how much she despised getting out of bed without spending a few minutes tangled together, exchanging sleepy kisses.

With a sigh, Y/n lazily pulled her hair into a messy bun and grabbed one of Billie’s oversized sweatshirts. If they were already huge on the singer, Y/n practically drowned in them, despite being taller than her girlfriend. But that’s exactly what made them so cozy.

She padded toward the kitchen, where she found Billie perched on a stool, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. Y/n approached her from behind, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting her chin on her girlfriend’s shoulder. It was only then that she noticed how tense Billie was.

“Good morning, my love,” Y/n murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. But instead of the usual warm response, Billie only managed a small, tight-lipped smile—more a grimace than anything.

Y/n’s brows furrowed. Something’s up.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Billie let out a heavy sigh, finally turning in Y/n’s embrace to face her. “Sorry, baby. It’s just… I’m a bit stressed about tonight.” She hesitated, then ran a hand through her hair. “Claudia called me before the alarm went off. Turns out Finneas woke up feeling sick… and he lost his voice. Like, he literally can’t sing, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry,” Y/n said sincerely. “But I know you’ll figure something out. Have you talked to your team?” As she spoke, she absentmindedly ran her fingers through Billie’s hair, knowing it always helped calm her��even just a little.

“I called my mom, and she said I have two options: find someone to do the harmonies while Finneas plays guitar, or sing without them and just have him play.”

Y/n nodded, considering it. “What do you want to do?” she asked, pulling away briefly to make herself a cup of coffee. She missed the way Billie immediately pouted at the loss of her touch. Once her drink was ready, Y/n returned to her girlfriend’s side, taking Billie’s hand in hers and tracing slow, soothing circles on her knuckles.

“Finneas says he’ll still be okay to play, so that’s not the issue,” Billie admitted. “But I would really like someone to sing with me. It gives the song more depth, y’know? Makes it feel… fuller.”

Y/n took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “That makes sense. Is there anyone you can call? I mean, you still have one more rehearsal—you could try it out with someone and see how it feels.”

Billie fell silent, deep in thought. A few moments later, a small smile tugged at her lips as she turned to face Y/n again.

“Baby,” she started sweetly. “You know I love you, right?”

Y/n narrowed her eyes, immediately suspicious. “Of course I know… Why?”

Billie hesitated, her blue eyes wide and pleading. “Well… You obviously know the lyrics to the song…”

Y/n’s stomach dropped. “…Yeah?”

“You’ve been to every rehearsal, so you know exactly where Finneas comes in…”

“Billie…”

“And even if you don’t believe it, you do have an amazing voice…”

Y/n’s eyes widened. “I do not like where this is going.”

Billie pressed her lips together before finally blurting it out. “Sooo… Maybe… Remember that I love you so, so much… but maybe you could—I don’t know—sing with me tonight?” She whispered the last part, voice pitching higher as she looked at Y/n with the most hopeful expression imaginable.

Y/n stared at her. “Babe. That is crazy.” She set her coffee down, heart rate already spiking. “I have never sung in front of anyone—barely anyone. And you want me to do it at the Grammys? In front of actual singers? I cannot do that. I’m not prepared. We’ve never even sung your song together—it might not even work!”

Panic was creeping into her voice now, but she also refused to meet Billie’s gaze. She knew that if she looked into those big, ocean-blue eyes, she’d be done for.

Billie took both of Y/n’s hands in hers. “Love, I trust you. I know you can do it. And, like you said, we still have one more rehearsal. Just try it—for me? Please?”

Y/n groaned, running a hand down her face. She was losing this battle fast.

“I don’t know… Are you completely sure you wouldn’t be better off on your own?” she tried one last time.

Billie shook her head, voice unwavering. “I’ll never be better than when I’m with you.”

Y/n exhaled sharply, already knowing she’d caved. Billie could ask her for the moon, and she’d find a way to bring it to her.

“I hate that I love you so much,” she grumbled. “You better make it up to me later.”

Billie smirked, immediately tugging Y/n closer by the hem of the sweatshirt, pulling her between her legs. One hand found its way to Y/n’s waist, the other tilting her chin up until their lips were just inches apart.

“Oh, you bet I will,” Billie murmured before capturing Y/n’s lips in a slow, deep kiss—soft, yet full of passion.

—

Much to Y/n’s dismay, the rehearsal went way too smoothly. Her voice blended perfectly with Billie’s, something she had no choice but to admit. And despite the nerves that had plagued her all morning, she found herself feeling… a little more confident, comforted by the presence of the siblings—Finneas strumming the guitar beside her, Billie performing so effortlessly that it almost felt natural to join in. Her girlfriend hadn’t stopped showering her with compliments, making sure she knew just how amazing she was.

Now, as they got ready for the night, their hotel room was packed with stylists, makeup artists, and assistants bustling around to make sure they looked their best. Clothes were everywhere—red carpet looks, performance outfits, even afterparty choices. It was overwhelming, but Y/n took it all in stride. She’d do anything for Billie, and she’d do it a hundred times over.

“Baby?”

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of Billie’s voice. She hummed in acknowledgment, letting her know she was listening.

“I was thinking… Since you’ll be on stage with me tonight, maybe you could also join me on the red carpet?” Billie hesitated before continuing, her voice softer. “I know we weren’t planning to confirm our relationship, but I kinda want to… I want to hold your hand and kiss you without worrying about the cameras.”

Y/n smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “I think today’s perfect,” she agreed. “Besides, bringing me as your plus one would’ve already been suspicious. Not that we’re very discreet anyway. People really don’t believe our ‘we’re just friends’ speech anymore.”

They both laughed, knowing she was right. They had never officially confirmed anything, but they had never exactly hidden it either. They were private—but that didn’t mean they had to pretend.

—

Y/n had no idea how Billie remained so composed throughout the entire evening. Just walking the red carpet had her stressing, but she thought she’d done pretty well—posing for pictures, both together and separately, sneaking fond glances at Billie when the singer wasn’t looking.

She had met so many artists she admired, with Billie proudly introducing her to people like Sabrina Carpenter and Chappell Roan, all while Y/n tried very hard not to freak out. But no matter how nerve-wracking it was, the steady presence of Billie’s hand on her back kept her grounded. The singer made sure she was okay at all times—whether by asking directly, squeezing her hand, or simply locking eyes from across the room.

But now, as they stood backstage, changed into their performance outfits, Y/n’s nerves returned—stronger than ever.

She tried to hide it, not wanting to add to Billie’s stress, but of course her girlfriend saw right through her.

A few minutes before stepping on stage, Billie pulled her into a hug, making her look at her.

“You’re going to do great, baby. I know it. Just like in rehearsals.”

“Yeah… except this time, real singers will be watching.”

Billie smirked. “And? I’ll be there. Finneas will be there. If it gets too overwhelming, just look at me, alright?”

Y/n exhaled shakily but nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

They shared a soft kiss before someone from production signaled that it was time.

Taking a deep breath, Y/n stepped behind the microphone. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest, but then—Finneas placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. They exchanged a small smile, just as the lights dimmed.

Only for Billie to start… talking?

“Hi, guys!” Her voice echoed through the venue, casual and warm. “Normally, we don’t introduce our songs because we’re short on time, but luckily, they gave me a pass tonight.” She chuckled, the crowd responding with cheers. “This morning, we woke up to some sad news—my brother lost his voice. And, as you know, his harmonies are super important to this song. So, we had to find a solution.”

She turned slightly, glancing at Y/n with a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

“Finneas is still going to play, obviously, but tonight, someone very special to me will be singing his part.” She paused before adding, “She’s a little nervous, so if you know the song—please, help us sing. Here’s ‘Birds of a Feather’ with Finneas and Y/n!”

And just like that—it began.

At first, Y/n could barely hear herself over the sound of her own heartbeat, but as the song progressed, she found herself feeling it. The music, the moment, the presence of Billie right next to her. Every now and then, Billie would glance over, locking eyes and smiling, silently reminding her that she was right where she needed to be.

Before she knew it, it was over.

As the final note rang through the venue and the applause roared around them, Y/n barely had time to process it before Billie wrapped her in a tight hug.

“I knew you could do it! You were amazing, baby!” Billie gushed, cupping Y/n’s face and pressing quick kisses all over it.

“Says you!” Y/n laughed breathlessly. “You were born for this, my love. Thank you for trusting me.”

“I always will,” Billie murmured. “I love you so much, Y/n.”

“I love you too.”

They kissed like there was no one else around them—before finally heading back to their seats. But not before Y/n insisted on changing back into her dress, claiming she didn’t want to spend the rest of the night in a t-shirt.

Of course, Billie mocked her for it. “Nothing’s better than a t-shirt, babe.”

They continued watching the show, Billie leaning over at one point as the stage was being set for Sabrina Carpenter’s performance.

With a mischievous smirk, she whispered into Y/n’s ear, “You do know the next step is for you to sing with me on tour, right? And not just the harmonies.”

Y/n turned to her, eyes wide. “You’re kidding.”

Billie just grinned, bursting into laughter at her reaction. And, despite herself, Y/n couldn’t help but laugh too.

She shook her head, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Billie’s lips. “I was going to refuse, but… you do know all you have to do is ask.”

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part two)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

Rafe stands and looks down at the body, his fists clenched tightly. Reality is setting in now. He could go to prison. His future could be ruined.

He’s perpetually at the mercy of his impulsivity, thinking only of the minute he’s living in, burdened with the consequences later. But still, even with his head a little clearer, he doesn’t regret this.

Ripping away the life of a man who wronged him was a thrill. He spends every day feeling like he’s losing and the power he had in his hands tonight felt so fucking good. He won for once.

You feel heavy as you push yourself up off the floor. You wish you could curl up in your bathtub under hot, gushing water, washing away everything that happened tonight.

The corpse is harder to look at with every second that passes. You glance up at Rafe, blood splattered on his face as he stares down at what he’d done, at what you’d done, chillingly unfazed.

“We can’t leave anything that’ll point back to me,” he mumbles, his voice low over the fireworks still crackling outside.

“Or me,” you have to remind him tensely.

His eyes land on yours. He’s always only looking out for himself. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have to worry about someone else.

“I’m serious,” you urge. Your survival instinct rushes through you for the second time tonight. You refuse to let Rafe throw you to the wolves. “I saved your life. You owe me. I won’t take the fall for this.”

“Well, neither will I,” he snaps.

“You shot him.”

“I could say you did,” Rafe replies. “And it’d be your word against mine. What then?”

You scoff, in disbelief of his selfishness.

“I saved your life,” you repeat. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

Rafe swallows hard. He’s not sure many people would do what you did for him tonight. They’d watch. They’d let him die. The possibility that you might feel something for him makes his chest twist with an unfamiliar warmth.

“We’ll look out for each other, alright?” he relents, letting his guard down for a moment. “Let’s just clean this up.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket again. You pull it out, seeing Pope’s name. Twelve missed calls.

You hope your friends don’t get so worried that they come up here, ignoring the Off Limits sign Porter had put up across the stairs. But they don’t know where you went. You’re almost certain.

“My friends keep calling me,” you whisper.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. His friends aren’t worrying about him.

“You can’t answer them,” he snaps.

“I know.” You let out a shaky sigh, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “We have to be fast. What do we do? Do we bury him?”

Rafe takes a beat to think.

“We dump him in the ocean,” he finally says. “We go to the marina and drive my boat out far enough where nobody will find him.”

“How do we move him so nobody sees? We can’t go through the house. We might run into someone.”

Rafe looks to the glass door on the other end of the room, the balcony offering a view of the inky night sky.

“There,” he says. “We’ll push him off and put him in the back of my truck.”

You consider it. Of the limited options you have, it seems like the only one worth trying.

“Okay. We have to clean the blood off the floor,” you say. “And everything we touch needs to be wiped. Maybe there’s something with bleach in it around here?”

For the first time since you entered this room, you feel hope. There’s a chance, a real chance, you could get away with this. You look back at the desk Rafe ransacked.

“Pick that stuff up,” you say. Frustration rolls through him. He never liked being bossed around. “I’ll try to find something to clean with.”

“Don’t let anyone see you,” Rafe mutters.

“How stupid do you think I am?” you huff before you turn towards the door.

You tiptoe through the second story, peeking into a bathroom cupboard. When you find a spray bottle that reads Cleaner and Bleach on the packaging, you grab it and head back to the room.

You and Rafe move quickly and quietly, using clothes you found in the closet to wipe everything with bleach. After a loud, consonant cracking of fireworks that you assume is the grand finale, the show ends. And you know people are on their way back to the house.

The neighbor’s private beach can’t be that far away. You have a minute. Maybe two.

You’re glad Rafe thinks to find the shell of the bullet. He puts it in his pocket. You spray the bleach over the floor again, cleaning every drop of blood you can see.

“Tuck this stuff under his shirt,” you say breathlessly, handing Rafe the bottle and the blood-soaked clothes.

You can’t do it. You know you’ll need to touch him when you move him, but you’d rather limit the contact you have with his body. Even dead, when he can’t hurt you, touching him is terrifying.

You pick the gun up off the floor, then open the balcony, relieved you can’t hear any voices yet. You peer over the edge to see the sandy ground. The balcony overlooks the side of the house, dark and secluded.

Rafe grunts as he drags the corpse out onto the balcony. You have to muster up every bit of strength you have as you help heave Porter’s body over the railing. He falls with a hard thud, facedown in the sand.

You have to jump the balcony. You can’t risk going downstairs. Rafe is wide-eyed as you hitch your leg over the railing, looking down with shaky breaths.

“Wait,” he whispers. “Let me go first. If you break something, we’re fucked.”

He shifts down as low as he can before letting his feet hang over the edge. He lets go, dropping hard, his ankles pinching with pain from the impact.

“Okay,” he says. “Go.”

You feel a splinter dig into your palm as you clutch onto the wooden railing with one hand while the other holds the gun. You make the split-second decision to keep the balcony door open to air out the smell of bleach.

You hope you cleaned away every drop of blood in the room. There’s no going back to it now.

You sink, hanging as low as you can, looking over your shoulder before you drop. Rafe’s arms wrap around you as your feet hit the ground, his chest hard against your back, breaking your fall.

“If someone comes,” he whispers in your ear, “run.”

Waiting for him to get his truck is torture. The humid night air presses against your face and you can’t bear to look down at the body on the ground.

Rafe returns and you move quickly, straining as you carry the body over the uneven terrain, the soles of your shoes slipping on the sand.

Once the body is in the trunk and Rafe unfolds the cover, blanketing the cab and concealing the evidence, you feel a shred less frightened.

You glance back into the darkness just in case. A glow of a phone screen is in the sand. Rafe is already behind the wheel, demanding that you get in, his voice carrying through the open rear window.

You feel for your phone. It’s still in your pocket.

“Do you have your phone?” you whisper.

He responds after a moment, “Yes. Get in.”

“I think his phone fell on the ground when we were carrying him,” you say. “We should–”

Faint laughs in the distance interrupt you. There’s no time to run back and get the phone without being seen.

“Get the hell in,” Rafe mutters angrily.

You obey, swinging open the door, barely closing it in time as Rafe peels away. Your muscles prick from the weight you’d just carried as you drive past the partygoers coming back from watching fireworks.

“Holy shit,” Rafe chuckles, near elated. “We did it.”

You stare ahead, your head foggy.

This will haunt you for the rest of your life. The thought forces a torrent of dread through you worse than you’ve ever felt before.

What if you’d run out of the room when Rafe and Porter came in? What if you’d left Rafe to deal with the body on his own?

What if you’d never gone upstairs?

You’re destined to agonize over the what if’s of tonight forever.

You gaze down at the gun in your lap and hold your hands out in front of you, skin stinging from the bleach. You’d wiped away the blood, but you think you’ll always see it on your hands.

You figure out that it’s a good thing you left Porter’s phone. If he was sharing his location, you’re sure the police could track where it was last before you threw it into the sea with him. They’d know exactly where to look for his body.

“We should shut off our phones,” you realize. “I think they can track GPS history from cell towers.”

Rafe digs into his pocket, glancing down to watch the screen go black.

“How’d you think of that?” he mumbles with a laugh. “Is this not your first time doing this, Pogue?”

“Nothing about this is funny,” you reply.

“Relax,” he says. “We got away with it.”

“You can’t be so sure,” you say. “One fingerprint in that room and…”

You can’t think about it.

In the paroxysm of emotions you’re already feeling, guilt digs a hole into your stomach when you see Pope’s most recent text before you power off your phone.

Answer the phone. We’re worried.

·········

The clock on Rafe’s dashboard reads 10:44 when you reach the marina. He parks right by the main dock. The place seems quiet, the water crowded with seemingly unoccupied boats.

“I’ll take a walk around to make sure we’re alone,” he says, pulling his key out of the ignition.

The car door slams shut and you’re left with a gun in your lap, a body in the trunk, and your tormenting thoughts.

Maybe you missed something back in that room.

You picture Porter’s phone lighting up in the sand. His last text to you said to come upstairs. When the cops inevitably start searching for answers, you’ll be questioned.

A minute later, Rafe swings open your door, pulling you out of your daze. You meet his glare, his hair tousled and sweaty.

“We’re good,” he says. “Move.”

Having to haul the body over the dock past darkened, quiet boats is unnerving. Ater you leave it at the back of Rafe’s boat, you stand behind him at the helm.

Your arms are crossed and the gun is tucked by your elbow, because if you learned anything tonight, it’s that you can’t trust anyone.

Rafe’s still a man. A man who takes what he wants when he wants it. A man who killed someone because he didn’t obey him. He could hurt you if he wanted to. It’s best not to be alone with him.

“I should wait in the car,” you mumble. Rafe shakes his head in frustration, driving the boat forward. The boat’s motor hums as you rock with its movements.

“No,” he mutters condescendingly. It reminds you of why underneath the stubborn pull you’ve always felt towards him, you’ve also harbored a quiet fear. Rafe is violent. Possibly enough to hurt you the same way Porter did.

You feel for the gun again. If two men have to die tonight, so be it. The fact that your mind went there chills you.

Rafe looks over at you, lips twisting in annoyance.

“Don’t feel bad for that asshole,” he mutters. “He asked for it.”

It’s the worst possible thing he could’ve said. Your throat is raw with the threat of tears. Asked for it. Would he say the same about what happened to you?

“I don’t regret it,” you tell him, sure that he’s assuming that that’s why you’re so tense. “I’m just worried we missed something.”

“If we did, nothin’ we can do about it now,” he says. You look ahead at the dark sea, moonlight shining over the water’s ripples.

“We need to figure our story out,” you say. “How’d you end up upstairs? Did anyone see you?”

“I stopped him while everyone was going outside to watch the show,” he recalls. “Told him to show me where he was keeping his coke because I heard he was selling again. It was loud. I don’t think anyone heard, but maybe someone saw. I don’t know.”

“Why do you sell?” you ask, face pinched in confusion. “Why did you even care that he was selling, too? You don't have enough money already?”

“I gotta keep your tips coming, don’t I?” he says smugly. You scoff, jarred by his blasé attitude, despising his cold arrogance.

He notices the angry scowl on your face. He’s convinced he’ll never break through the hatred you have for him.

“I want to make my own money. That’s why,” he admits. It’s half the truth, but it’s good enough.

It’s surprising to hear that Rafe, a man you thought coasted on the wealth he was born into, possesses a work ethic. Even though he uses it to deal drugs.

“Did anyone see you go upstairs?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” you say.

“Why were you there?”

You chew on your lip, the truth sitting on your chest like a ton of bricks. There’s no point in telling him. He thinks your motive was the same as his. Money. And you’ll let him believe it.

