#and one is on my knuckle AND SINCE THE SKIN ON LIKE YOUR HANDS ELBOWS KNEES ETC IS SO LIKE CALLOUSED AND WORN ITS SO HARD TO GET THE INK TO

[moonjxsung]

Kinktober Day 2: Period Sex

[kinktober masterlist.]

🔞 warning: smut below! mdni.

pairing: Lee Felix x reader

•

Felix’s slender fingers trace every inch of your body as he works your flesh in gentle, circular massages. His elbows knead between your shoulder blades, applying just enough pressure to elicit a satisfied sigh from between your parted lips. He works down the length of your spine, paying special attention to the small of your back with the pads of his fingers. And then his hands roll your shoulders in comforting motions, as his lips find their way to the crook of your neck.

“You smell good,” he remarks, earning a half-smile from you, who leans back into his skillful touch. His kisses don’t cease, working down the base of your neck until he’s nibbling at your collarbones now, hitched breaths swirling against your skin as he adjusts himself to be a little closer to you.

“You want to?” Felix then asks, and you smile again, already knowing he was going to ask by the methodical process he follows.

“I can’t,” you reply sheepishly, turning around to face him now. He takes your palms in his, bringing your knuckles up to press a chaste kiss against them.

“Why?” Felix asks against your fingers, continuing to roll them against his lips.

“I’m on my period,” you reply, cocking your head almost apologetically.

“I don’t mind,” Felix practically interrupts to say.

His eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading manner, and you observe the way he adjusts his position on the mattress for the dozenth time now, doing his best to conceal the hard-on beneath his flannel pajama pants.

“You’re not in the mood?” He then inquires, his tender kisses trailing up your wrist.

“It’s not that,” you reply, shifting your position beside him, too. Maybe it’s obvious to him that you are horny- just not enough to soak his freshly-washed sheets in blood.

“It’s- the blood,” you explain to him. “It’s only my second day, so it’s really heavy. It’ll just be messy, and difficult, and probably gross for you.”

Felix chuckles in response, his hands finding your waist now, as he interjects with a tender kiss to your lips now.

“I can still make you feel good,” Felix counters.

He hoists himself off the bed now, over to the little wooden nightstand to the left of you, and then he digs around the drawer briefly, before making his way over again.

You chuckle when you observe the bright pink object grasped between his fingers, already very familiar with the sight of it. A compact vibrator he purchased for you not long ago, usually put to good use when he’s away for long periods of time. He’s used it on you maybe twice since purchasing, both of you generally preferring to use his fingers, or his tongue, and especially his cock to pleasure you. But with the current circumstances, and a rhythmic ache still lingering between your legs, you’ll take what you can get.

Felix maintains an amused smile on his face when he instructs you to undress while he retrieves a towel from the bathroom. You’re a little reluctant to in his presence, never having presented yourself nude to Felix on your period like this. But when he assists in splaying the towel over the mattress, and then gestures for you to lie down, you’re reminded that Felix is- and always has been, nothing less than a gentleman during intimacy.

“Are you comfortable?” He asks, hovering over your figure now and steadying himself up with one hand. You nod beneath him, reaching up to tuck a long strand of blonde hair behind his freckled ear. He responds with a sweet kiss to your pouted lips, and then he glances down between your bodies, as he starts up the vibrator.

The quiet buzz fills the silence of the room, and Felix brushes it lightly against your inner thigh as he leans in to kiss you properly now, his lips working against you eagerly. He does his best not to rut against you as he kisses you, his flannel pajama bottoms grazing your flesh as he lets the friction caress his erection. And then as his kisses trail to your neck, the vibrator trails to your clit. Felix smiles against your skin when he hears you audibly gasp at the sensation, the consistent vibrations sending shivers up your spine as you spread a little further for him. He alternates between holding it against your sensitive bud, and then gliding it back and forth, moving with such ease over the already lubricated area.

“Feel good?” Felix asks, though he can already guess your answer by the little moans you let out.

“So good,” you affirm, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his golden locks. “Will you press it harder?”

Felix does as he’s told, pushing the pink toy a little firmer against you, eliciting a groan from between your drooly lips.

“Harder, baby,” you challenge.

Felix furrows his brows, now, glancing down between you at the toy. It’s coated in a sheen layer of crimson, also present on the tips of his fingers now. The sight isn’t jarring to Felix at all, who knew very well this is what the act would entail. But the toy seems to sound quieter than before, and for a brief moment, he wonders if he’s broken it.

“What is it?” You ask him, bucking your hips away from his hand.