Besides, talking about it now, merely an hour afterwards, will only make you cry again and your head is pounding from how much you’ve already wept tonight. How could you possibly say it out loud?

“To buy pot. Then I smoked too much and passed out.” You keep talking before he can ask anything else. “Are we far out enough?”

Rafe looks back to make sure the marina is out of sight before he kills the engine.

Pushing Porter’s body over the guardrail is harder than the other times you’d carried him tonight. The water is rocking the boat so much now that you’re far into the ocean. Your breath is strained as you heave him over the metal, his body hitting the water with a loud splash under the bright moon.

Rafe pulls out the bullet shell in his pocket and tosses it in the water. You know you have to throw the gun in, too. It’s hard to. But you do it.

Rafe looks over the edge now that everything is sinking to the bottom, his forearm brushing against yours. He notices how quickly you jerk away, refusing to let him touch you. The pull he feels towards you is obviously one-sided. Your eyes flit away when you look at him.

“You have blood on your face,” you tell him soberly. His temper flares, feeling stupid for thinking a girl could feel anything but afraid of him after he shot someone right in front of her. Even though she was the one who told him to do it.

You might have a deadly thirst for revenge in common, but that’s where the similarities end. He stalks past you to wash himself off in the bathroom below the deck.

You let out a shaky breath. The unexpected contact with Rafe startled you. After tonight, you’re sure you’ll always be scared to be around men you don’t know all that well. Even the ones that seem decent are just lions in sheep’s clothing. The monster that proved that to you is below the ocean’s surface now.

You look into the murky water, and despite the fear and the anxiety and dread weighing on your heart, you’re glad that this is how it ended. Porter paid the ultimate price for what he did to you. He doesn’t deserve to live, to smile, to feel anything ever again.

·········

You and Rafe sit behind the hull, the boat swaying with the tide. You start to piece together an alibi and decide to admit you were upstairs together. If even one person says they saw either one of you go up there, you won’t be caught in a lie.

As you talk, Rafe can’t take his eyes off of you. You’re clearly scared, but trying to stay level-headed. He doesn’t get how you do it. He’s always been bad at keeping his mind steady. He never had a reason to even try.

“So, I went up first after he texted me to come buy from him,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. “I got high and passed out. Then you came up with him to find his stash. We’re obviously going to have to come clean about the drugs.”

“What do you mean obviously?”

“You’re going to be a suspect the second the police start talking to people,” you tell him. “Everyone knows you had an issue with him. And why. You can’t lie about the coke. And they’ll have evidence that I was buying weed from him. We have to be honest about it. They’ll find out anyway.”

Rafe sighs, knowing you’re right.

You hug yourself as a cool breeze carries over the water. The weakness in your gaze reminds Rafe of the way you’d cried on the floor earlier tonight. Before all this, he only ever saw you as strong-willed and sharp-tongued.

Even though calming a man like Rafe down when he’s angry sounds like it’d be impossible, you figure it’s the only direction your alibi can go.

“We’ll say I talked you down and…” You shake your head. “It doesn’t make sense that we’d stay up there. I think we say we left him in his room and sat on the beach alone in front of the house to watch the fireworks from there.”

You worry it’s not enough. You’re certain that no one who knows either one of you would buy that you voluntarily spent time together.

“Maybe the cops would believe we hung out,” you mumble, “but nobody else would.”

Rafe stills. His friends like to give him crap about how much time he spends talking to you when he supposedly hates Pogues. If he told them he was with you all night, they’d say they saw it coming.

“They could,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“My friends would never believe it,” you scoff. He purses his lips, pissed off at your tone, at the clear implication that you talk shit about him with your friends.

“It’s our only option,” he mutters sharply.

“You’re right,” you give in. “Then what? We went home before people got back? I guess that way if anyone saw us leave together, we have it covered.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “That’s the story.”

“Okay. It’s not great, but it’s the best we can do.” You check your phone for the time, only to remember it’s turned off. “Can you drive me home now? I’ll say my phone died. You should do the same when people ask where you’ve been.”

Rafe doesn’t admit to you that nobody was checking up on him, that nobody ever does. He only stands up to drive back to the dock.

·········

Your first priority when you get home is to text your friends, guilt consuming you now that it’s been over two hours since you last saw them and they have no idea what happened to you.

You turn on your phone to see a string of missed calls and texts from the guys. You open the group-chat and type: I’m so sorry. I’m okay. Got too high and lost track of time. Home now.

They video call you to be sure that you really made it home safe, drunkenly rambling on about how they assumed you went to see the fireworks early, leaving them to search the neighbor’s beach for you.

As you listen to them talk over each other on the phone, it’s the first time you see your reflection since you left the house, when you were oblivious to the fact that the impending hours would change you forever.

You can see it in your eyes that you’re not the same. You can only hope that they don’t catch on.

·········

It’s been three days. You haven’t been sleeping. You’ve hardly been eating. And no matter how many times you tell yourself there’s no use in thinking about how different the night could have turned out, it doesn’t stop your head from spinning into hypotheticals.

All you told your friends was that you were with a boy and that they didn’t need to know any more. Because they all see you as a sister, they were happy to be spared the details.

If only they knew. A few nights ago, you promised them you wouldn’t talk about Rafe ever again. You never would’ve thought the reason would be because you’d committed a crime together.

You’re back at work. Smiling and chatting and serving drinks and acting like everything is fine is harder than you expected.

The thought of seeing Rafe again is oddly comforting. No matter how twisted it is, you have a bond now, held together by secrecy and shared trauma. He’s the closest to knowing what you’re going through.

Even though you were afraid of him on the boat, when he dropped you off, he waited until you got into the house before he drove off. Maybe he sees you as someone he needs to protect, even if it is for his own selfish reasons.

No matter how unhinged he is, having someone like him in your corner is comforting after what you’d suffered through.

You spot Rafe sitting alone at the near empty club bar on your way out and your heart settles, but when you catch a glimpse of the flatscreen mounted on the wall a moment later, it drops. You knew it was inevitable, but it doesn’t make it any better.

Rafe swallows bitter whiskey, gazing up at the tv. Under a photo of Porter reads MISSING as his parents speak to the press. What if he went missing? Who’d care? What would his dad say – at least it wasn’t Sarah?

He looks down at the bartop. The thrill of what he did has faded. It’s not a surprise. His life is nothing but a cycle of short-lived highs.

When he sees the look on Porter’s parents’ faces on the tv, jealousy and loneliness screw a hole into his heart. He knows it’s fucked up to envy the man he killed. He doesn’t care.

His eyes drift over the bar to see you standing on the other end. You’re in shock as you stare up at the broadcast, looking guilty as hell. He glares at you until you finally meet his eyes.

Rafe curtly gestures to you to sit next to him. Even though he looks mad, you’re relieved to close the distance between you.

“You’re being obvious,” he says quietly once you sit next to him, an edge to his tone.

You look back to see only a few other people sitting in the restaurant area behind you, far from earshot. You won’t be heard, but you both know you have to speak vaguely just in case.

“Someone I know is missing,” you reply. “It’s normal to be worried about that.”

“What do you know about normal?” he scoffs.

You lock eyes, sure that you’re both replaying the night in your minds, sure that you’re both far from sane after what you did. His gaze is cold, a reflection of how angry he is that you’re not handling what happened as well as he is.

“Great talking to you,” you snip sarcastically, shifting to stand up.

“Wait,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks at you again, this time with a bit of the hardness in his eyes gone. “We need to talk.”

next >

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[azrielbrainrot]

Baby, You Know That I Miss You

Pairing: Band Member!Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Phone Sex, Guided Masturbation

Description: You miss your boyfriend terribly when you go visit your parents during break. Luckily, he's more than willing to help.

Warnings: Smut, phone sex, guided masturbation, dirty talk

Word Count: ~2k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: This story is part of my Band AU as well as Kinktober, but you don't have to read their other stories to enjoy this one since it's basically all smut! Also I'm not too sure if this is all that good but we move. Hope you enjoy!

Band AU Masterlist

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

“I didn't know I was going to be so busy all day,” you say with a sigh, happy that you finally get to relax in the comfort of your own bed, “but at least I get to listen to your voice.”

You were a bit sad that you missed a performance, it was the first one you didn't attend since you became official, but because of it your schedules ended up aligning perfectly and you got to talk to him for a while before going to sleep, when you texted him this morning you thought you wouldn't be able to.

Coming home for break, after what happened the last time you were here had been a bit nerve wracking. You didn't know if you would have to run into Eleanor or Parker, and you didn't know how you would react if you did. Luckily, you hadn't seen them, and you found that when your mother mentioned them you didn't really feel anything besides some mild resentment at the way you were treated, all the anger and sadness that just their names evoked a couple months ago had mostly subsided.

If you were being completely honest, forgetting about your childhood best friend had been a lot easier than you thought possible. You were sure the fact that she hurt you so badly that there wouldn't be any possible way to salvage your relationship helped, since it made forgetting her truly the only option, but most of all you had to thank Azriel and your friends, old and new, for it.

The hardest part of being home for these last two weeks ended up being away from Azriel. Yours is still a relatively new relationship, although sometimes it felt like you had known him your entire life, and so it was hard to not be able to see him for so long when you were spending almost all of your free time together. You missed sleeping in his arms, missed watching him and the boys practice, missed the dates at the small café by his apartment you'd found together, the way he held your hand when you went on walks and, Gods, you missed his touch.

“Want me to tell you a story?”

“Anything is fine as long as it's coming from you,” you admit, his deep whispered voice enough to send a gentle warmth traveling through your veins. Azriel hums, something obviously on his mind. “What?”

“You always liked the sound of my voice,” he muses, letting the words flow from his lips slowly but confidently, knowing it would get a reaction out of you and prove his point.

“Well, yes but that's normal.” You try to keep an indifferent tone, but you know he can easily hear through it. “You're a singer for a reason.”

“We both know it's not just that,” he murmurs, and you can almost hear the smirk growing on his lips, can picture the confident yet alluringly attractive look that always falls over his face when he knows he's affecting you, one that unfortunately only makes it worse. You find yourself squeezing your thighs together, wishing he was right next to you instead of in a different city, so you could kiss that smirk off his lips and let him show you all the different ways he can affect you.

“Don't do that,” you breathe out, almost pleadingly, every hint of sleepiness escaping your body.

“Do what, princess?”

“That,” you say a bit too loudly, calming down and lowering your voice when you add, “not when I'm three hours away.”

Azriel sighs, a heavy sound coming from deep in his chest, needing to feel your hands on him as much as you do. If you were in your apartment instead of at your parent's house, you might have gotten out of bed and made your way to his house with how needy you were starting to feel.

“It's a shame that I can't sit you on my lap right now and whisper every dirty little thing I want to do in your ear.” Truly a shame, you think as you press your legs together. “But we can try something else.”

“Try what?”

“Just want you to do as I say,” he explains, desire dripping on every word. You bite your lip, his intentions now crystal clear in your mind. This wasn't something you had ever done or even considered, but you feel a shiver of excitement run down your spine at just the thought. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, heart beating wildly behind your ribcage as you hear the rustle of sheets through the speaker.

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

You let out a soft chuckle before answering unashamedly, “Yes.” You had taken to stealing some of his shirts to sleep or wear around your house before you even started dating, though stealing was probably the wrong choice of words seeing as he either let you or even gave you some of them himself. His shirts were not only comfortable but they also smelled like him so they quickly replaced your own old shirts you used to wear to sleep before.

Azriel lets out a hum, one that sounds more like a moan, probably lost in the thought of you touching yourself while wearing his shirt before he gathers himself and starts, “Want you to run your hand over your stomach, feel how warm and soft your skin is.” Your hands follow his commands easily, mimicking the way he caresses your skin instinctively, desire growing within you with every brush of your fingers.

“Now push your panties to the side,” he continued, voice getting deeper as he spoke through a clenched jaw, his own hand likely occupied as well, “tell me what you find.”

You knew what you'd find even before your hand traveled down to do as he said, a sigh escaping you all the same when your fingers dive between your folds, feeling just how soaked you were, a string connecting them to your cunt when you pull away.

“Are you wet for me?” The pleasure was obvious in his voice, and you had no doubt in your mind that he was stroking his cock as he spoke, the thought making your cunt clench around nothing.

“Yes,” you breathe out, nodding along even though he can't see you, swirling your fingers around and making a mess of yourself, careful to avoid your clit and entrance no matter how bad you need to take some of the edge off, waiting for him.

“Good,” he moans out, “Fuck, you're so good to me.”

If you closed your eyes, you could picture him laying on his bed, sheets thrown off his body and underwear long since discarded to the side, hand stroking his thick cock slowly, moving up and down as he also imagined what you looked like as you followed his orders, and wished it was your hand instead of his own.

“Now take your panties off,” he says after a moment, waiting patiently as he hears you shimmy them off your legs, sighing as you spread your thighs and bend your knee before letting him know he could continue. “Take two of your fingers into your mouth.”

“Azriel-”

“Need you to get them nice and wet for me.”

A whimper escapes you as memories of him saying these exact words rush into your mind. He loved seeing your mouth stuffed with his fingers, your tongue swirling around them as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. You almost tell him you didn't need to get them any wetter, your cunt was quite literally dripping, but you do as he says anyway, tasting yourself on your own fingers, pretending they were his instead, making a show of sucking on them and pulling them out with a pop just so you could hear the groan he lets out, a tremble running through your body at the delicious sound.

“Done?”

“Yeah,” you muse, entirely too proud of yourself for managing to get under his skin so easily.

“Alright,” he rasps, “Now roll them around your clit slowly, pretend they're mine.” You can't help the whimper of his name, your fingers circling your clit just like he said, closing your eyes and pretending it was his rough fingers instead of yours.

“Good girl,” he chuckles, “don't even gotta tell you to moan my name.”

“I need to be quiet though,” you remind him, remind yourself. If it was simply your roommate in the room down the hall it would only be a bit embarrassing, but it's your parents instead and them hearing you would be nothing short of mortifying.

“Such a shame,” he muses, the smirk almost audible on his voice. “You always sound so pretty for me, saying my name in that sweet breathy, fucked out voice of yours.”

“Azriel,” you whine, putting more pressure behind your fingers, - you really didn't think you needed much more to cum, especially if he kept whispering in your ear like that, - breathy, quiet moans pushing past your lips despite your warning.

“Like that,” he lets out between pants, fist tightening around his cock as well, “Just like that.”

“Keep talking, Az,” you murmur, your heart stuttering in your chest with every harsh breath you hear through the speaker, wanting to hear it in his voice. “You sound pretty too.”

Azriel only hums, staying quiet for a moment longer before letting out a groan. You hear his head knock softly against his headboard as he leans back, and briefly wonder if he could hear the sinful noises your cunt was making every time your fingers moved.

“Fuck, princess. You have no idea how much I wish I could taste you right now.” You did actually, you were burning with the same need. “Wanna bury my face in that sweet pussy of yours, make you cum on my tongue over and over again until you're all I can taste.”

The moan that pushes past your lips is entirely too loud for the quietness in your house, but you can't help it as the picture he paints assaults your mind. You're reminded of the feeling of his tongue against you, lapping up at your cunt until you're shaking with pleasure under him. Gods, you couldn't wait until you saw him again next weekend.

“Wanna taste you too,” you confess, speeding up your movements, mouth watering at the thought.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Think I could cum just thinking about you choking on my cock, trying to take all of me down that tight throat of yours.” Closing your eyes and biting your lip, you do your best to keep as quiet as you can, his filthy words sinking into your bloodstream. It felt like you were on fire even though you had long since kicked your sheets off your body, - you didn't think it was possible to be this turned on alone in your room.

“Fuck,” he chuckles, a ridiculously attractive sound, “I think I might.”

“Azriel, I'm-”

“Close?”

“So close,” you pant, right on the edge, your hand moving incessantly, goosebumps running through your skin.

“I'm right there with you,” he murmurs, “Cum for me, princess. Let me hear you.”

You let yourself fall as soon as he finishes speaking, mouth falling open in a silent scream as you're hit with wave after wave of pleasure, a few whines of his name pushing past your lips despite your efforts to keep quiet, the praises he lets out going straight to your head.

Azriel cums not soon after, his own pants and muffled moans of your name echoing through the speaker as you're coming down, making you feel all tingly knowing he just came as hard as you did without you ever touching him, and still your name was on his lips. It's unfair the way this man makes you feel, even when he's so far away from you.

“I decided I'm going to lock us in your room when I get back,” you speak up after you take a deep breath, only half joking.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you continue, wiping your hand on your discarded panties, cringing softly at the feeling, knowing you have to get up and clean yourself up properly. “You're mine for the entire weekend.”

“You can lock us in for as long as you like,” he murmurs, “I'm all yours.”

[cevansbrat0007]

A Friend in the Dark: Part I

Summary: Ari receives an unexpected call from you in the middle of the night. Takes place directly after the events in The Do-Over. And be sure to check out A Friend in the Dark: Part II!

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Sexual Fantasies, Allusions to Oral Sex, References to Home Invasion, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner, who helped me come up with the opening. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari runs an agitated hand through his already tousled brown locks before tossing a stack of documents on his desk. Leaning back in his seat, he finds himself wondering why he was somehow always the one who always ended up drowning in a sea of never-ending paperwork. 

At this rate he was never going to make it home. The last thing he wanted to do was spend another night sleeping on the couch in his office. Unfortunately, it was quickly beginning to look like his only option. Of their own violation, his tired eyes stray towards the desk drawer that holds all the takeout menus. 

Maybe he’d try that new Mexican joint over on Madison – the one that claimed to have the best tamales in town. It was a bold claim to be sure. But it was definitely worth investigating if only so he could– 

A sudden knock at his door jolts Ari out of his thoughts. How strange. Buck, Pixie, and the rest of the gang had left hours ago. And he was sure they’d closed up on their way out, which meant that he should’ve been alone. 

The knock sounds again, this time a little more insistent. Next thing he knows, the door slowly begins to swing open to reveal…

You.

The woman he’d left behind months ago. Far away, in the little rinky-dink town of Bell’s Creek. Or so he’d thought. But now here you were. Standing there looking like you’d just stepped off a runway, wearing a black, off-the-shoulder mini-dress that hugged your curves just right.  

Stunned into silence, all Ari can do is continue to gape at you. His mind races as you step into his office, a million burning questions hitting him all at once. 

What brought you here? How did you find him? Was everything okay? 

“You’re a hard man to track down, Mr. Levinson.” You purr before taking a seat on the edge of his desk. Unable to help himself, his eyes stray to the hem of your dress as it rides up, giving him a glimpse of your deliciously thick thighs. 

“Why are you here?” He stammers, his mouth going dry when you invitingly cross your legs.

And now he knew that you weren’t wearing any panties.

You offer him a delicate shrug. “I tried to stay away, I really did.” Stretching your legs, you draw his attention to your stiletto clad feet. “But it was just too hard.” 

Ari had never considered himself to be the type of man who was into feet, but that never stopped him from admiring your perfectly painted toes. Tonight they were a shiny, deep red that matched your manicure. 

“Look, Duchess…I–”

“Tell me you didn’t miss me.” Reaching over, you use two fingers to tilt his bearded chin. “That you haven’t thought about me since you left Bell’s Creek.”

“Every damn day.” He admits hoarsely. “But we can’t–”

“We can.” You softly interrupt, before sliding off his desk and sinking to your knees, forcing the bounty hunter to move his chair to allow you space. “I’ll show you. Give you a taste of how good it’ll feel to have me the way you’ve always craved.”

Ari’s pulse kicks up the moment he feels you rest your soft hands come to rest on either of his thighs. Meanwhile, his already impossibly hard cock is busy straining in his jeans, desperately seeking relief. His head tips back as he waits for you to do something – anything – before he resorts to embarrassing himself by begging. 

“Did you really think I didn’t know how bad you wanted me?” You lightly drag your nails over his impressive bulge, delighting in the way he shivers at your touch. “You wanted me from the moment I walked into that church.” You allow your hands to rove higher so that you’re now gently gripping his belt. 

“Yes.” His breathing is shallow and labored.

“But it wasn’t until you found me at my shop that day, when you got angry at the thought of me sleeping with Martin, that you decided you wanted to fuck me.” You slowly begin undoing the clasp. “Isn’t that right, Detective Levinson?”

“Y-yes.” Ari rasps, licking his dry lips. He groans low in his throat when you wrap a hand around his girth, freeing him from the confines of his pants. 

“How many times have you imagined this?” The question comes out both sweet and silky. “How many times have you lain awake at night fantasizing about what I'd sound like when I’m choking on your thick cock?”

“Shit, baby!” He hisses as you begin stroking him up and down, working him with each sensual flick of your wrist. “Every fuckin’ night – gah!” 

“Wanna know a secret?” You ask at the same time as your mouth slowly starts to descend, heading in the direction of his aching member. “I’ve been dying to taste you too.” You pause, stopping just short of taking the plump mushroom head between your lips. 

“I can’t wait to find out if you’re salty…or sweet.” Ari’s hips buck when you finally take him into your mouth, greedily sucking him down as if you’d done it a hundred times. Of its own accord, a large hand fists itself in your curls, forcing your head down and making you gag as you struggle to take more of him. 

“That’s it, Duchess. Don’t fuckin’ stop. Don’t…don’t…don’t…”

Ari’s House – 3:00am

Ari suddenly shoots straight up in bed, blinking rapidly as his bleary eyes work to adjust to the darkness of his bedroom. He scrubs a weary hand over his beard before vaulting himself out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. 

Without flipping the light, he immediately turns on the tap, splashing his face with water. He’s annoyed by the fact that you’d managed to find your way into his dreams yet again. As if it wasn’t enough that you already seemed to plague his every other waking thought, now he also had to worry about you disturbing him in his sleep. 

Although it had been days since you’d last spoken with each other, that hadn’t stopped him from keeping tabs on you. While he tried to tell himself he was just doing his due diligence, deep down he knew there was a little more to it. In his mind, there was nothing better than watching your hips sway as you unknowingly went about your day.

Especially when you were wearing those leopard print leggings you seemed so fond of, or better yet, a pair of denim shorts that perfectly hugged your ass. Sure, he was a fool. But some days he was beyond caring. He’d long since decided that you were the only good thing about this dingy little town anyway.

Ari flops back down on the bed with a disgruntled sigh. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, even if he could somehow convince his stubborn dick to cooperate. As he lays there, he finds himself wishing he would’ve gotten a chance to speak with you at the church potluck the other week.

At the time he’d been besieged by the townsfolk – mostly women – all of whom had demanded his attention. Meanwhile, you’d been content to stay huddled in the corner, picking at the food on your plate in a way that almost reminded him of a little bird. 

Closing his eyes, he wills his body to relax in hopes of reclaiming at least some of his inner peace. Only to jump when he hears his phone begin to ring from its place on his nightstand. 

Who the fuck was calling him at this hour?

Frowning when he doesn’t immediately recognize the phone number, he briefly hesitates before answering.

“Hello?” The greeting comes out a little gruffer than he intends.

“Ari?”

His world suddenly grinds to a screeching halt. Because while he doesn’t recognize the number, definitely knows the voice. 

He’d know your voice anywhere.

“Ari…are you there?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. I–I’m here.” He gives a quick shake of his head as he attempts to get his mind to connect with his ears. “You okay?”

“I’m so sorry for calling so late. I really am, but…” There’s no missing the distinct hitch in your throat, even as you try to keep your voice low. “I think someone…” He listens as you trail off, most likely to try and collect yourself.

“You think someone is what?”

“I think someone is outside my house. I–I think they’re tryin’ to get in.” 

It’s at that moment when Ari feels all breath literally leave his body. Mostly because it was the last thing he expected you to say. Regardless, seconds later he’s on his feet, hastily throwing on his clothes.

“Where are you now?” His tone is short and clipped as he goes about collecting his things. 

“I’m locked in my room.” You whisper while struggling to keep the tears at bay. “I ran when I heard them scratching at the backdoor.”

“Good girl.” He grunts before putting the phone on speaker so that he can begin lacing up his boots. “You got somethin’ to protect yourself until I get there?” 

“I have a bat.” You supply helpfully, even as you huddle on the floor by your bed. 

“Baby, I meant more like a gun.” 

“Um, no. No.” You inwardly curse yourself for being so afraid of those damned things. Your uncle used to own one, but you’d foolishly gotten rid of it after he passed. ”I–I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Ari speeds down the stairs, taking them two at a time as he holds the phone to his ear. “I want you to stay right where you are, okay? Gimme your address.”

“Okay.” Your fear is so palpable, it’s almost paralyzing. But you at least have enough sense to remember where you lived. Thank goodness for that.

“Good girl.” Grabbing his car keys off his kitchen counter, the bounty hunter makes it out of his house and into his truck in record time. “I’m on my way. You call this into the station yet?” He asks, double-checking that his preferred gun is still in his glove compartment. 

“N–no. Because what if I’m wrong and–”

“But baby, what if you’re right?” He swiftly interrupts as his vehicle’s engine roars to life. “Look, I’m gonna hang up with you and call this in.”

“Please don’t go!” You cry, before slapping a hand over your mouth. 

“I swear I’m gonna call you right back. Right fuckin’ back, okay?” God, he hated to leave you – even for a second. But this was something that had to be done. “You have my word.”

“O���okay.” Is all you can muster as you clutch your baseball bat tighter to your just. “But please hurry.”

“I’m comin’.” He assures you as he backs out of his driveway, pulling onto the street. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. And don’t you dare open up that door for anyone but me. You hear?”

“Yeah.”

“Good girl.” The bounty hunter praises once more. “Just try and stay calm for me. I’ll be there soon.” 

Gritting his teeth, he ends the call before dialing the one cop he knew would be on duty tonight – Officer Milton. Knowing time is of the essence, he hurriedly relays the info to the one man before hanging up and phoning you back. 

Except you don’t answer. In fact, it goes straight to voicemail. When the same thing happens a second time, Ari gives up in favor of concentrating on the road. He’d be to you soon. And whoever was responsible had better hope that the police beat him to the punch. 

Otherwise the fine officers of Bell’s Creek would have a dead man on their hands. 

END PART ONE  

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[hauntedhokage]

A Helping Hand

Caleb/F!Reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4.1k (my bad)

warnings: spoilers for Homecoming Wings story and Caleb’s Painful Signal memory, grief, sexual content

part two to Handsy

ao3 | masterlist | ko-fi

You hadn’t paid attention to any of the specifics that were provided to you, you simply didn’t care about any of the details besides the fact that your friend was dead. He was supposed to show up on his first day back at Skyhaven from his trip to Linkon for a follow up appointment, you needed to make sure his concussion had actually healed so he could be cleared to fly, only to be told by one of the Captains that you weren’t going to see him again. 

You’d wanted it to be a joke, his horrible attempt at gauging how much you missed him while he was gone, but you know better than to challenge a superior over it.

That explained why he hadn’t texted back, aside from your other explanation being that he was spending time with his family and not checking his phone. But for him to be dead? It didn’t feel real. 

Not him. Not Caleb. 

He was always confident in his strength and ability to perform (in every scenario), for him to have been killed was just…wrong. 

But a week goes by without someone saying “sike”, nobody jumps out to tease you for being gullible, and you’re dressed for the funeral held in Linkon City for the fallen pilot. You stand in your only appropriate funeral attire - one of hundreds on base who showed up but the only one who received eye contact from two of his close friends. 

After the funeral one of those two friends approaches you, letting you know that there were a couple things with your name on them in Caleb’s room of the apartment they shared, and that you were welcome at any time to come collect them. Stuff he’d want you to have, they’d said, and that wasn’t something that was easy to comprehend. 

The idea of Caleb having things for you in his apartment felt off, given your lack of a real relationship between you. Sure you were friends who had sex and he teased you relentlessly, but there hadn’t been anything more concrete established for him to have things for you in the apartment you’d never seen. There were feelings on your side of the relationship, sexual attraction blooming into so much more with every moment you spent with the pilot fertilizing that seed, but you kept that to yourself out of risk of him laughing you out the door. Without knowing his intentions, you wanted to keep your feelings safe from potential garden shears ready to cut the stem from the root, only now that flower would be left to wilt without his care and attention to keep it alive. 

You leave the gift bag sitting on your coffee table for longer than you’d like to admit. Two weeks of staring at it after long shifts in the med bay, your eyes constantly sore and puffy from how much you rubbed at them to keep the tears from staining your cheeks. It felt wrong to open a gift when the person who gave it to you wasn’t there to see your reaction to it. But you know you need to do it, because he would’ve wanted you to be strong for him. 

Inside the bag is a bear, one of the souvenir bears dressed like a pilot that was sold in the gift shop of the aviation museum. You told him once that there wasn’t a replacement for him unless those silly bears were an option, and he’d told you that it could count even if he was cuter. 

The card is opened next, your eyes taking in the only thing of him that you had left in his handwriting. The script was neat compared to other pilots, legible and carefully printed to ensure you could read it instead of the squiggles and shapes others had put in front of you to attempt at reading. 

Happy birthday, doc!

Cheers to another year of keeping each other healthy. Little Caleb is your new friend for when I’m gone - he’ll keep you company until I get back to bug you some more. 

Confession time:

I can say a lot to your face, but not this for some reason. Maybe we can get dinner for real as a date and it’ll be my turn to be flustered as I talk about feelings while you tease me?

Have a wonderful birthday, and let me know if anyone gives you crap so I can straighten them out. 

-your favorite pilot, Caleb 

“Yeah,” you whisper, reading over his handwriting once more in hopes that it relaxes the vice around your heart. “We should’ve talked feelings before you left, idiot.”

But that opportunity had long passed; and now you’re curled up on your couch with the bear in your arms, crying over your deceased lover. 

If he was alive, you’d kill him again for making you so upset - but he’d kick himself for it enough which would unfortunately deter you from wanting to hurt him. He was great at looking like a kicked puppy, you didn’t want to deal with that. 

The next day you resign from your position at the DAA. You felt sick to your stomach every time you saw a pilot walk by after Caleb’s funeral, and after the bear you just couldn’t take it anymore. A month later you’ve moved into a new apartment across Skyhaven in a month after accepting a position at Willow Medical Center. It doesn’t fix everything, but it certainly helped to live somewhere that you didn’t have a memory of Caleb - no meals cooked in that kitchen or singing in the shower to haunt your memory. In the hospital you don’t see him in every patient you come across, you don’t have to do any double takes when you see a uniform pass on a man with dark hair. You don’t sit and wait for him to slide into whatever room you’re in to ask you to hang out or get him out of some cleaning duty he’s been tasked with because he was a smartass. 

It was easier to breathe when you weren’t being suffocated by the memories of him and what could’ve been between you. 

But if you were to say you were handling your grief well, you’d be lying if you said you had it under control. You pay bills for a house you rarely live in, only there to sleep in a bed rather than half awake in your office at the hospital. It was more likely to see you reading a research paper in the hospital cafeteria than out getting lunch with colleagues, and you hadn’t had a home cooked meal since you left the DAA. You’d never bothered with truly going grocery shopping since moving in, so there was nothing to cook and you could keep your body alive by ordering takeout. 

It wasn’t healthy, but it kept you alive - or, at least, whatever this version of “alive” could be called. You weren’t even present in your own life anymore, holding an absence in your own life to keep yourself from truly processing those feelings. 

This was supposed to be any other Tuesday. You’d been in the hospital since Monday morning, moving about with maybe one or two naps in your office to keep you moving between appointments and the random request for a second opinion on a diagnosis. There had been a bustling on the floor when you were leaving your last patient for the day, which had you mentally planning to delay your return home about an hour or so to ensure you could avoid whatever commotion had arisen. 

But then the door to your office opens as you’re packing up your bag, and you bite your lip in irritation when the door is softly shut behind whoever had come to see you. 

“Can I help you?”

“I missed my follow up appointment.”

That voice… it was impossible. Caleb was- he’d been killed by an explosion. This visitor was just a victim of a similar voice, that was all. That, or you’d been at the hospital for far too long. 

“I’m sorry, but I haven't had any follow-ups scheduled that have been missed, so…” You trail off as you turn around, realizing immediately that you were standing face-to-face with the new Colonel of the Farspace Fleet that everyone was talking about. Tall and imposing in the long black coat over the uniform, but he’s not looking at you so you can’t see his face clearly. But why was he here? They had their own doctors in the Fleet. 

“I’m a couple months late, doc.” He states, keeping his service cap tucked in his arm as he turns to face you properly. 

Those eyes, that stupid little smile - there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that this was the mad you’d been grieving for months. 

The crack! that rings through the room freezes everything that might’ve been happening around you. Caleb holds his jaw with a gloved hand, staring at you open mouthed in shock as you stare back at him. You’d slapped him hard enough that you felt a crack in your own hand in addition to the sting from the impact, and yet you were the one who was now crying over it. 

“Okay, ow!” He finally speaks, and you stand your ground with hands on your hips despite the tears that trail down your cheeks. Any eye makeup you might’ve worn is now ruined if your long hours at the hospital already hadn’t, but you can’t care about that when you’re standing in front of a ghost. “I’m sorry, doc.”

“You’d want to be more than that.”

He doesn’t stop you when you hit him again, your left fist colliding with his chest and followed by your right. It’s like he didn’t feel the blows at all, his hand coming to rest on your hip as you continue to pound on his chest and gradually pulling you in closer until you’re sobbing into his uniform. A gentle hand rubs your back as the other cradles the back of your head, keeping you close as you cry. 

“I’m back, doc, I’m okay.”

“Y-you’re such a dick.” Your voice wobbles more than you’d wanted it to, as if your tears didn’t already alert him to how deeply upset you’d been. “Why’d you come here?”

“You weren’t at home.” It’s like he’d never died, as if never left you, his tone light and easy as he steps back to look at you. He always could find you anywhere, it was an annoying talent of his. “Can I take you home? Your colleagues say you’ve been here for over a day, you need to rest-“

“To be able to take care of others,” you finish for him, stepping away from his gentle hold and turning towards your desk. “Yeah, I know.”

You didn’t have any appointments, the ward and emergency room were staffed, so there was no reason for you to stay. But did you want to go anywhere with a man you believed to be dead? Could you?

You supposed that you didn’t really have a choice; he already knew where you lived and worked, so he could show up whenever he wanted. This was a Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, noncompliance could land you in their military jail for whatever reason he deemed fit. It didn’t feel like something Caleb would do, but you weren’t sure that this was even the man you’d had such strong feelings for - how could this possibly be your friend?

When you wake up the following morning, you believe that you’d dreamt it all. You’d gone home, probably had a drink, then fell into bed to sleep off the long days at the hospital. It was a believable story, considering your history, and you’d almost convinced yourself of that truth - until you looked at your hand. 

Bandaged neatly, the dull throb telling you that you had actually injured yourself slapping Ca-

It couldn’t have been Caleb. Just some Farspace Fleet suit that riled you up, it couldn’t have been him. He was still very much dead in a box in a cemetery in Linkon City. 

Maybe this was the universe telling you that you needed to take some flowers to his grave - telling you to come to terms and get the fuck over it. He wouldn’t have wanted you to be miserable like this - that much you knew. If you didn’t get arrested for assaulting a Farspace official then maybe you’d take some days off to go to Linkon, or maybe go to the DAA and see the little shrine Patrick and Gideon had set up in his old locker.

“Caleb,” you whisper, your head dropping into your hands as the too-familiar burn of tears in your eyes builds up. “You bastard.”

“Rude.”

The new voice in your bedroom has you screaming, throwing the first thing you could get your hands on at the figure in the doorway. He catches the bear easily, looking at it with a smile before looking back to where you sit on the bed. He’d never seen you so upset, and for it to be over him was a twist of the knife that had planted itself in his heart every time he went to check on you. 

“Hey, you’re okay, doc. It’s me.”

“That's the problem.” Your counter makes him scoff, and you scoot away from him as he steps closer to your bed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.” His sigh is heavy, and he sits on the edge of the bed with Little Caleb in his hands. “You’re not hallucinating, and you can hit me some more if you want.”

Fuck, did you want to. But if you hurt him you’d then have to patch him up and that wasn’t something you were particularly interested in. Not when your hands couldn’t stop shaking and your vision was blurred courtesy of the tears you'd been trying to blink away. You didn’t sign off on sloppy work, nor would you perform sloppy work - not even on him. 

You watch as he scoots closer to you, slow and with his hands in your sight as if trying to calm a scared animal. He’d always been so dramatic, and you hate that his antics have your cheek twitching as he dances Little Caleb towards you as he moves. He was now a Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, and he was using a teddy bear to try and calm you down. 

“You shouldn’t cry over me anymore,” he says when you’re finally within reach, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. It’s warm, skin softer than you remember it being, and you can’t help but put your bandaged hand over his. “I’m back, and I’m okay.”

Was he? The Caleb you knew would rather die than have to wear a suit and tie - uniform or not. He’d shed the tie and coats, sitting beside you in a button down and slacks with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, more like the man you had come to love but still foreign to you

“So you just stalked me for two months?”

“Only two weeks. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Your diagnosis?”

“You’re not okay,” he whispers, his arms hesitant to pull you into him but still succeeding in their task. “I can’t apologize enough for what’s happened, but I can take care of you moving forward. Whatever you want or need, I’ll make sure you have it and that’s a promise.” 

“I don’t want you to leave me again.” Your murmured request has him moving you so you straddle him, forcing the eye contact he needed to try and get through to you.

“I’m not.”

The kiss happens before you’ve registered that he’d moved, but your fingers move to undo more of his buttons so you could get so your hands could feel his skin and trust that he was real. Your bandaged hand rests over his heart, and you’re not sure if it was his heartbeat or the throbbing in your hand that you’re feeling but you were choosing to believe that it was his. 

“No zero gravity acrobatics,” you request when you feel yourself get lighter, earning a laugh from him against your lips as he moves below you. 

“Trying to get these pants off.”

That was a good idea, and you swing your legs back as you’d learned how to do so you can get your own pants off while he did. There were some things you supposed you’d never forget how to do, you just hadn’t expected moving in the evol created gravity fluctuations to be one of those things but it clearly came in handy. 

“So talented,” he praises, bringing your legs back around him as the gravity returns and his hands pull your shirt over your head. “Missed you so much, baby. Your teasin’ and your smile, this pretty body, and the way you tell me ‘m stupid.”

“Caleb.” It’s all you can say, eyes closing when you feel his fingers slide through your folds. You couldn’t help that his gravity manipulation turned you on, or the way your body would always react to his touch. 

“Already so wet, that’s my girl.”

His. You’d been his since the second time you’d slept with him, nobody could ever come close to what Caleb made you feel. Both literally and figuratively weightless, with an infectious warmth that radiated from his heart and easily made your own that much warmer. His hands are still so familiar with your body, touching you with an uncertain gentleness but still knowing exactly how you needed to be touched to pull that first orgasm from you.