You sit up to glance at the toy too, quickly embarrassed at the sight of your period blood coating the bright pink silicone.

“Oh my god,” you remark in a shaky voice. “I told you it’d be messy. I’ll clean it, could you just get me a towel-”

“It’s not that,” Felix says with a chuckle. He brings the toy up to eye-level, rotating it around in his grasp and frowning slightly. “I think it’s… dying, or something.”

At this, you watch him bring it up to his ear, where he attempts to get a better listen at the vibration. Like he’d predicted, the vibrator sounds much quieter now, hardly emitting any noise, as the vibration is nearly nonexistent in his touch. He flips it off, and then on again, being met with the same weak rhythm. And then he does it twice more, before the toy stops working altogether.

“When was the last time you charged it?” Felix asks, sitting up to glance around the room for the charger.

“I dunno,” you reply, steadying your upper body with two hands as you observe his movements. You groan when he departs from you entirely, making his way to the nightstand, where he now fishes around the drawer for a charger, coming up with nothing,

“Did you take it with you anywhere?” He asks, scratching the back of his head in a confused manner. “I don’t even see the charger here.”

“Forget the charger,” you chime in from the bed, pressing your upper thighs together for some sense or relief. Felix wraps the toy in a tissue, placing it carefully on the nightstand, before shooting you an amused smile.

“You sound a little eager there,” he teases, making his way back toward you. “If only there was something we could do about it.”

You groan at his teasing, throwing your head back in annoyance at the pressing ache between your legs.

“We don’t have any others?” You ask him, though you already know the answer.

“Not unless there are any I don’t know about.”

He watches you squirm helplessly atop the towel, your eyes shutting frustratedly as you can only fantasize about the feeling of when the toy was doing its job properly, sending delicious vibrations along your aching clit and assisting you in reaching your high.

“Too bad there’s no one here to help you,” Felix teases again.

You open your eyes again to the sight of Felix much closer now, his hand palming over the erection beneath his pajama pants. He’s even harder than he was before, and between that, and the cocky smile he wears on his face, you can tell what he’s getting at.

“It’s going to be even messier than the toy,” you explain to him. “I don’t know that you’ll be into it.”

“There’s nothing about a little blood I can’t handle,” Felix counters. He hoists himself on the bed once more, hovering over your body again, before burying his face in the crook of your neck. And then before you can give an answer, he’s pulling back again, preparing to leave the mattress again.

“You’re right,” he says plainly. “Too messy. Oh, well.”

“Wait!” you blurt out instinctively, and he meets your gaze again with a surprised look.

“I mean…” you begin to say, embarrassed at your very clear desperation. “We could… try, maybe.”

Felix leans in again to graze his lips over yours, not yet kissing you, as he tugs his own pants down over his erection.

“Ask for it,” Felix commands.

“Please,” you beg, squirming beneath him when you take notice of the fact that he’s not wearing any boxers under his flannel bottoms. “Please, that stupid toy got me so worked up.”

“I’m sure it did,” Felix replies, his hands caressing the sides of your waist as he positions himself over you. He keeps a steady grip on the base of his cock, angling his tip so that it’s just grazing over your soaking entrance, and then he pauses his actions again before speaking.

“Look at you, all hot and bothered for me,” Felix muses with a smile. He rubs his thumb back and forth along your flesh soothingly, and then he bucks his hips forward as he leans in to kiss you, slipping inside of you with complete ease.

It’s almost unbelievable how well you take him, not having to adjust your position even slightly for him to bottom out inside of you. His tip kisses your cervix almost instantaneously, and you’re letting out a fervent moan at the contact, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in even closer to you.

“Just like that,” you say breathlessly, and Felix bites his tongue from remarking that he hasn’t even begun to move yet.

Yet when he does begin to, pulling back and then thrusting forward with the slightest movement, a heavy groan escapes his lips, his cock twitching once at the sensation. Felix has fucked you dozens of times- but he’s not sure he’s ever felt you so tight- and wet, for him. The entirety of his girth is enwreathed in your warmth as he fucks the crimson deeper into you, completely high off the feeling of you gushing around his length. It’s like he’s fucking you for the first time all over again, and Felix can’t help but quicken his pace when he feels you dig your nails into his bare back.

“Feels so good,” you groan up at him, attempting to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. It’s less of a kiss, and more of you panting breathlessly against his parted lips, as he continues to fuck you at a rhythmic pace now.

“Yeah?” Felix inquires, his tongue swirling around yours as he moves a little faster inside of you. “You like when I make you beg for it? So horny when you’re on your period for me, baby. So fucking wet.”