“Come home with me, doc.” He whispers into your mouth, hands holding you hips tight as you hover over his length. His tip just barely poking into your prepped hole drives you crazy, but you know he won’t let you move until you answer him. Those dual-toned eyes have that pleading look to them, like a puppy begging for a treat but the looming darkness in them makes you wonder if this puppy would bite. 

“We can talk about it later,” you suggest, your arm moving to wrap around his neck as you get the clearance to lower yourself onto him. 

It’d been too long since you’d had any kind of penetration, the fire of your desire snuffed out by your grief, and Caleb had always been difficult for you to take. It had been long enough that this felt like a new experience again, your eyes staying open as his forehead presses to yours while he talks you through the slow descent with soft praise until you’re fully seated. You missed the feeling of his length, the position that made you feel like he was deepen enough that he was pushed against your cervix - and in this moment you think he actually might be. 

“Always take me so well,” he praises, his hands guiding you to move. “You could have me every day if you wanted. All the time, take you with me on tours just so you can be close.”

The drag of his length against your still adjusting walls prompts an ache that was familiar and comforting despite the pain it brought, and you find yourself clinging to him in hopes that it would keep him there with you forever. You couldn’t bear to let him leave you again, you’d keep him inside you like this if it meant he wouldn’t leave you alone, leave you to feel that emptiness he’d left when he’d “died”. The offer to go with him actually sounded enticing, being taken care of rather than taking care of others - taking care of yourself again. 

“No more crying, baby.” It’s a soft spoken order, but an order nonetheless, his hands coming to cup your cheeks so he could wipe the offending tears away. You still have the assistance of his evol to ride him, the fluctuations in gravity keeping you moving despite both of you being otherwise occupied with each other. 

“I don’t want you to leave again.” If you hadn’t been so close, he likely wouldn’t have heard your whisper. Being exposed like this, even in front of Caleb, wasn’t something you were good at. You were already calm and collected, the black cat to his golden retriever in terms of energy which carried into your work. You couldn’t hold it together after he’d died, but you put up a good front in the hospital for your patients and colleagues. Even the most artisan of masks had their cracks and you were seeing yours crumble to dust in his hands, likely never to be repaired. 

“I’m not leaving you, baby,” he murmurs, placing the gentles of kisses to your lips as he holds your head in place. “Never again. I can’t be without you again. But let me make you feel good, alright? Let me take care of you.”

And he does, pulling multiple orgasms from you before he finally releases into your spent body. You’re held tightly in his arms, chest to heaving chest as you both fight to catch your breath. 

His stamina was insane now, making you wonder just what they’d done to him in his recovery as your brain finally caught up to the activities of the last hour. How had he been alerted, was it the Fleet’s doing or someone else’s? Did it hurt? Was he-

“Thinking way too hard after all of that.”

“Is it okay if I’m thinking about you?”

“Only if it’s about my offer to come home with me. But I’ll also accept compliments about how handsome and good in bed I am.”

In all your grieving you’d forgotten how fucking cocky he was, an annoyed huff leaving you as you try to pull away. The reaction in his right hand is delayed compared to the left, which was odd considering he was right handed. His reaction time should’ve been better, and it was suspicious how perfect his skin was despite him being in an explosion. There were some imperfections created by your grip on him, but nothing related to the explosion. You’d expected maybe some grafts, scarring from burns at the very least - but he was perfect. 

“Let’s go shower, honey. Maybe that’ll help you relax some more.” 

It doesn’t, but you do your best to put up a front as your hands carefully examine his body. He spends the shower reassuring you that he was real and standing in front of you, trying to wash your body down as you used washing his as an excuse to really look at him. Medical at the Fleet must really be something, and you’re tempted to take him up on his offer just so you could investigate closer. Something truly wasn’t right here, and for his sake you needed to know what it was. 

His hands are careful as they dry you off, paying special attention to your hair and leaning in to kiss you as you look up at him. His lips are dry, and you remind him to stay hydrated which earns a nervous laugh at him being caught.

“You really notice everything, doc.” It’s unfortunate that he’s right, because you wanted to just enjoy that he was here but couldn’t. 

You’re barely dressed when he gets a call, and you excuse yourself to get your own glass of water so he could have that privacy. It’s when you start to head back to the bedroom that you frown at seeing him fully dressed and heading your way while draping his tie around his neck. 

“I gotta handle some business. But I’ll be back tonight.” His fingers nimbly tie the black fabric around his neck, and it feels like he’s slipping away from you as he transforms into The Colonel. 

He leans in to kiss you, indulging himself in your taste with a satisfied hum that reverberates through your mouth and causing your heart to flutter.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, doc, I promise.” The promise is sealed with another kiss, only he’s pulling you along with him to the door to maintain that physical contact to anchor him to the moment despite the tides working to pull him away. “I ordered some groceries for you that should be here soon, make sure you eat.”

“Yes, Colonel.” The use of his title pulls a wink from him, a request for you to call him that in bed at least once met with your door closing in his face. You could hear him laugh on the other side, the sound more comforting than you think he’d ever realize. He was back, alive, and with you once again. You couldn’t look past the mystery that was lingering under his surface and return, but you were going to enjoy your time with him nonetheless.

[misasimagines]

desperation / reader x Taiga (Tokyo Debunker)

included characters: Taiga! Romeo is a guest.

rating: NSFW!!!! The actual start of smut is marked with a (***) so if you wanted to read the rest and skip that, you can, but otherwise please. It's smut.

warnings: general Taiga warnings? gun, blood, biting, sex. let me emphasize blood. FEM BODIED READER! Not gender neutral.

anyway first smut fic and first time writing about Taiga, everyone please go easy on me. @ the ask who wanted possessive Taiga, uh, I hope this works for you

Taiga was an enigma to you. He seemed like a dozen different people all wrapped into one threateningly sharp package. Sometimes, you watched him gambling, feet kicked up on the dealer’s table, eyes glinting with mischief, and thought being around him would feel like life itself. All excitement and impulse and adrenaline and it made your heart race with the adventure of it all. You could imagine your own Bonnie and Clyde romance, doing whatever you wanted, getting whatever you wanted. Living solely for thrill and satisfaction.

Other times, you hid as he slouched through Sinostra, blood covered, eyes empty. You hid because you knew he wouldn’t even remember who you were after he finished gutting you and leaving whatever was left to bleed into the carpets. You hid and you shamefully wondered how bad it would be to step into his line of sight. Just risk it. You could be the rabbit jumping into the wolf’s mouth just to avoid the pain of being cut in two. Would it be so bad?

Today was different. Today, you didn’t watch him from the entrance of the casino or with a held breath around the corner in the hall. Today, he was sitting across from Romeo, head leaned back and staring up at the ceiling.

“-from a general admissions student in Mortkranken. Avoid the ghouls. I’ll text you the details, but take it back to your room first, do not come here. Someone will come pick it up from you. Do you understand?”

Sounded complicated, but that was par the course with Romeo. You wondered if he had you running drugs (again) and, with a nod of agreement, you decided it was best if you didn't know. It wasn't your choice to be Romeo's drug mule anymore than it was to be his secretary and verbal punching bag, but hey, it paid the bills. So to speak.

“Repeat it,” he demanded, arms crossed and staring down his perfect nose at you.

“I’m picking up your package from a general admissions student in Mortkranken. I’ll avoid Yuri and Jiro and take it back to my room and wait for one of your guys to come get it. Does that cover it?” You responded, crossing your own arms in retort. You were willing to put up with a lot when it came to Romeo, but that didn’t mean you had to do it with a smile and a nod.

His eyes narrowed slightly, annoyed by your attitude but unwilling to spend the energy on reacting to it. “Just go.”

You stood up and managed only a step before Romeo gave you another order.

“And take those folders to Shinjo on your way.” He gestured to a stack of papers sitting too close to Taiga.

It felt like trying to take a bowl of food from a territorial dog and you felt your blood pressure rise as you considered what violence he could enact simply for you getting in his space. He could rip you apart with his teeth, that was always an option. Or he could shoot you with any number of guns he just so happened to always have on him. He also wasn’t a stranger to beating people with blunt objects, though you didn’t see a baseball bat or metal bar in the vicinity. That option was probably off the table for now.

You stilled your racing thoughts. He wasn’t even paying attention. The papers weren’t his. Romeo was right there. You would be fine. You reached down for the folders.

And he snatched your wrist, his gaze dropping to you and cementing you in place. “You love taking orders, don’t you, kitty-cat?”

His grip wasn’t particularly tight. You didn’t feel your circulation cut off, your bones being ground into dust- no, he just held you. Kept you there until you answered his question, a question you didn’t feel so inclined to answer. Enjoy taking orders- of course you didn’t delight in being Romeo’s servant. To anyone else, you might have snapped at the insinuation. But no one else was Taiga, and snapping at him could mean getting your bones snapped in retaliation. Your heart raced and you wondered if Romeo would intervene. Probably not, not unless there was a risk of staining his furniture. You didn’t want to let it go that far.  “Let me go,” You insisted, voice more of a squeak than you intended.

Taiga cupped a hand around his ear and pretended he couldn’t hear you.

“Let. Me. Go.” You repeated, a decibel louder.

“No one told you you couldn’t leave.” He responded casually.

You flushed with indignation and wrenched your wrist free, grabbing up the files and almost running out. No one told you you couldn't leave…as if you needed permission. As if he hadn't forced you to stop. As if being Taiga didn't carry unspoken rules and crossed boundaries. As if- no, you didn't need to waste your thoughts on more as ifs. You knew the connotations he brought with him with every action, just by virtue of being Taiga and you know he had no reason to acknowledge them himself.

You just needed to leave. Still… As you rushed out, you wondered why he’d asked you anything. He certainly had never given you the attention before. You would have felt better if you knew he watched you on the way out, maybe with interest, maybe with disappointment, but as you reached the door and shoved your way into the hall, you peaked back. 

He was back to staring up at the ceiling.

~~~

It had been a long few weeks. Back and forth from house to house, you never had a chance to catch your breath. If someone wasn't ordering you to do something with a sneer, they were putting you in a situation where you ended up with bruises and scrapes and potentially even worse injuries. They didn't all intend to hurt you, but the results spoke for themselves and you did hurt. The hurts just weren't all visible.

It didn't matter that your hips ached and your feet were sore and there was a split blister on the back of your heel that bled into your sock. You had another errand to run that you were going to be late for and Romeo was going to kill you. You ran, letting out breathless apologies as you bumped into Sinostra students on your way to Romeo’s VIP room. A nearly overflowing bag bounced around in your arms and used your chin to try to hold the tons of little plastic baggies in place as you rushed. It wasn’t the best feeling, being so close and personal to what you could only assume was illegal, mind altering substances, but an accidental whiff of cocaine was definitely less painful than a lecture from Romeo. In fact, it might have made the impending lecture bearable.

Turning a corner, you slammed into something and your bag lept out of your arms.

Taiga had his hands in his pockets, hardly phased from your extreme collision. You had managed to stay upright, but your contraband was scattered all over the floor. 

“Fuck,” you hissed.

“You gonna pick all that up?” Taiga asked, making no move to help you.

You took a careful breath to steady your anger.  “I have to,” you responded as cooly as you could before crouching to start your collection. 

Once again, with the same pressure as before, Taiga grabbed your arm and pulled you back to standing. “Do you enjoy any of it?” He asked, nudging a bag with the toe of his shoe.

“Enjoy what?” You asked, watching his hand on your upper arm carefully.

“Anything.” He didn’t clarify.

Or maybe he did. “I-” You exhaled, tried to find some way to answer this impossible question. No? You didn’t enjoy being Romeo’s drug mule. No, you didn’t enjoy being passed around from house to house at Darkwick, the newest intern in every room you stepped into. No, you didn’t enjoy having your life uprooted, your identity all but erased so you could be whatever anyone needed you to be. No, you-

“Gah, you’re depressing,” he made a sound in the back of his throat, a rolling sigh, and then the corners of his lips curved into a smile. “Come with me.”

You had no time, or chance, to flounder, leaving Romeo’s import all over the floor as Taiga dragged you off into the casino. As you were led off, you couldn’t even imagine a world where you said no, where you got on your hands and knees and picked up every little bag and brought it to Romeo and still got yelled at. You sped up to walk faster, to keep up with him, to choose this, and thought this was the only option for you. As crazy as it was.

Taiga deposited you at a roulette table, pushing you onto one of the stools and clapping his hands over your shoulders. With a nod and a gesture, the dealer slid two untidy piles of chips towards you.

“Oh, I don’t-” You tried to stand up. Gambling wasn’t on your list of skills and you knew better than to gamble in Sinostra of all places.

Taiga held you down, “Lets see you make some choices, kitty-cat. See how much they really matter.” He leaned close enough so only you could hear him, though everyone else at the table and the surrounding area watched with wide eyes and rapt attention. Taiga alone was a spectacle. Taiga with you? 

They were just waiting for the bloodbath. Casting a nervous eye around at everyone, you figured you had two options. Refuse and suffer the consequences, or commit and suffer the consequences. If you forced yourself to stand, told Taiga no, and left, that could be it. He would decide you weren’t worth his time, you’d stay a nameless face in the crowd. You’d be Romeo’s little gopher and you’d be miserable for the time you had left. If you stayed, win or lose, you…Well, you could win or lose anything. You had no guarantee, no way of knowing. Nothing more than Taiga’s fingers resting on your shoulders.

You bet on red.

~~~

You lost most of it. You bet, sometimes at random and sometimes with the thought of “it can’t possibly be the opposite of what I pick 4 times in a row, right?” You lost until the dealer shook his head, saying you didn’t have enough left to meet the minimum.

Taiga stayed behind you the entire time, offering no direction or tips, just sometimes pushing more chips forward than you were willing to bet on any given round. His hands were on your shoulders at first, and then he draped his arms over you, resting his chin on the top of your head. At one point, seemingly with no intention or realization, he had wrapped a hand around your neck and turned to yell at someone a few tables away. 

You stayed completely still when he did that and received plenty of concerned glances in your direction. He put no pressure on your windpipe, and finally turned back once more to watch your games, going back to lazily leaning over you as if nothing had changed.

“Well that’s that, kitten,” He yawned. 

“I lost all your money,” You admit, realization dawning and heart sinking.

He howled with sudden laughter, “Shit, yeah, you did.” He spun you around and held you by the chin, studying your wide eyed expression with a toothy grin. 

The dealer cleared his throat and continued the game for the other gamblers. 

“How are you gonna pay it back?” He asked, leaning your head back and exposing your neck.

The usual sense of being a prey animal crept up in your veins. The desire to apologize and back down and agree to anything to save your life froze your blood and made your heart pound. But you wouldn’t do that this time. Gambling with someone else’s money made you bold. Being around Taiga made you crazy. You grabbed his wrist this time, pulling it down enough so that you could stare at him directly. “I won’t.”

Someone behind you gasped, and then played it off with a cough.

Taiga didn’t stop grinning, letting out another shout of a laugh before freeing you of his grasp and stepping back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Maybe you’re more interesting than you look.” 

You held back any fits of shaking fear that were creeping up on you.

“Try that shit with Lulu, but I wanna be there when you do it, alright?” He turned on his heel and walked off. 

You exhaled. Shut your eyes. And stood up, walking in the opposite direction.

~~~

The casino was alive. Students from all houses gambled and drank and talked and lost all of their money. It was exactly what Romeo wanted. The flow of cash into his coffers would be extreme tonight.

The only problem? Taiga.

You leaned against a wall and watched him from across the casino. Despite doing something he seemed to enjoy, there was nothing akin to joy on his face. He communicated to the dealer in only gestures and each hand dealt, win or lose, gave him no hint of satisfaction. 

There was a shake lingering in your bones as you lamented the task laid before you. Romeo told you to get Taiga out and do it without causing a scene. How would you do it? You had no clue, and asking Romeo only got a slew of abbreviations thrown your way. Maybe there was some code hidden within. You doubted it.

Taking a deep breath, you accepted your fate and strode across the room towards Taiga. You were enough of a fixture in Sinostra at this point that guests and staff alike moved out of the way for you. It didn't make you feel any better about what you had to do.

“Taiga,” you said gently, “the vice captain wants to see you.” 

Taiga slung his hand of cards down on the table and collected the winning pot. He didn't acknowledge you.

“Taiga,” you tried again, “Romeo needs to see you. Lulu?”

“I heard you the first time,” he snapped. 

Your blood bubbled in frustration. “Then listen,” you snapped.

A hush fell over the table. No one looked at you, but no one could pay attention to anything but you. 

You crossed your arms, “Haven't you won enough?”

“Haven't you pissed me off enough?” 

You had no clue what you'd done to anger him so much. “What are you even talking about?” You hissed, acutely aware of the straining ears of every other gambler and staff member in the vicinity. 

“You’d kiss Lulu's shoes and thank him for the opportunity.”

You balked. The fucking audacity. “You- whatever. I'll leave you alone.” You threw your hands up in defeat and spun away from him.

You heard a click and something cold and metal pressed against the back of your head.

“You think it's that easy, kitty-cat?” Taiga's voice was low when he spoke to you. 

He was going to blow your brains out in the middle of the casino. 

“Walk.” He ordered.

You walked.

~~~

He directed you out of the casino and into the hallways of Sinostra, eventually guiding you down the corridor to his bedroom. Your heart hammered in your chest and you thought about every decision that has led you there. You thought about every way out, and admittedly there were few. 

You could throw yourself to his feet and beg for mercy, you could try to run and hope he missed, you could call his bluff and just leave. You knew none of those would actually work, but whether you died or not wasn’t the question. It was whether you survived Taiga’s inevitable disappointment that was.

You reached his door and stood still.

“You know how to open a door, don't you?” He snarked.

You opened the door and stepped inside.

“Take a seat.” 

You reviewed your options. There was an armchair, his scary torture chair, and the floor. Every option carried weight. Every option told him what you thought of yourself, what you thought you were. The prey animal in you made your knees weak and almost took the decision away from you. If you didn't use every ounce of spite and frustration you had, you'd have collapsed to your knees long before. But that was the case for this entire year, this entire curse nonsense with Darkwick. If you didn't have this burning desperation in you, you'd have collapsed long before.

Maybe that's what Taiga saw in you. Desperation. You couldn't say. You couldn't pretend to know his mind, hell, you barely knew yours. All you did know was that something about him, as terrifying as he was, made you strong. Something made you mouth off to him and something made you feel more than just fear right then. 

You took your seat on his bed.

He stared at you from his doorway, gun still aimed at you. Finger on the trigger.

You sat on the edge, the balls of your feet planted on the ground.

He broke into a grin and manic, empty laughter. He haphazardly tossed the gun onto a table and prowled towards you, throwing himself down on the bed and splaying out behind you. 

You exhaled and pressed a hand to your chest, feeling your heart hammering underneath your skin.

“You got what you wanted. You gonna run along like a good little kitty and tell Lulu you won?” Taiga asked, his grin fading into a bitter smile he directed at his ceiling.

You twisted at the waist to look at him.

His white button down was unbuttoned at the top, the collar unstarched and bent. He had his hands under his head, his red hair messy and tousled. The necklaces around his neck called to you to pull on them. The last thing you wanted was to go deal with Romeo right now. All you wanted was to give in to your desperation and he was just laying there.

You crawled over to Taiga and straddled his hips.

His eyes, so radioactive and piercing, dropped to you. Your face. Your chest. Your hands resting on him and the space he fit between your legs. 

“What do you know about what I want?” You asked him. It felt invigorating to be above him, on him. 

Taiga made no effort to move you. “You don't know what you're getting yourself into.” It wasn't a threat.

You linked a finger under one of his chain necklaces and pulled slightly. “Show me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk. He hooked a leg over your calf and flipped you onto your back.

(****)

You gasped at the sudden change, your legs wrapped around him.

Taiga leaned down and kissed you. There was nothing chaste or sweet about it. He bit your lower lip, pulling it slightly between his teeth. You opened your mouth for him to kiss you again, his tongue pressing against yours this time.

He took your breath away and you grasped at his arms braced on either side of you. He pulled away and you whined, deep in your throat, completely unintentional. It earned you a self satisfied smirk right before he grabbed the neck of your shirt and tore it open all the way down.

“Taiga-!” You didn't know if you were scolding him or begging for more.

His head dropped back down, this time to your chest, kissing down your collarbones and treating your bra with as much delicacy as your shirt. You felt the embarrassed urge to cover your chest for modesty, and might have had he not immediately latched his mouth around one of your nipples. He teased it with his tongue and then let his teeth brush against it just roughly enough to send a shudder up your spine. His hand kneaded the other he couldn't service with his mouth and before you could get comfortable with the routine of the sensations, he pinched your nipple roughly and sucked on the other hard, coming off of it with a pop as he grinned down at you.

Your face was flushed but you couldn't look away from him. You didn't want to.

He didn't bother removing your skirt. He shoved it up around your waist and rubbed his fingers over your panties, “How long have you been this wet?” He teased, pressing down on your covered clit.

You arched against him, desperate for more of his touch, desperate to be rid of any remaining layers between you. His fingers sent jolts of electricity through your core. 

“Answer, kitten. You don't have to do what Lulu says, but you don't have a choice with me.” He growled into your ear as he leaned down again and his teeth grazed your earlobe.

Truthfully? “When you held your gun to my head,” you admit.

He laughed. And then bit into your neck. He broke skin and you whimpered in pain. At the same time, Taiga pushed your panties aside and sunk his finger into you. Your mind was going blank, your body not sure whether to focus on the pain of his teeth against your skin or the pleasure of his finger curling against your inner walls.

He worked his finger in and out of you and his tongue was licking the slight trickle of blood dripping from your neck. He slid another finger in as he pulled away from your neck and kissed you again. This time, you tasted your own blood in his mouth.

You wrapped your arms around him. You did know what you were getting into. This. Him. Good and bad, pain and pleasure, you were desperation made manifest and you weren't denying it anymore. 

“Taiga,” you whined into his mouth, “need you. Please.” You arched against his hand and he ground the heel of it against your clit.

He pulled his fingers out of you and you clenched pitifully around nothing, thighs flexing and chest heaving. He sat back on his knees, stared down at you, and licked his fingers clean. He looked so, so amused by your want of him and you didn't have the shame to care. Taiga took his time unbuttoning his shirt, one button after another, until you couldn't take it anymore.

You lifted yourself up and gave him his own treatment, grasping each side of his button down and tearing it apart. Buttons flew off and you pulled the rest of his shirt off his shoulders, hands immediately pressing to his chest, down his toned stomach, reaching for his belt buckle. He grinned at you and grabbed your hands, pulling them away, letting you both fall back down on his bed. He held your wrists above your head. “Don't go thinking you're in charge,” he kissed you and you let him hold you down, eagerly rubbing the back of your foot against his legs as if you could urge him to just fuck you already.

He reached down between you to unbutton his trousers and free his cock, letting it rest over-top your mound. You couldn't see it, your bodies pressed against each other, his lips on your own, but you could imagine how he'd feel just from the weight of it against your stomach. He bit your lip as he pulled away, splitting the skin and once again making you bleed.

You pressed your lips together, letting the blood coat them, and fought back a wince of pain at the feeling. 

His expression wasn't amused anymore. It was heavy, watching your tongue lick the corner of your mouth to clean away the blood. He was mesmerized. He lined himself up with your opening and pushed in all at once.

You cried out and he just caught you again, kissing you, pushing his tongue into your mouth, sucking the blood from your lips. You whined as he bucked into you, filling you so completely you couldn't imagine going back to being empty. You wrapped your legs around him, crossed at the ankles, locking him to you even though you both knew he wasn't going anywhere.

He barely pulled out with each thrust, his hips meeting yours as he slammed into you as deeply as he could. Taiga didn't let go of your wrists, his nails digging into you and you had started craving it. That pain he was so good at granting you in the midst of mind numbing pressure. You tightened your legs around him, rocking against each thrust as much as you could, feeling his cock driving into you over and over.

You felt everything in you tightening, your cunt fluttering and spasming around him as you reached your high. Taiga pulled away from your kiss, letting you moan and scream unmuffled, your back arching and your vision blurring as you came. He let go of your wrists, his fingers moving down to grasp the fat of your hips as he continued fucking you through your orgasm. It was too much and not enough at the same time. He hammered into you, dropping his forehead down to the mattress next your neck, right back to sucking and biting at the wound he'd left earlier. 

He groaned into your ear, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he shuddered and came inside you. He rocked his hips and stilled. He nearly crushed you with the full weight of his body, his cock still nestled deep in you as he emptied everything he had into you. 

You laced your fingers behind his neck, gently petting his hair as you took deep breaths and your heart beat slowed to something more manageable. You felt sore all over, your tongue coated in the metallic taste of your own blood, your neck throbbing from the bites. As you calmed down, there was an undeniable lightheadedness washing over you. 

Taiga licked your neck and slid out of you, rolling over on his back next to you. You keened quietly at the loss, your legs dropping onto the bed, shaking and useless.

Taiga turned his head to look at you, expression blank and unreadable. It hurt too much to turn your head fully. You could only glance at him from the slight tilt you managed.

“That’s not gonna be enough for me,” he told you, voice uncharacteristically steady.

You hoped not. 

“Don’t listen to anyone else anymore.” He rolled onto his side and traced a finger over your lips, down your neck, your chest, your stomach, and then dipped between your thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat. “You're mine from now on, kitten.”

[venomvalley]

Request for smut week: Leon and reader spending a cold cold night in a cabin and yk warming up because there's no means of heat and they're freezing which causes them to pleasure each other multipleeee times in an attempt to not "freeze to death"

i do not care about the logistics of this we are here for the smut that is it!! also this is WAY over 1k words (2.3k actually) but this request gave me a brainworm that took over my body. 

this time we got: afab!reader, mutual pining, smut with feelings, a lil creampie thrown in there bc why not !! there’s also a happy ending

18+ only

DAY 3.

What began as a two day excursion to find an Umbrella mountainside base turns into a below-freezing blizzard, an abandoned cabin devoid of insulation, and a blanketing cold that freezes your hands and face and lungs to numbness. The comms are down from the storm. Nobody can reach you for evac. The visibility outside proves nonexistent. Drastic times and drastic measures, you suppose.

The only relief you find from the chill is the wrought-iron tub that you fill with fire-boiled snow. You curl close together, seek comfort in skinship, brainstorm ideas to prolong survival.

The topic is breached just as the water turns cold. 

“So. What’s the plan?” He looks to you as if you possess all the answers. And you usually do.

This time, however—

“There isn’t one.”

It’s a hopeless situation. The water stayed warm all of ten minutes, your two layers of thick clothing shield nothing, and when the weather turns severe like this, it’s sure to last weeks. You stocked up on rations for the trip, always pack extra for worst-case-scenarios such as this. The snow provides water, but the wood inside the cabin is scarce, half-rotten in places. 

The immediate issue is the cold. A problem you have no solution to thus far. 

“So, what? We just give up?” He looks small, knees-to-chest as he huddles, a slight shake to his bones as he fights full-blown shivers. 

Water drains heat. You need out of this tub. 

No towels to dry off with, so you re-dress in record time while he grumbles out a comment about the cold causing a lack of blood to certain areas, and you’ve seen the man naked enough times that it’s a non-issue, but he makes you laugh and nothing else fucking matters. 

But there is still an issue. 

“Okay.” You settle in beside him before fireplace embers, hold gloved hands just above the dying warmth. “We have… very few options here.”

“Which are?”

“Well, we die, for one.”

“Not happening.”

“Then we have to keep our body heat up somehow. Ideally, through exercise. Any kind of movement that increases heart rate.”

“That seems counterproductive.”

“Then we die.”

He hums. “You weren’t kidding about our options.”

“Push-ups and jumping jacks it is, then.”

“Our lungs will freeze.”

“That is a fair possibility.”

You rack your brain for other ideas. Some kind of movement that quickens heart rate. Need something reliable. Tried and true. 

Well. Sex always leaves you sweaty, and it’s known to burn calories which means it’s technically a workout, right?

You glance over at him and he meets your eye, and you heave out a cloudy sigh. “Okay. Another idea. A lot more far-fetched.”

He sniffs, and you note the thick red blush spanning over his cheeks and nose. “Let’s hear it.”

“It’s really fucking cliché.”

“The suspense is killing me.”

You wince. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

That gives him pause—as it should. How do you even approach the subject? Yeah, I think we should try fucking each other right out of the gate. It’s weird, and you feel weird for even thinking it up. He’ll assume you’ve been waiting for the opportunity, for any little reason to get in his pants. Everyone else wants to. 

But it’s not like that. You care about him, yes, because he’s your partner. You’ve saved each others’ lives. You rely on one another. You fight and train and hurt and survive together. 

“I’m sure I’ve heard a lot worse,” he says, eyes dark beneath the shadows of midnight, shoulders wracked by shiver. Nothing but an oil lamp to light the room and his huddled form. 

“We can have sex. It gets the blood pumping, makes people sweat.”

“Okay,” he says, like it’s the easiest answer in the world, and your brain shuts off for a good long moment. 

“Wait, seriously?”

“We’ve been through a lot worse together. Remember when—“

“If you bring up the red wine story, I will let you freeze.”

Through the chatter of his teeth, he grins at you. 

And then it’s decided. Sex to ward off the chill. No big deal. Just an adaptation to circumstances, doing what partners are supposed to do. Keeping each other safe.

No big deal. 

DAY 4.

Huddled inside a thin sleeping bag, he spoons you from behind. Holds you with shivering arms, blanketed by your thick coats. Still, the insulation isn’t enough. The cold permeates and he fits his face against your neck and his nose likens to a cube of ice. 

The situation would be humiliating if the thick of his cock wasn’t so warm and slick and lovely as it fills you up. You press a balled-up shirt to your face, a filter for the frigid air that lessens the pain of breathing. Helps muffle the noises that you fail to bite back. 

You pretend that this doesn’t affect you. That you don’t enjoy the way he holds you, the weight of his arms, the warmth of his breath over your nape. He’s been your other half for years, trustworthy and safe. A relationship built upon end goals and symbiosis. 

This, though. You never could have expected this. 

You fight against the pleasure that wells and waves, that he fills you with each time he bottoms out. It rises and rises and you can’t—it’s all just—

You release the shirt pressed to your mouth and brace a hand against the floor, rise onto an elbow. Pant out low and shaky. Rock your hips to meet his own. Fuck hard back onto him.

“Goddamn.” He hisses the word under his breath, adds a roughness to his thrusts, and you clench tight around him. Can’t help it at this point, and you know you’re making a sticky mess on the both of you. 

You just try to fill up the day. Just need to be warm. That’s all this is about. All that matters. Desperate times.

Still, his response gives you permission to moan. This affects him, too, and those two simple syllables cease your embarrassment. It’s okay. It feels good—fucking amazing, if you’re being honest. It’s supposed to.

The arm he wraps around you raises higher, and the press of his chest against your back throws off your balance, leaves you half-rolled onto your stomach, the sleeping bag stretched taut from your position. 

“Not fair,” you choke out, welcome the curl of his fingers around yours despite the thickness of your gloves.

He seeks to fuck you into the cold floor, hips rough against the swell of your ass, and you arch your back to swallow him deeper, and if he moans into your ear one more time you’ll go fucking insane.

“Shut up. You love it.”

That shatters something within you. Whatever qualms you have about the situation. Whatever professionalism you’ve been latching onto. Because he’s right. It’s so fucking good, and he’s ticking all your boxes, and you wonder for a too-long moment why you never thought to do this before. 

“And if I do?”

He ignores your question. Instead, releases your hand to tug off his glove with the bite of his teeth. Slips frigid fingers over the swell of your clit, slick and hot and impossibly sensitive. He circles over the flesh, one two three four times before you’re gone. Moaning into your glove, fluttering around him, and when he whines at the sensation you think you might die anyway. 

He finishes inside you—another pre-discussed topic, agreed to on the knowledge of your birth control and the inconvenience of any other method—and the jerk of his cock, the flood of warmth feels more intimate than it should. 

Everything is warm now. Sweat beads at the curve of your lower back. He takes his time pulling out, until his cock softens enough that he’s forced to. So warm and nice and relaxed, your chest fuzzy and tender, ruined by the sticky trail of cum that leaks out of you. 

“To answer your question,” he begins, voice sandpaper rough at the edges. Swipes his thumb through the mess, spreads it over the hood of your clit and exhales a laugh when you jolt in surprise. “There’s no if. I know you too well.”

DAY 6.

You don’t talk about it—whatever that little moment was a few days ago. Flirting, maybe. Definitely something more than your usual banter, your long-lasting dynamic. You felt like… fuck, like lovers. He touched you like he meant to mark his place on your skin.

It’s not what partners do, and neither of you want to address it.

He looks unbelievably pretty beneath you: flushed deep red at the cheeks, eyes lidded and glossy, groaning deep in his throat each time the slick of your cunt swallows him down to the root. 

You like him best like this. He massages his palms down your back, over the bare stretch of your waist and hips and ass and thighs, greedy with his touch.

This isn’t normal. This isn’t how partners act. They don’t fuck each other, and they don’t share loving gazes, and they don’t confuse touch with idolatry.

There’s something else here, something more. Something devastating in its severity. 

DAY 10.

Your jackets are unzipped, shirts bunched beneath your arms. So are his. The sleeping bag traps in the heat like always, and your bare chest sticks to his own from all the sweat. 

The sex is weirder this time around. Not a bad weird, no. Freeing, fully indulgent. You’ve accepted that fucking each other feels good, and it’s become less about staying warm and more about staving off the boredom. You realized early on that curling up naked inside the sleeping bag together, using your clothes as extra insulation, worked well enough. But it’s fun, and he touches you like he wants you, and it helps you pretend that you’re somewhere else but here: low on rations, frozen down to the marrow in your bones, stranded indefinitely. But at least you have him, and that’s a confusing headspace to be in. 

“God, right there.” The tilt of his hips forces the breath from your lungs, cock sliding perfect against sensitive nerves. All squishy silk and squelching heat that brews intensity in the pit of your belly. 

“So fucking—“ he cuts himself off with a groan, and the relax of his jaw teases teeth over the flesh of your throat. You wish he would bite down. Mark you. Give you something to remember when you leave this place and have to pretend that nothing happened. Like he hasn’t been balls-deep inside you for the last week.

You aren’t sure who initiates, but he bottoms out inside you and all of a sudden you’re kissing. He heavies his weight atop you, clutches hard to your shoulder to keep you in place, fucks into you so hard you jolt against the floor. You slide a hand over his back, sweatslick and warm beneath your bare palm. Trace the welts of his spine, dig blunt nails into the skin of his shoulder blade. 

Your other hand circles quick over your clit, and he pulls back to look at you, all starshine and hunger and ferality. Furrow-browed and panting. 

Something clicks. A chest-bursting revelation, horribly inconvenient. 

This is way more than being good partners. Than fighting for survival. It’s time to accept that. 

He slows his thrusts, eyes darting over the features of your face. Asks, “What’s wrong?” and all you can do is shake your head. 

Don’t you dare. Don’t ruin this. Ignore it. Swallow it down no matter how deep the glass slices.

“I’m okay. Just had a weird thought.”

His hips still. “You need to stop?”

“No.” You answer much too quick, and his lips twitch at the edges. His eyes begin to glitter in mirthy amusement. “I’m still cold.”

You’re not, though, and he knows it. Sweat beads on your forehead, the curve of your nose. The heat is borderline uncomfortable inside the sleeping bag, but you can feel your hands again and you can use them to feel his skin and—

Fuck.

You love him.

DAY 14.

When the storm subsides and the comms continue working and they send out a bird for evac, both of you decide to keep the last two weeks secret. When you leave this cabin, you’ll remain partners. You’ll pretend that you don’t miss his touch, how nice he fills you up, the weight of his body.

You’re taken to the hospital, lose the tip of a finger, receive a round of fluids and a steroid shot. Both of you are sent home and ordered to rest.

Life goes on.

—AFTER

It takes a month before the both of you cave. An empty meeting room at HQ, with the lights off and the curtains pulled and you sat on the table. 

He says what you’re thinking. An, “I missed this,” fanned warm over the curve of your shoulder. 

The sex is tender this time. Slow and sweet and fuck, you aren’t used to this. 

“I missed you.” A confession that starts from a thought that forms into syllables that you speak before your brain catches up, and you don’t have the heart to take it back. “I’m allowed to admit that, right?”

He breathes out a laugh. Presses his lips to yours. “I can admit a lot more than that.”

“Then do it.”

“Tell me something first.”

The head of his cock slicks over your clit, leaves your thighs tensing, and the edges of your vision begin to blur. “Anything.”

“The weird thought you had. What was it?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Say it anyway.”

You won’t look away from him. Couldn’t if you tried. Not when his eyes gleam the way they do, even in the darkness, impossibly bright and beautiful. You can’t swallow glass anymore.

“I love you.”

There it is. Spoken aloud, weightless, heart-draining. You expect him to laugh, to mock you, to pull away.

He does none of those things. Slides back into you, spreads his fingers along your spine. Says, “Wow. What a coincidence,” and you don’t think you’ll ever feel the chill again.

[mingtinysworld]

Don’t Hurt Me

Pairing: kang yeosang x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 2k

Summary: The presence of a killer is made known on the news. Little did you know, you would have your own encounter with the man, experiencing a night you won’t forget.

Warnings: MDNI, mute yeosang, “psychopath killer” yeosang, mention of a knife, clothed grinding, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), handjob, couple clit slaps

NOTE: the sign language is the italics in terms of conversation

A/n: lowkey this idea was much better written in my head💀 but I hope you like it! I tried to challenge myself with a new concept, and honestly imagining yeosang in this role got me hot and bothered so yeah. Please like, comment and reblog!! - J

It was a late Friday night and you finally got off of work, completely ready for the weekend. To celebrate, you found yourself drinking at the local pub, which is conveniently not frequented by others often. You lazily stir your drink as you lean your face in your hand, watching the tv with an detached frown.

There’s no one around at this late hour. Only the barman and you occupy the space, giving you the option of sitting wherever you’d like. The sports channel gets switched off all of a sudden, turning to the news. You lift an eyebrow in slight interest, trying to see if there’s anything worth paying attention to.

“We present tonight’s news with great urgency. There’s been a dangerous man spotted around town. His face hasn’t been revealed, but he is going around killing individuals. Stay diligent, and if you see anything suspicious, call 911 immediately.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. This little town has stayed relatively peaceful for the 7 years you’ve been living there, so imagining a killer going around shocks you. You know you should head home, but the warmth is pulling you down further in your seat.

Suddenly you can feel a cold breeze brush past your shoulder and you shiver involuntarily. You lift your head up from the counter and almost fall backwards from the shock. There’s a newcomer sitting next to you, very closely.

He has long, silky, sandy blonde hair. His nose is sharp and jaw so sculpted he looks almost statue like. His eyes are looking deeply into yours and you could spend at least an hour trying to decipher all the emotions residing in them. He’s got deep, dark eyes, that are nothing short of being sinful. It’s as if he’s silently beckoning you to fall headfirst into his gaze.

After a few moments of astonished staring at the stranger, you compose yourself and attempt to sit up as straight as possible. You straighten up your spine and make direct eye contact.

“Hey, how are you?” You ask, trying to not sound overly inquisitive. You feel alarmed for a split second when you see him lift up his hands from his lap. You involuntarily lean back, trying to put distance between you.

“Do you know sign language? I’m mute, but I can talk through writing as well.”

Your heart rate immediately goes down. The poor guy was just trying to communicate. Coincidentally enough, you actually do know sign language. Turns out the four years of ASL classes in high school paid off after all, and you feel grateful to your teachers. You instantly sign back to him.

“I do know sign language actually. What brings you here today?”

He gives you a cute, crooked smile and leans in a tiny inch closer.

“I saw a pretty girl sitting here, thought I’d keep her company.” He finishes off with a smirk.

You can’t help your surprise at his blatant flirting, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Trying to match the vibe, you flirt right back.

“Wow, I’d love the company of a very handsome man actually. Thank you.” You send a wink and immediately cringe at yourself. What is wrong with you?

He opens his mouth in a silent laugh and you can’t help but admire his perfect teeth. He really is a beautiful man, the type to catch the attention of anyone and everyone around him. You can bet that even your most straight friends would want to get in his pants, no questions asked. He notices your distracted state and waves a hand across your face.

“What are you thinking about pretty girl?” He asks.

You flush from being caught staring at him. You’re thankful that he can’t read your mind, but from the confident tilt of his head it looks like he can tell anyways. You think of an excuse but choose to tell the truth.

“I just think that you’re very pretty.” You say honestly.

His face brightens at your admission, and he scoots a little closer. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you feel desire bubbling deep within. You can feel the soft puff of air from him against your own mouth and you dart your eyes between his eyes and lips. You close the distance between your bodies and slot your lips against his.

He moves along with you, breaths synchronizing. He slides an arm behind you, holding onto your waist with a gentle tug. His body warms you up and you melt into his touch, making you completely disregard the fact that this man is still a stranger. You cling to the edge of his shirt tighter when you feel a sharp, thin object against your ribs.

You pull back with a start and find that you’re held still by his strength. As you look into his eyes, you note with slight panic that his eyes have changed dramatically. He’s looking down at you with an excited malice, as if he’s looking forward to destroying you. You shrink down with dread, realizing that you’re utterly fucked.

You take a subtle glance at the tv which is showing the news still, and he catches the look, shooting you a toothy smile.

“Yeah, that’s right, I’m the ‘psychopath.’” He admits somewhat proudly. “I won’t hurt you though sweet thing. Not unless you want me to.” He drags a cold finger down your jaw, lightly holding you in place.

He removes the knife away from you, gazing at it fondly. “This little friend of mine has been with me through some things. Isn’t she beautiful?” A shudder goes through your body as you look at the sinister shine of the blade. He’s looking at you expectantly, wanting to hear an answer. You don’t bother using sign language anymore as he can hear perfectly fine. You only used it out of consideration, but there’s no more consideration left for him.

“I couldn’t care less about your stupid knife.” You spit with venom. You want him to be offended, to burst out in anger, but he only gives you the most irritating grin. It’s as if nothing can phase him.

“You’re so cute,” he shakes his head in what appears to be endearment. “I can’t wait to be buried in you.” Your eyes widen at that and you feel an involuntary fluttering in your core. You can’t believe that you’re getting turned on right now. The situation is absolutely absurd, a killer is sitting in front of you, and you’re getting your panties wet.

His eyes follow the movement of your thighs, trying to gain friction against each other. He splays out a hand against one thigh, keeping you still. You look at him with both shame and lust in your eyes, and he mirrors the latter. With a glance to the bartender, who appears to be heavily involved with his phone, he grabs your hand and drags you out of the bar.

You pull back slightly, making him stop in his tracks. “Wait, I want to know what your name is.” You ask him.

He looks intently into your eyes and answers. “My name’s Yeosang.”

Before you can say anything he drags you forward again. You walk for a few minutes until you reach a very shiny looking car. At a closer glance it appears to be a Ferrari. You look at Yeosang with a surprised look and his shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

“What, Princess? Were you expecting a trashy car from me?”

“I guess??” You say uncertainly with a shrug. He shakes his head again and opens the door for you. You get in and he closes the door after him. You sit there awkwardly for a second, not sure if you should do anything. Yeosang breaks you out of your thought however when he attacks your lips.

His lips are on yours in a flash, and you’re fighting with tongues. He squeezes your hip and slides his knee in between your legs, subtly rubbing against your now very wet panties. You should feel mortified, but all you feel is desire.

You grind against his clothed knee, and your clit catches it at an angle that makes you moan into his mouth. He grabs hold of your ass and moves you against him harder, eliciting pathetic mewls from you. You shockingly feel your climax approaching very quickly, and so could Yeosang apparently, and he immediately stops his movements. You whine in complaint but he shushes you with another intense kiss.

He quickly rids of his pants and your panties and pumps his cock a few times. You eye his length and your mouth salivates an embarrassing amount. You choose to give in to your temptations. You spit on your hand and slide it up and down Yeosang’s cock. He jolts in surprise but lets out a pleased hum, covering your hand in his, following the up and down motion.

If he wasn’t addicted to you already, he definitely is now. Seeing your tiny hand jerking him off sets off fireworks in his brain and he feels short of breath. He feels about ready to burst so he gently takes your hand away and has you lie down. He hovers above you and you can’t help but vibrate with anticipation.

He slides in slowly, filling every inch of space inside you. You arch your back in pleasure and throw your head back. Yeosang watches your reaction with eager eyes, needing you to feel like a goddess. He then watches your cunt sucking him in hungrily and loses all composure.

He pulls out until the tip is left, and slams back in with so much force your back bounces on the seats. He hits your sweet spot with every thrust, making you see stars, and you babbling incoherently by this point. You grab onto whatever you can find, his shirt being one of the items.

He slaps your clit harshly and you cry out at the sting. He slaps it two more times, leaving you a sobbing writhing mess. A knot tightens in your stomach and Yeosang can feel you clenching around him. He grits his teeth tightly and somehow thrusts even harder.

A few more sloppy thrusts later you’re coming undone around him. Your stomach convulses and your legs can’t seem to stop shaking. He pulls out and comes all over your stomach, ropes of cum coating your soft skin. He hangs his head and lets out a few deep breaths.

You close your eyes and bask in the afterglow. Quite literally, because the light of the lamppost is hitting your stomach and illuminating his cum brightly.

He looks around for something to clean you up with and finds one of his spare shirts. He cleans you the best he can and caresses your flushed cheek. You flutter your eyes open and find him looking at you with adoration, corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

He signs “thank you” and you let out a chuckle. “I should be the one thanking you, Yeosang.” He smiles softly and proceeds to put your clothes back on. As soon as the band of your skirt is snapped back onto you, you hear the sirens.

Yeosang stiffens in place, and looks at you with a distressed tilt of his eyebrows. He looks about ready to flee, but he hesitates. He looks around for something and you look on curiously. He finds a pen and paper and writes down some digits. He hands it to you and you see that it’s a phone number, along with an address.

“Come find me soon.”

With a mischievous wink he leaves the car and disappears into the night with the sirens fading away. You stay there for a bit, completely stunned with the turn of events. You can’t believe he just left you and the car like this, but you also can’t get over the intense passion you two shared. Slowly you get out of the car and head to your apartment where you should’ve been all along.

You do your regular nightly routine, get into pajamas and set your alarm.

You’ve got an important trip tomorrow.

[yaoi-enthusiasts]

One Week Away

Series — My Husband Toji Zenin

Mature Content— 18+

*I’ve been detoxing life lmao— also I have a girlfriend now yay hehe.*

Toji had a work trip that was mandatory, he had tried to convince you to go with him, but when you weighed out all the options, and knew you would spend 99% of the time there alone, it just was something you weren’t up for. So you took this time out to invite your sister to stay the week with you. Maybe you wouldn’t miss your darling husband too much then.

It has officially been 6 days into your husband being gone, your sister is now on her way back home, and you are officially home alone.

“I miss Toji. I wonder if he would pick up my call? Is he busy?” You think to yourself. Taking the chance to call him.

As the phone rings, you go to press the end call button after three rings, figuring he was too busy to talk on the phone, but then hearing a woman voice answering, “Hello?” She says confused. “Um… Who is this?” You question, “Uh, that should be my line. Who are you?” She said snarky. At this rate, within a couple of seconds your head is fuming, and your heart feels like it had just been stomped on. “Was all that marriage counseling for nothing?” You think to yourself. Then you hear your husband. “Where the fuck is my phone?” You begin to hear other people in the back, one of them being Satoru. “You lost it old man?” He chuckles. “Shut the fuck up, and help me find my phone, I haven’t talked to my wife today.” He says in an agitated tone. “Wait why do you have my phone?” He questions, getting closer to what you think is the woman who answered the phone. “What?” She says, your heart is beating out of your chest. “Thats my phone, who are you talking to on my phone?” He says in an almost growl. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Toji, I thought this was my phone.” She nervously laughs, handing the phone to him. As soon as his phones are placed in his hands, he sees your name and photo. “Fuck. Baby?” He says into the phone. You had already started crying, because of course you assumed the worst, you couldn’t help it. “H-hey T-toji.” You stutter, feeling the tears rolling down. “Fuck, baby… are you crying?” He groans, you hear him walking away from the crowd, hearing Satoru in the background say. “Fuck, what did you say when you answered that phone?”

“I’m fine Toji, h-hows your trip?” You try to brush off like everything is fine. “Baby, she is just a fellow colleague. She grabbed my phone by accident. Are you okay?” He questions concerning. “I-I’m fine. I-I was just a little surprised.” You said with a shaky voice. You knew your husband wasn’t cheating on you, but what can you expect? It wasn’t always easy, especially with being apart. “I-I don’t want to be at home alone anymore. I sh-should have g-gone with yo-you.” You burst into tears, realizing how much you miss your husband. “Doll, I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon. ‘Aight?” He reassures you on the phone.

You both stayed on the phone for a few minutes, before he had to go back to his company dinner, and you fell asleep snuggled up to one of his hoodies. “I miss you.” You whisper into his hoodie, smelling his cologne, and his overall scent. It had been 6PM, and you drifted to sleep.

Toji became distressed with the thought of you being alone, he was ready to see his wife, to remind her that she was his, and he was yours. He had said his goodbyes, and grabbed his bag from the upstairs hotel. The drive was 6 hours, yet he made it back home in 5. Checking his watch, it was 12:36AM. Toji knew you would have been sound asleep, which was perfect for him, he knew how much you loved waking up to his head in between your legs, reminding you how much he loves and adores you. You also knew how much he worshipped your cunt, it had him making laps until your orgasms were almost painful. Toji loosened his tie, flinging across the room, seeing you in your little laced blue panties, and his hoodie, it only made his cock throb with just the mere sight of seeing you laid like that, he always loved how your ass was thick that your panties would almost get swallowed by them, there was so many times, he wanted to beg you to let him fuck your little ass, yet he knew how hard that would be, especially since it was hard to even take him vaginally, but he sure did fantasize about it. Toji took his belt off, unbuttoning his pants, letting them drop to the floor, popping the buttons off of his shirt, throwing it to the corner of the room. He had become a hungry tiger, wanting to devour you, until you shuttered at his touch. Toji was a kind and gentle man to you, but sexually, he could be ruthless, he loved to watch your pretty big eyes cry, whining for him to keep going, then to stop.

Toji crawled into bed, and gently turned you from your side, to your back, and slowly spread your legs apart. You were a bit of a deep sleeper, especially after you had cried. He saw the way your eyes were puffy, he placed a kiss on your eyelids, moving down to your lips, then licking you down your neck, lifting up the hoodie, he lightly sucked on your nipples, light enough to not wake you up, but enough for your nipples to harden. He traced his tongue down your stomach, then to your heat, pulling your panties down swiftly. He eyed your pussy, spreading your labia apart, lapping his tongue, sucking on your clit immediately. He knew your body more than you did, he sucked and licked, feeling your arousal start to come out, and his tongue got the first taste. He dipped his index finger inside of you, feeling your walls. Your moans started to fill the room, while you were slowly waking up. He kept lapping his tongue in your cunt, switching from your hole, to your clit, tasting you inside out. You woke up, wide eyed, seeing your husbands straight black hair between your legs. “T-Toji?” You croak out then moan. “Hmm?” He hum’s, as he continues to suck on your clit. “Ah- w-what are you do-doing h-here? Ah- T-TTojiiii?” You moan loudly. “Hmm you taste so good.” he slurps. He then inserted two fingers, beginning to pump in and out of you slow and agonizing, pulling moan and whimper out of you.

"To-Toji, please.." You whimpered, tears welling up in your eyes, your body feeling overstimulated. "You're so tight doll." He groans, feeling his throbbing cock leak pre-cum. "I need you." You cry silently, tears flowing out of your sweet eyes. "Do you love me?" You question, feeling a sense of insecurity. "Hmm?" He half questions, but he heard you plain and clear. "D-do y-you lo-love me?" You whimper as he continues to pump into you, but his dark eyes were peering into yours as he leaned up and his face was right in front of yours, "Do I love you?" He questions back to you. Your blood turning cold, and goosebumps covering your skin, "Is that what you're asking me? You're asking me if I love you?" He questions you again. "Y-yeah." You stutter, pulling at your bottom lip, biting it. "What makes you think I don't?" He whispers into your ear, curling his fingers inside your squelching cunt. "Ugh- I-I just w-want to h-hear y-you say you l-lo-love me." You whimper out, feeling an orgasm approach. "Hmm? Is that so?" He groans in your ear, his groin dry humping the air, his body was twitching at the sight of your thick tears. "Fuck, I could just fuck that pretty little face of yours, see those tears soak my cock." He groans, pushing you over the edge, you spasming and creaming all around his fingers.

"Toji!" You moan loudly, cumming all over his fingers, feeling that high he had brought you too. Toji removed his fingers, drinking in your arousal, licking his fingers clean. "I love you." He says to you, as he pecks your lips lightly. Tears welling up in your eyes again, pulling your husband into your embrace. "You only love me, right?" You question, pulling down his boxers, watching his throbbing cock slap his stomach. "I want you inside of me." You whimper, touching the tip of his throbbing cock with the pads of your index and middle finger. "F-Fuck. Doll. Wait-" He pushes your hand away. "I do love you, only you." He coos, lifting your chin to look at him, then crashing his lips onto yours, pulling you into his embrace. You felt him wrap his hand around the swollen member, and felt him glide it up your sopping core, slightly pushing it in. The slow stretch, Toji had prepped you as much as he could, he was on the verge of snapping. "Take a deep breath for me doll." He groans, you do as he instructs, taking that deep breath, and you feel him push himself into you, causing your breath to get caught in your throat. No matter how many years you two had been married, you still could never get used to his size. Tears slipped from your eyes, and you felt his tongue lick them up. Thrusting in and out, already pulling an early orgasm. “Toji, s-stop.” You moan. "Can't. You're gon' have to take it." He grunts. Thrusting into you in a Godlike pace, crushing you underneath him. You felt his strong arms pull your legs to wrap around his waist, and him push even deeper into you. "Do you feel how we are connected?" He groaned. Toji lifting your head, sitting up, he had you looking at the way you two were connected, you saw the way he pushed into you, and the way your arousal was mixing with his, foaming at the base of his cock. "Watch how I fill you." He growls into your ear, "Watch how my love spills into you." He adds, "After I'm done with you, you'll never ask if I love you again." He grunts into your ear. He had completley pulled you on top of him, gripping your hips, lifting you up and down, bouncing you on his twitching cock. He thrusted up into you, chasing your release, and his too. Toji pulls you to his chest, your head thrown back, he nussled his head on your shoulder blade, pounding you from underneath. "Fuck- Gon' cum." He grunts into your ear, then putting his hand on the back of your head, pushing your head to his, smashing his lips on yours. He fought for dominance, his tongue exploring your mouth. He quickly detached, sucking on your neck, leaving love bites. "I'm gon' cum, you're gonna have t' take it." He growls into your ear. After a couple sloppy fast strokes, his hot cum shot deep inside of you, slowing his pace, he still continued to pump into you until every last drop had entered into you. "We just created a love child, doll." He groaned in your ear, slipping you off of him, and pulling you into his embrace. "Oh-" You moaned as he slipped out of you. "Let me take you once more." He said into your ear, spreading your legs, and pushing his once again hard member back into you, stroking in you slow and steady.

"Tojiiii- I can't anymore." You moaned, your legs spasming in overstimulation, and your toes curled. "Just a little bit more, let me fill you up, I need you to give me a baby." He groaned, throwing his head back. His cock was twitching already, so senstive from just finishing, he did not want to stop, he wanted to keep feeling this ecstacy that your cunt offered him. Within a couple of minuets, he came again, finally pulling you to lay on your side, and he stayed inside of you. "Toji, take it out." You groan, feeling your womahood tender and swollen.

"Mm Mm, I have to make sure you give me a child." He says with a smirk, nuzzling down to the crook of your neck, leaving pecks.

Eventually you had fallen asleep, and your husband, pulled out of you, going and grabbing a warm wet towel, cleaning you up. He bent down to your stomach and whispered, "This was it, I know it." He smiles, kissing your stomach while you're sound asleep.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Beautiful Boys

Prompt Day 23: Wayne Adopts Steve | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Lingering Injuries/Trauma | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Wayne & Steve, Wayne POV

Wayne is in Hawkins Hardware, looking at the fence pickets. He definitely didn't expect them to have this many choices. He figured he'd come in and buy what he needed, from the only option available. In and out. Wallet a little lighter, but no choices to be made. 

But, no. There are options. Decisions. And he isn't sure which style Eddie would prefer. He just wants Eddie to have a place he feels safe outdoors, again.

Wayne reaches out to touch the samples, again, when he hears clattering and an "oh my god, I'm so sorry" that sounds an awful lot like Steve Harrington.

Wayne pokes his head around the corner of the aisle, and Steve is gathering up a bunch of swag hooks off the floor, swiping them back into his handbasket.

"What're you doin' with those, kid?" Wayne asks, crouching down to help him.

"Eddie's plants," Steve says, standing back up, pushing his hair back and up, out of his eyes. These boys and their hair they can't keep contained. Wayne smiles. He remembers how his (now long-gone) hair was in the sixties. Different styles, sure, but just as impractical, at times.

"Eddie's plants," Wayne repeats with a smile, then asks, "You're gonna hang them from the ceiling?" 

Steve nods, and Wayne grins, "That's a good idea, kid. He'll love that."

Eddie has gathered up a lot of houseplants recently, tending to them, taking care of them, babying them. The first ones were sent to the hospital by his friends, and Eddie latched onto them. And now, Steve drags a new one home every week or two as a gift. Eddie is still recovering, might always be recovering, but his plants make him smile and give him something to do.

Wayne doesn't quite understand it, not with the black thumb he has, but it's like everything else about Eddie. Wayne doesn't have to understand it, to support him. If Eddie wants plants, they can have a whole houseful of them.

Eddie survived something he still hasn't fully explained to Wayne, might never, so if he wants to fill the house with greenery, so be it. 

If he wants to fill the house with Steve Harrington, too, that's also just fine by Wayne.

Steve smiles shyly, "If you don't care that I put holes in the ceiling, that is."

Wayne doesn't care. "I'll help. I've got a stud finder, so we won't have them falling and cracking us on the noggin."

Steve laughs, and nods, "Thanks. What are you doing here?"

Wayne waves him over, getting Steve to follow him.

"Trying to pick fencing for the backyard. If Eddie's gonna keep dragging home strays, we'll need a place to put them," Wayne says, and Steve blushes, just a little. 

"I could make a tent work," Steve teases, and Wayne squeezes his shoulder. Steve is always, and will always, be welcome in the house.

"Good to know, but I was thinking more along the lines of dogs, cats, raccoons. You know how he is," Wayne drawls, and Steve smiles. It's wishful thinking, because they both know the real reason for the fence. Eddie doesn't want to leave the house these days.

"I just assumed I'd get dog-ears," Wayne says, pointing at the slightly-rounded piece of wood on display. "But there are choices."

Steve studies them all, finally saying "I think Eddie would like the pointed ones the most. Looks dangerous," Steve says.

Wayne nods. He was thinking the same thing.

"They're narrower, be more work to set," Wayne mutters.

Steve turns to look at him, "I'll help you, you know that."

Wayne nods. He knows Steve will. He's a good kid, who spends most of his time hanging out in their new little house, doting on Eddie in one way or another. Wayne isn't blind. He knows what this is, what these boys feel for each other, even if Eddie hasn't told him yet.

He will. Wayne just has to be patient.

"Sounds good, kid," Wayne says, and Steve grins, big and bright. Like he wasn't sure his help would be accepted. 

"I don't know much about building a fence, but I can learn. I can follow instructions," Steve assures, and Wayne pats him on the back.

"Let's double-check my math here," Wayne says, pulling a small notepad out of his pocket, rerunning his figures. 

Once he's got a good number, Wayne directs them towards the stain options. Steve picks one with a red tint, and Wayne nods. Looks good to him.

When they get to the counter, he takes Steve's basket and adds it to his.

"You don't have to do that," Steve says.

Wayne knows he doesn't, but it's for Eddie and it's just a few dollars worth of hooks and bolts. He's definitely gonna get his money back in fence-building help.

"I know, I want to," Wayne says, opening his wallet.

Outside, Steve helps the guys from the lumber department load up the trailer full of the pickets. 

"See you at home?" Wayne questions, and Steve nods and smiles.

"Yeah, at home," he answers, walking towards his car, with his small sack of hardware.

And they spend days hanging the over-abundance of plants in front of every window in the house, so many that it seems like they're living in a greenhouse, and then they work on the fence. Putting it up, picket by picket, together.

Sometimes, Eddie comes and sits on the patio and watches, but it still takes a lot out of him, even now, months later. Wayne's worried he might never fully recover. 

But, Steve works hard to entertain Eddie. Steve's funny, and he treats Eddie real good. That's all that will ever matter to Wayne. Eddie's his boy, and by extension, Steve's his boy now, too.

Eddie and Steve fight over the radio, a welcome sound, and Steve's won. 

So, John Lennon's singing about a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy. 

Wayne knows that feeling well.

He's got two of those beautiful boys, now. 

close your eyes, have no fear, the monster's gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy John Lennon, Beautiful Boy

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[quicksilver-castiel]

The answer is staring you between your eyes

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims

Archive warnings: None

Rating: Teen and up

Summary:

There's nothing wrong with Jon. Well, nothing except being the favourite chew toy of one of the Eldritch horrors plaguing his world, of course. But apart from that, he's a normal man. Nothing unusual going on in his brain at all. Unfortunately, the therapist doing his autism assessment begs to differ.

Author's note:

Written for day 8 of @jonmartinweek with the prompts Scottish Safehouse // Disability & Diagnosis.

Jon is having a time™ with the results of his autism assessment. Fortunately, Martin is there to be normal about it.

Read on AO3 or below the cut

“Do you ever find it difficult to look people in the eyes?” the doctor asked.

Jon’s frown deepened. “Not really,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. This was properly silly, and a waste of his time. “I just sort of… look between people’s eyes.”

The doctor’s hand came to a stop, the scratch of the ballpen on paper fading. “Come again?” he asked.

Jon gestured between his own eyes, over his nose. “Here. I just sort of look there.” Surely, that was what all people did, wasn’t it? After all, it was quite a bother to decide which of your counterpart’s eyes to focus on. And even if one did decide, it was still entirely too draining to try and interpret every minute twitch of someone’s eye movements and facial muscles all the time.

“I see,” the doctor said, and wrote down something else.

What was he writing, exactly? Jon grew annoyed at himself for wanting to know, and pushed away the Eye which had started to metaphorically peer over his shoulder.

“And would you say you’re at all picky about your food?” the doctor continued.

“No, I wouldn’t think so.” Jon paused. “Well, there are some things I dislike, but it’s not as though I make a big deal of it. It is rather infuriating when restaurants put herbs on top of a perfectly good meal, of course. You know, when everything is cooked together, the flavours blending splendidly, and then at the last second, another flavour is added — and only in a certain place, to boot, only on top, so the first few bites taste only of those wretched herbs, and then you’re finally rid of them?”

Jon huffed, adjusting his seat in the armchair. “Apart from that, I have some likes and dislikes, like everyone else. I used to be picky, of course, as a child, but my grandmother made sure to drive that out of me. I still can’t stand some things — mushrooms have a horrible consistency, and I wish that people wouldn’t make mushy peas or mashed potatoes if they’re going to leave chunks in there. Raw tomatoes are an abomination, of course.

“But, as I said, it’s not as though I don’t eat them. I try to avoid them, but if there are no other options, I will eat them.”

The doctor scribbled some more notes on his clipboard. Probably writing down that Jon had grown up to become a normal eater, no more picky than anyone else.

“I see, I see. Do you ever have problems reading people’s facial expressions?” the doctor asked, his eyes flicking up to Jon’s face before quickly going back to his notes.

“Occasionally,” Jon admitted. “Generally, I feel that I’m able to judge people’s intents quite well, though I must admit, sometimes I can’t be bothered to.”

This time, the doctor looked up at him longer. “Can’t be bothered to?” he repeated.

“Yes. Admittedly, it is a vice —  laziness, I suppose. But sometimes I prefer to channel my energy into other things than the constant interpretation of muscle movements. I have been told, though, that my own face is rather hard to read. Of course I’m the wrong person to judge on this, as I don’t spend excessive time looking in the mirror. Some people have accused me of ‘resting bitch face’, though I’m half certain that it was a joke.”

The doctor made a thoughtful noise. “Yes, well. Mr. Sims… Do you ever find yourself becoming absorbed by specific things…?”

Jon pursed his lips. “Now, that is a rather unclear question, isn’t it? Define ‘absorbed’ and ‘specific’.”

The doctor did not sigh. Judging from the blank look on his face, though, Jon had the distinct feeling that he wanted to.

Martin heard the door open, then fall closed a moment later. It was unusual that Jon didn’t close it slowly, careful not to make too loud a noise, and so Martin peeked his head into the hallway to check on him.

“Everything all right?” he asked, then frowned when Jon just continued to stare down at his shoes.

That was even more unusual. Taking off his shoes was the first thing Jon always did when he came home — he hated how they constricted his feet. “Jon?”

Startling, Jon blinked up at him, then frowned and glanced back down at his shoes. Finally, he moved to take them off.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked.

“I asked if you were alright.”

“Ah, yes. Well. I-” Jon mouth worked, but no further sound came out. Eventually, he snapped it shut, looking quite mutinous. He got like that sometimes — frustrated that he was unable to properly convey what he wanted to say, or to say anything at all.

Martin usually just let him work it out in silence, waiting for him to come back with a properly laid out sentence. But this time he was worried, and so he poked and prodded a little.

“What did the doctor say?”

Jon hadn’t told him what the psychologist would be screening for, though from the way Jon had grumbled about it, Martin had picked up that it must be some kind of disability. Martin wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. Jon was a bit odd in some respects, sure, but no more so than other people. No more so than Martin himself.

And Jon couldn’t exactly have an intellectual disability. He was the smartest man Martin knew. A bit naive, sometimes, but with a sharp mind and an unerring focus.

So what was there to screen him for?

It was becoming clear from the tense set of Jon’s shoulder that Martin wasn’t going to get any answers in the hallway. So Martin ushered Jon into the living room, planting him on the sofa, while Martin went to make some tea.

It was only after half his mug that Jon spoke again.

“The doctor said that I’m-” He broke off, then tried again. “That I was-”

Again, Jon’s mouth worked around words that simply weren’t coming. He looked frustrated, and his eyes slowly grew red-rimmed as he huffed at himself.

Martin reached out with his hand, but Jon flinched away, drawing his legs up on the sofa as he curled in on himself.

“He said- he said that I was autistic,” Jon finally whispered.

“Wait,” Martin said. “Are you serious?”

Jon curled in on himself further. Fuck, that had been the wrong thing to say.

“Sorry, sorry, I was just surprised. Um… come here?” Martin held his arms open.

Jon only glanced at them warily before pressing his chin against his knees again.

“Sorry,” Martin said again.

“I’m not-” Jon’s jaw was so tense that all Martin wanted to do was reach out and rub his hand over it. But that would only have driven Jon further up the wall, he knew. “It’s ridiculous. Utter nonsense. I’m not autistic. Just because I can be a bit-bit clueless sometimes in social situations- I mean, I don’t exactly make an effort in those moments, do I? It’s not- it’s just laziness.”

“Did-” Martin cut himself off, biting his lip. But Jon was looking at him. “Is that what your grandmother always said?”

The deep annoyance on Jon’s face morphed into surprise for a moment, before settling back over his features. “I don’t- I mean, I suppose? She was right, though, wasn’t she? I could just never be bothered to make friends. It just always seemed like so much effort, and I don’t…” He trailed off, something like hurt passing over his face.

“Okay.” Martin took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. “You don’t like the diagnosis. That’s fair. But also, how much do you actually know about autism? Because pretty much everything I know is from Rain Man, and somehow I doubt that a Hollywood movie can teach us all we need to know about… any topic, really, but especially something like that.”

“So, what are you suggesting?” Jon said dryly. But the tension in his shoulders eased a bit as he looked up at Martin. “That we do research?”

Martin grinned. “I’ll set up a case file.”

Even though it had been Martin who had suggested it, and Jon had been extremely dubious about it at first, in the end it was still him who dug into the research the hardest.

When Martin went to bed at midnight, Jon was still at it, and when he trotted back into the living room at seven a.m., brushing sleep from his eyes, Jon was once again — or maybe still — staring at his laptop screen.

“Jon,” Martin said, holding back a yawn. “Please tell me you got some sleep.”

Jon frowned, his eyes still on the screen, likely finishing a sentence. Then he looked up, blinking. Turned his head towards the window, through which light was pouring.

Martin turned off the overhead light.

“Oh,” Jon said sheepishly. “What time is it?”

“Time for breakfast.” This time, Martin let the yawn out. “Did you find anything more worthwhile?”

Jon nodded, his eyes lighting up in that way they always did when they had found key information on a statement.

With a movement of his head, Martin indicated that he wanted to go to the kitchen, and Jon collected the laptop and his ebook reader and followed him. As they walked the few steps through the hallway, Jon started talking.

“There’s quite a lot of lived experience out there once you get past the more… second-hand accounts.” Jon’s displeasure at all the #AutismMom accounts and the countless guides aimed at parents drowning out any first-hand accounts had already been apparent the day before, but if anything, the disdain seemed to have only deepened. “What I can gather is that while things are better than they were forty years ago, they’re still rather dire. And I’m not surprised, if even people like us, who are generally aware of the state of rights of minority groups, haven’t really been in contact with this topic-”

Jon kept talking as Martin cooked their eggs and sausages, telling him all about false prejudices, the spectrum of autistic experience, and the challenges faced by autistic people with regard to employment, social lives, and autonomy.

It did sound dire indeed. So when Martin was half-way through his breakfast and Jon took a second to breathe and then another to shovel eggs into his mouth, Martin said: “Just because you were diagnosed doesn’t mean things will suddenly get worse for you, you know. It’s not like you have to even tell anyone.”

Jon blinked up at him, then, startled and with the fork still in his mouth. “Ah,” he said once he had chewed. “Yes, I… yes.” He looked away.

“... Jon, did you forget that this was about you?”

“No,” Jon said immediately, bristling. He squirmed in his chair. “It just… wasn’t at the forefront of my mind, I suppose.”

Martin sighed. “I think we need to tell your doctor to adjust the score on the ‘do you ever get absorbed by anything’ question. Maybe put it up a few notches, yeah?” he said teasingly.

Jon grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like it started with ‘bugger’ and ended with ‘off’.

“I mean, did you even tell him that you pull all-nighters all the time, because you simply forget that time exists?” Martin kept teasing.

Jon crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It didn’t come up.”

Smiling, Martin hooked a foot around Jon’s ankle under the table. “I love you, you know that?”

Jon hid his smile behind his tea mug. “You may have mentioned it before.” Then his smile wobbled. “Don’t you… I mean, isn’t it weird for you? If I am autistic?”

Martin shrugged. “Not really? I already knew about your quirks. This is just putting them into  context, I guess.”

Jon seemed to think about it. “I suppose,” he then said, not looking entirely convinced.

“Hey, I’ve been in love with you since you first shouted at me. You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Martin said, mostly so Jon would laugh.

He did — it was a small, but beautiful laugh, making Jon’s face light up. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Maybe.” Martin reached out for Jon’s hand, and hooked their little fingers together. “But I’m your weirdo.”

Jon’s expression softened, and he leaned over to press a kiss to the corner of Martin’s mouth. “That, you are,” he murmured fondly, fingers tracing the freckles on Martin’s cheek. “I love you too.”

Maybe they could just be weird together. If Jon was lucky, maybe even for a long, long time.

[xxsycamore]

COOLDOWN

╰┈➤ 🖤You're feeling hot, and Ellis worries that it's a result of overworking yourself again. It's too bad that his methods of helping you have the opposite effect of cooling you down.

Ellis Twilight x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Semi-Public Sex; Temperature Play; Oral Sex; Cunnilingus; Sexual Tension • wordcount: 1,927 • masterlist

a/n: A BELATED BIRTHDAY GIFT FOR @nightghoul381 !!! Happy birthday dear Ghoulie!! This is just a small thank-you for all the wonderful art and fics you've blessed us with, they're always living rent-free in my head. You know which ones I'm talking about. Wishing you many more fun moments on here, gacha luck, all the Ellis content... you deserve it all <3

Part of my Sexy Ikemen Summer Creation Challenge. Prompts: At the festival booth you're volunteering at + Go down on them with a cold tongue

"We're having a lot of customers! I had no idea running an ice cream booth can be so hectic!"

You place your hands on your hips and let out a sigh that does little to erase the liveliness off your face. Ellis finishes restocking one of the containers and gives you a look charged with just a bit of worry. He knows you've been enjoying yourself, but at the same time, even you are recognizing how tiresome this whole ordeal has become.

"You know we can close the booth now… Jude and Roger already took care of the thieves." Ellis reminds, his hand on your shoulder managing to startle you - it's only proof of how tiredness has dulled your reactions.

The mission given to you tonight revolved around catching the culprits behind the latest jewelry heist, expected to make their next big hit here, on the festival, allured by the shiny first-place reward for the competitions held during it. It turned out to be an easy job for your Crownmates, as the other pair consisting of Jude and Roger already reported to you and Ellis that the target had been neutralized.

While you ended up playing a key part in the mission, being on the lookout for the target the whole time from your strategically situated ice cream booth you volunteer at, you couldn't help but be a bit skeptical about, it in the beginning. While you fully understood that this was the safest option for you to help them out, it just sounded a bit ridiculous to remain here and sell ice cream…

This all changed when you realized how good of an opportunity this is to spend more time with your lover Ellis, especially since you both have been busy lately.

The booth's cramped interior keeps you in close proximity at all times, so much that Ellis' scent fills your head completely. He doesn't need to raise his voice more than a whisper for you to hear him, despite the noise of the crowd outside your little shared space. It's like there's a barrier separating you from the rest of the world, so you can't help but jump every time you snap out of your assigned crowd-watching between taking orders, by Ellis' hand accidentally bumping into yours.

You'd joke and say that the only reason your booth is so successful is because Ellis is quite popular with the town's people. He'd shake his head and argue that it must be you who lure them in, because of the happy smile you're able to put on their faces.

"It's alright! I can keep going a little longer. It's close to the end of the festival, might as well try to make it! Here, I'll have some nice cooling ice cream and replenish my energy in no time, just watch!"

Ellis smiles at your stubbornness, readily passing you the ice cream scoop. You feel his eyes on you, and it brings heat to your cheeks knowing that he's probably taking note of the flavors you mix, wanting to know your preferences as always. It's all the more reason to have your cool treat faster, before this heat can get the better of you.

"Mmm, it's so good. No wonder we have so much business! Here, try it too, Ellis!"

You lift the little spoon to Ellis, fully expecting him to take it from your grasp, but instead, he leans down and puts the end of it in his mouth. Your heart skips a beat at the unexpected dose of cuteness, and you barely survive it as he takes a moment to properly sweep it clean with his tongue and savor it thoroughly.

"You're right. It's delicious."

You nod and hurry to put some more ice cream in your mouth just as an excuse to remove your gaze from Ellis' dazzling smile… but you still feel his eyes on you.

"Are you feeling hot?"

Your eyes widen, spoon still in your mouth, as Ellis suddenly grasps the sides of your face, bringing himself closer to you.

"Here, let me. I'm worried that you overworked yourself and got a fever."

Before you know it, a pair of lips is pressing to your forehead ever so gently.

Ellis' lips are so cold… They feel good against your overheated skin.

"I'm afraid I can't judge properly. Should we get Roger? I think he might still be around."

"No, I'm fine! It's just…"

Despite being done with his little examination, Ellis doesn't stop holding your face in his large, roughened hands. There's no escaping from that twilight gaze, shimmering in question from your sudden protest.

"I'm feeling hot because… You're too close…"

In another second, Ellis' mouth opens in a small o-shape.

"Oh."

He removes his hands from you, taking a step back. "I'm sorry that I put my lips on you, then. I didn't realize."

"No, they were chilled from the ice cream and felt so good, actually…"

You said it without thinking, worried that you pushed Ellis away. It's the very truth but you'd rather keep it to yourself because…

"If that's so… Then it might help you cool down."

Because he'll never turn down an opportunity to make you feel better.

Ellis leans in close to you again, but slowly, giving you all the time to reject him. Heart hammering in your chest, you only turn your cheek to Ellis to receive his 'help'.

He plants a kiss on it, gentle as butterfly wings, and cooling as the air they're fanning into it.

It's only temporary however, because as expected, it only makes your blood pump hotter in your veins, receiving Ellis' attention after being in his presence for hours on end and not being able to be lovey-dovey with him.

He withdraws again before you can properly recover, and you see him retracting the poles that prop up the booth's shutter.

"Ellis…?"

"You're in need of a proper cooling down, so…" Ellis returns to you, and suddenly the room inside the booth feels as if it's shrunk drastically. He barely needs to encage you in his arms, but his scent flooding your lungs is so welcomed. The sounds of the crowd outside are a backdrop to Ellis' soft whispers, a sharp contrast between the intimacy and the reminder of where you are. He claims your lips next, and denying him is out of the question. Sucking on his plush lower lip, you want to rob him of all the sweetness and coolness lingering on it.

Once you're out of breath, Ellis lets go, taking in the expression on your face. He's smiling but his eyes are marked by a shade of lust now, and you're surprised to find him still playing along with the little game, taking another spoonful of the cold treat which has somewhat started to melt.

"Ah!"

Even if expected, the difference in temperature startles you when those mischievous lips find your burning nape.

"Here too… Let me kiss you."

His kisses begin littering the exposed surface of your skin, and once he runs out of it, he begins tugging down on the hem of your cleavage to cover more and more with his lips. Little shivers of shame run through you as your breasts spill out, but they're soon replaced with shivers of pleasure as soon as Ellis tongues at your nipples, just briefly enough to turn them into hard pebbles.

Quickly growing unsatisfied with his limitations, Ellis opts for finding the end of your dress and lifting it up instead, practically shoving himself underneath it just to kiss your belly.

The tickling sensation makes a few breathless chuckles escape your mouth, and you put your hands on Ellis' shoulders, though you're not even close to pushing him away.

"Hehe… Seems like we're closed for the day, actually…"

You come to the conclusion as soon as you realize Ellis is sliding his fingers under the waistband of your panties from both sides and dragging them down. There's no going back now, and despite the embarrassment lingering at the back of your mind, you're desperate to feel Ellis when you need him most.

"Ahhh!—"

"Does it feel good? You're being so loud already."

He doesn't have to ask - the combination of his skilled tongue and the enhanced sensation from the clash of the different temperatures makes your legs weak. Your back rests against the wall of the booth as Ellis is seemingly hard at work to make you lose your footing. The hands that caressed his shoulders are now clinging to the fabric of his jacket, each flick of his tongue making your nails sink deeper.

Ellis switches to sucking at your swollen nub, only letting go when he notices your legs beginning to tremble. He laps at the new flood of juices he coaxed out of you, and the hotness of your heat has already erased every memory of the chillness he brought to you.

You don't have the heart to tell him his little plan of cooling you down was doomed to fail from the very beginning, as every place touched by his mouth has only been lit in flames as a result. Or maybe he knew all along.

"Ellis, I'm—!"

"Don't hold back. Come now."

His calm yet sultry voice echoes in your ears along with the thump of your own heartbeat, and soon your vision is overtaken by hot-white. Ellis works you to a powerful peak, not pausing his ministrations for a second. His strong hands keep your legs open, and they're your only anchor keeping you upright. A broken cry of his name comes out of you in a series of moans that you're barely able to keep low in volume.

In your dizziness, you don't realize when Ellis raised to his feet again, carefully arranging your disheveled clothing, sliding your panties back in place. He holds you in his arms for a moment until you can catch your breath, even if his sweet kisses are slowing the process.

"We can open the booth again if you want to. There's still ice cream left."

You blink into Ellis' arms, considering his offer for a second, then letting out a chuckle.

"I wonder if it would cause chaos if we were to bring it back home?"

You certainly don't imagine yourself bribing the rest of Crown with sweets, that's Victor's job. You wouldn't want to take it from him. Though there's something else worrying you.

"But Ellis…What about you?"

He gives you another smile before busying himself with opening the booth once again.

"Don't worry about me. It was enough to see you enjoy yourself."

Despite his reassurance, the air in your lungs escapes you in a sigh. While looking at Ellis, you notice that he's doing a repetitive motion of swinging his arm back and forth, flexing it, sort of as if it's gotten stiff.

Oh.

Feeling the heat return to your cheeks, you feel very guilty about giving Ellis a boner he can't tend to at the moment, even if both of you knew it was gonna happen.

Still, the image of him having to do that instead of waiting it out is somehow terribly hot to you. Along with the show of his well-toned arms, with shirt sleeves rolled up. Blaming it on being lightheaded from what he just did to you, you know you too should focus on anything but the newly formed arousal that pools in your already damp panties.

You just can't wait to make it up to Ellis, once you return home tonight.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @kimi00twin @g-kleran @thesirenwashere @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @natimiles @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @groovylita @justpeachyteastea Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[darkdemeter]

・issue #1・ HABITS OF MOTHER NATURE'S WILL

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader, (Platonic) Avengers x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader angst (reader has insecurities/self esteem issues) — Tony being a bit of a dick — some minor language — some weird fluffy humour? — mentions of a “passed relative” in said humour — minor name calling and usage (“mutt and stray/pup”) — and I think that’s it? ✎ 3.4k

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

Mother Nature decrees that her law is absolute. Her will is to be respected, and all are intended to follow in her great design.

You do not change it. You embrace it.

And this applies to you as well, thanks to your common ancestor, that you shared the habit that left you tracking the red ball Tony kept bouncing against the polished floors like it’s the only thing in existence that mattered to you. And maybe because it did.

How could this happen? No high risk missions or deadly villains to stop from achieving world domination. No, today was one of those special days where you and your fellow Avengers could relax. And with the full moon so close, what better combination?

What you wouldn’t give to suddenly be on a quinjet flying into enemy territory. Nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping.

For everyone’s sake, you tried to keep to yourself for the past week but you’d exhausted your options. Walks in the park weren’t cutting it - not to mention the other dogs started it first - and you’d already destroyed five punching bags in the gym just prior. The treadmill be damned, you weren’t burning any energy on that.

Your last resort was to sit in the common area with your favoured beverage, a cool rag and some TV to calm the intense wave of anxiety. However, by her divine intervention, your beloved crew had come to flock in.

Mother Nature knew you were a pack animal at heart, as both human and wolf. It was how she made you.

The ensuing anxiety of being in a crowded space enough to put you near over the edge. It’s not like your heart rate only picked up a few hundred beats more when Wanda walked in.

When a few of the new arrivals waved and greeted you, you shared a hesitant yet trying smile and equally reluctant nod in return.

The battlefield was the only place you felt comfortable around your new comrades. But without missions or villains you were still getting accustomed to life at the compound; adjusting to life around people.

You were still considered fresh. A new recruit to the team. As Tony liked to call you… a pup.

Fuck, how you’d bite back your snarls from that term.

Fury assigned you to the Avengers some months ago. And though you had no intention of staying long, the missions kept coming in and a lot more required your specific skill set.

You remember as though it was yesterday that Tony said, “Alright Fury, we’ll adopt the stray pup. Just don’t go ripping up the furniture now.”

Suffice to say, you broke your own record at doing just that in under 3 hours.

“I think they’ll settle in just fine,” Fury had chuckled with a clap to the billionaire’s shoulder.

You shake your head at the memory. Still, if felt wrong to feel certain things for one of your teammates already. It wasn’t like you felt you really had a chance with her anyway.

The thought made your eyes falter from the now still ball for a moment, clutched in Tony’s hand as if it were your heart.

‘Who am I kidding?’ You chuffed silently to yourself, ‘She wouldn’t take a chance on me, I’m a damn mutt!’

Your self esteem issues had to wait though.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

‘Ball.’

‘Ball.’

‘Ball.’

Your entire head at this point tracked the ball’s movement, but your mind was still distracted by Wanda. The idea of her wanting to play ball with you, to spend those moments of intimacy with you. Tony’s words zeroed in from a muffled backdrop to the forefront of your mind.

“And that is why red indeed travels at a superior speed to any other. Ergo, why my suit is red, brilliant, eye catching and can beat anyone.”

You could hear the collective groans and disguised snarks beneath coughs without the noise being present. It was in everyone’s eyes and their scents.

Your eyes froze on Wanda, her striking eyes bore into yours with no hesitation. No fear.

‘How long has she been doing that?’

She offered one of her smiles that made your heart swell and stop at the same time, that made your searing skin cool and rise with goosebumps.

‘She’s so beautiful when she smiles like that.’

If she had one of those smiles then… you knew that grin that spread across her lips and showed a thin line of her teeth.

Your eyes gave away the betraying thought that you knew. Her smile turned grin riddled with mischief spoke volumes.

‘She read my damn mind!’

“I don’t think that is actually possible, Tony,” Sharon said with a click of her tongue and a disbelieving squint to her eyes.

“Oh no, it is,” Tony replied with a nod, “I’ll show you how the colour of this ball determines the speed in which it returns to my hand.”

He held up the ball in his hand, a proud display of its immaculate accomplishment, just a throw away.

Shit.

You bite down on your lip hard to suppress the whine coiled deep in your throat. A deep heat settled all along your neck and your ears.

Wanda still stared at you even in your peripheral.

Tony flicked his hand forward and the ball flew forward, bouncing once against the floor and bound into the wall with a determined thump before Tony caught it again, mouth agape to huff in his triumphant display in tandem with a curt yelp.

A good throw. Bad timing.

Everyone’s eyes had diverted to you. Their attention captured by the sound you made. Even Bucky, the stoic and reserved man who hardly acknowledged anyone with anything other than a grunt, appeared surprised if not the slightest bit intrigued by this new discovery.

You didn’t dare risk a second glimpse at Wanda, the flush in your neck seeped higher up into your face. Not that the shock and interest on everyone else’s faces were easier to process.

But you couldn’t face Wanda’s eyes now.

She had read the racing thoughts you couldn’t keep in line. Who knows how much she read about how alluring you think her scent is, how you whine and whimper whenever you hear her softly cry when in the privacy of her room because you wish to be there with her, her hand running through your fur to comfort herself; to let her know you’re there for her. How much it hurts you that she would never see you as nothing more than the mutt of the team. A beast that maims and runs rampart whenever you lose yourself to anger.

A lovesick pup.

You feared that the hot sting of tears was sure to follow any moment now.

Your fingers tightened against your legs, nails not longer the tamed length you maintained them as. In their stead were claws.

“Something wrong, pup?” Tony teased and you didn’t refrain from the rasped snarl that rose in your chest. Your teeth - and fangs - bared.

Fuck. Why did Mother Nature have to make you the way you are?

“Tony,” Sam warned, eyes cast between the two of you.

“What?” Tony only shrugged as if he wasn’t intentionally pissing you off and embarrassing you at the same time. “I just wanna make sure our new recruit here is alright, I mean, they have been temperamental over the past week. Chewing on expensive furniture and specially crafted improvements to my suit—“

The ball flew from Tony’s hand just as he was about to make a show of the ball again, the unmistakable red, misty tendrils swiftly brought it to Wanda’s hand.

Everyone was silent as they glanced between the red ball in Wanda’s hand and you. Their combining scents overwhelmed you to a new height. The fear that pinned you in place made the skin along your arms radiate with heat, either from the desire to run with your tail between your legs or to get defensive; to ‘wolf out’ as the others had called it. It didn’t help when Thor made an attempt to say something but otherwise thought better not to say what was on his mind.

Wanda eyed the object that held your attention. And you in turn couldn’t help but study her. Something in the way her eyes twinkled with curiosity, her lips pulled to one side as if to contemplate heavily on the fact that this ball held you in a vice grip.

Your short temper as of late, how you’d skulk around, much to the dismay of everyone fearing you had turned into another Bucky. The guy wasn’t that bad, you’d give him credit for that, the guy had a lot on his plate.

But what Wanda was perhaps most interested by that whenever she was present in the same room as you, all that would vanish. At least for the most part.

But to her, you would ask her how she was doing or even compliment her. Little did she possibly know that it was because you had felt a little courageous to take that small leap of faith to tell her she looked good.

But she might as well have that knowledge now.

You weren’t sure if it bothered you or not that she read your mind. Invaded your thoughts. In some weird way, you wanted her to. But you also feared her rejection.

But in the end, it all made sense. No one else pieced it together but her. And this time, she didn’t have to read your mind to do it.

She could read you. She knew you.

“It’s the full moon tomorrow night. They’re anxious.”

You were often lucky to avoid this topic with the others. They’d just chalked it up to catching you at the wrong time, that the mission was a hard one that day and you had some pent up anger to burn. The other half, you’d be out of the compound. Taking a much needed break at your apartment, visiting your sick grandma who they suspiciously noted you saying had passed away years ago three times now. But who was counting.

Never did they realise it all happened around the same time every month.

But Wanda did. She noticed it.

You brave to stare into those eyes you were content to drown in but find something else. It’s mysterious. Not what you’d expect to see in her eyes when she looked at you of all people.

“Y/N, Fetch!” Wanda cooed as she tossed the ball away from her. It’s a primal instinct that ignited within you at that very moment. A natural, engrained sense and desire.

How Mother Nature intended for you to react to survive or to have fun, your skin tingled with the sensation all too familiar.

The shift is over within the blink of an eye, seamless as you launch yourself over Wanda’s sitting body after the ball, large paw-like hands scrapped across the floors as you skid to a halt and the ball captured within the grasp of your maw.

Your tail wags involuntarily and your ears pinned against your head as you bashfully ducked your head at the sound of the others who chuckled and praised your reflexes.

It felt nice. Wanda turned in her spot on the couch to peer over at where you’d jumped over her, chin tucked into her folded arms.

“Nice catch,” she giggled and you swore she could see your blush in this form, “bring it here.”

Hesitant, you take a step forward and then another, your eyes cautious as they wandered over the others in case they deemed your advancements were dangerous to be left unchecked.

Rarely did you allow this form to take around them without the proper surveillance equipment and safety precautions. They already had Bruce to worry about losing control as the Hulk. They couldn’t risk you as well.

But no. They marvelled in their stares, smiles of contentment encouraged you to approach Wanda. You let the ball fall into her grasp with a small whine, ears still pressed back.

“Don’t be shy, Wolfie,” she whispered, the sound soft for only your ears to hear. You liked that nickname. You could only hope she would continue to use it.

Wanda raised the ball again only for Tony to interject. “No! No, you are not playing fetch in this compound, Miss Maximoff.”

Wanda smirked at the look in your eyes. The same one you had right before you tore up all the good, expensive furniture within that 3 hour window.

A few more throws turned into furniture shoved aside to make room. Tony remained in the kitchen, arms folded and a scowl etched hard into his face, it would take a miracle for Pepper to wipe it from his face.

Everyone else was too engrossed in the game of indoor fetch, all having had a couple of turns by now with throwing the ball. Bucky humoured you once and threw it, an approving nod when you caught it. Clint, Thor, Peter and Scott fought hard to get the ball numerous times, Natasha and Wanda were promoted to ‘ball-directors’ so everyone had a fair go.

But Wanda maybe got an extra throw in once or twice - by order of Natasha.

Steve now held the eye catching sphere in his hand, high above his head. Though with your stature in this form, it was rather tricky to keep it away from your snapping jaws.

You yipped and howled in anticipation before Steve tossed the ball and you leapt after it. You caught it before it could bounce off the wall. An eruption of claps and cheers followed immediately, your ears flopped back as you whine softly with that feeling that buzzed in your ribcage.

“Bring it here, Wolfie.” Your ears perked up high and alert at the soft tune of Wanda’s accented voice. A few of the others couldn’t refrain from laughing a little at the sight.

Whenever they had permitted you to shift on mission skirmishes, it was all done through protocol and extensive preparation to ensure you were stable.

And they only saw one emotion when you changed. Aggression.

To finally get the chance to play and be comfortable in your own fur felt good. Shit, well beyond good.

“I was promised the next throw! Come on, give the ball here, Y/N,” Sam called with an outstretched hand.

Even if Sam had a point, you couldn’t stop yourself in your approach towards Wanda, who now was crouched down with her hand out to receive the ball.

Her eyes were soft in their gaze as they pierced through the veil of your own. It was like she could see the humanity deep within you.

Her magic touched you differently, prickled against the shell of your mind, you welcomed her in.

‘I see you as more than you realise.’

A whimper crept up your throat in response, ears tucked back and eyes often shrouded with the thirst for carnage grew to relax. Become tender in the embrace of her eyes - her soul - touching yours.

Your fur bristled suddenly and you shook your head with a huff. You dropped the ball into her hand and she threw it down the long hallway.

You bound after it, your claws clinked against the tile floor, your breath hot in ragged pants as you gave chase. Each bounce of the ball echoed faintly in the back of your mind, too occupied by the words Wanda spoke through your mind.

It was the first time you’d heard her voice in your head. And you enjoyed it. It settled you into a sense of calm.

You didn’t register the elevator doors open ahead of you, Nick Fury stood with files tucked under his arm.

Your eyes shot open and you swore you saw his unpatched eye mimic yours. Your weight was too much to control with the momentum you had backed up behind your pursuit in a cramped hallway. You skid to a halt but slipped forward, the force of your body knocked Fury and yourself back into the elevator.

A series of cringed groans and gasps reminded you of your teammates as the elevator doors closed behind you.

You’d knocked Fury into the buttons and now, your destination was another floor.

Sheepishly, he could tell, you whine a pathetic sound in your apologies. You shuffle in the elevator that was almost too tight for the two of you to fit with you like this.

“So,” Fury said after a few moments of silence, eye intently watchful of the floors you both now visited. Some had agents give pause and a receptionist even dropped her cup of steaming coffee at the sight of you.

“What brought the wolf out?”

He turned his head slightly when you grunted, ball held up in your mouth to show him what had ensued before his arrival.

It felt like hours that the rest of the team stood in their places, eyes stuck on the elevator door you and Fury both disappeared into.

“Do you think he’ll be mad?” Wanda asked, voice coated in a toxic amount of unease.

She was scared what would happen to you. As a matter of fact; everyone was scared.

The government knew just enough and that was a hard - yet private - case that was not disclosed with the public.

Your existence and your species as a whole had to remain top secret. One slip up that was determined out of hand would grant you a one way ticket to who knows what for punishment.

“It’s okay, Wanda,” Clint assured, “I doubt Fury would do anything like that. I mean, he brought them to us.”

“He’s right. No way would Fury do something like that,” Steve added, firm in his judgement or perhaps what he hoped for.

“We will… figure it out if it comes to that,” Tony sighed from his place. Not often did Tony jump to your defence in cases such as this.

But in the end, you’d proven yourself mostly to be trustworthy.

He had some inkling of reason to believe you wouldn’t cause intentional harm to the team.

The elevator pinged and everyone held their breath as the doors slid open.

Fury and you stood side by side, gazes directed down the hallway towards your team. Your eyes immediately sought out Wanda who gave you a smile but her brows were furrowed.

Fury held up the ball as he strutted forward, like an obedient pup, you followed close to his heel.

“Next time, take the game of fetch outside,” he advised and threw the ball forward and Tony caught it swiftly.

Another good throw. Really bad timing.

You were still hyped up and because of that, you charged forward and closed the distance within a matter of milliseconds.

“Wait no—!” Tony grunted as he was pinned to the floor beneath your weight. “Get. Off!” He growled and you slinked away from him with your tail tucked.

The others did little to hide their laughs at Tony’s unfortunate expense.

“Good job,” you caught Bucky mutter to you as you joined Wanda’s side. You chuffed rather proudly and your head held high.

Steve aided Tony from the floor. “Alright, Fury. We’ll note that down.” Steve flashed a toothy smile and wink your way.

“I have a mission briefing. Ya’ll better buckle up and dress for the cold. You’re going on an undercover operation located in Alaska.”

“Alaska?” Wanda asked in sync with your curious head tilt, ears flopped to the side.

“Alaska. And you also have a guide present right now who is familiar with the territory.”

It didn’t take a second long for your team and yourself to gather what Fury meant, his single eye on you knowingly.

Fury left some time later after he handed the files over that provided more information on your new task in Alaska.

Wanda turned and knelt down in front of you, a hand ran through the thicket of your fur. The act itself made your eyes droop and your chest rumble. Wanda couldn’t keep the full, toothy smile to spread on her lips.

“I think this gives us all the perfect opportunity to play more fetch with our beloved wolf.” Wanda’s words didn’t go unnoticed by the numerous hums of agreement. Truly you felt seen by them all. For the first time perhaps ever, you felt accepted.

You even looked to Tony who shrugged with an eye roll. “I suppose I could indulge in a couple throws myself. So long as I can test my new theory of what travels faster: the wolf or the red ball?”

“Wolfie,” your team chimed in claim of their theory right there.

Your pack that Mother Nature intended for you.

THANKS FOR READING!

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