He groans at his own speech, a string of drool dribbling from his lips onto yours, mirroring the blood that dribbles between your upper thighs and onto him. He couldn’t care less about this mess being a product of your menstruation- in fact, he’s pretty sure it’s ten times more arousing when you’re allowing yourself to be this vulnerable around him.

Felix’s groans transition to an orchestra of high-pitched gasps now, as he fucks you even faster, the sound of his hips smacking eagerly against yours and accompanying the lewd sloshing from between your tangled bodies. He can hardly form a coherent sentence by this point, muttering a string of “fuck” and “baby” as he shuts his eyes in pure bliss. And then his breath hitches in the back of his throat as he feels you clench desperately around him.

“Cum for me,” Felix orders breathlessly. “Make a mess for me, baby, yeah? Fuck, I wanna see you cum for me so bad.”

It hardly sounds like the familiar low pitch of Felix’s voice when he’s whimpering commands like this, but it’s somehow even more arousing to see that he’s so lost in pleasure, he barely even sounds like the Felix you know.

“Cum for me,” Felix says again.

And when you open your eyes to observe the arch of his eyebrows, and his pink parted lips as he continues to thrust into your sopping pussy, you finally do, a gush of blood and arousal coating his cock in a slick mess.

Felix lets out a guttural moan when you do- one you’ve never heard before, as he slows his movements inside of you. And then as he relishes in the sensation of your fluids trickling down onto the bed sheets below him, and his cock practically sloshing in your wetness, Felix reaches his orgasm, letting out a series of whimpers when he empties himself inside of you.

One glance between your bodies is enough to gauge the mess you’ve both made- the towel is damp with spots of sweat, and cum and blood alike. And yet all Felix can do is smile when he finally pulls out again, rolling onto his side and catching his breath for a moment.

“Feel better?” He asks, his fingertips brushing against yours tenderly.

“Much,” is all you can say back, shooting him a satisfied grin as your chest rises and falls.

When Felix sits up again, he tucks a piece of blonde hair behind his ear, furrowing his brows at the desk across the room.

“The charger,” he says simply. “It’s there, by the lamp.”

“Forget the charger,” you interject.

He turns to face you again, his lips pulling into a smile as he watches you shut your eyes once more.

“If a little blood doesn’t bother you, then I prefer this to the vibrator on any day of my period.”

*

[peachessndreamss]

Weirwood Tree

Summery : While in labour with their second child, Cregan and his wife take s short walk to the Weirwood tree to help get things moving.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Pregnancy and childbirth (nothing explicit)

Word count : 3k

A/N : Turns out you never shake being a Stark girl, Ily Cregan so much.

“I’m sorry t’say it, my lady, but your labours have slowed up,” the midwife said softly as she drew the sheets back over Lady Starks bent knees before dipping her hands in a bowl of water. 

“Slowed up?” Lady Stark repeated incredulously, dropping her head back on the feather pillow, “but it's been hours already,” she added, tears burning her eyes. 

The second child of Lord Cregan stark and his lady wife was in no rush to make their way into the world. Despite the frequency and strength of her earlier pains once the midwife and maester had been sent for, everything seemed to have come to an uncomfortable halt.  

The midwife had brought her ancient grandmother along with her, known through Winterfell and the winter town as Auld Joan, she had been a midwife in her own time and had delivered Cregan's father and uncle. She was mostly blind and deaf now but still attended births but spent most of the time sitting as close to a heat source as possible and dispensing wisdom if necessary. She was currently sitting in a chair next to the roaring fire, her ancient hands clasped on her lap, knuckles bulging out of shape and fingers curled like claws. 

“I know it's been a while,” the midwife said soothingly, placing a warm hand on Lady Stark's knee, “but sometimes it's just like this,”. 

“The last one wasn't like this,” Lady Stark grumbled, her mood darkening as she tried to shift around into a more comfortable position. 

“You mustn't compare one with another,” the midwife soothed before touching a cold cloth to the lady's forehead. 

“A walk will geyit moving ,” the old woman wheezed from her seat by the fire, “no’ this lying about,”. 

The maester, who had been mostly disinterested in proceedings up until this point shot the old woman a dark look, he was standing in the far corner of the room, a leather case of vicious metal tools clutched jealously to his chest. His grey robes matched his grey and sickly looking skin. He wasn't particularly interested in births or deaths or the everyday ailments of life and resented being summoned to the birthing room of any woman. 

“This position is agreed upon as being the correct way for labouring mothers,” he said coldly in a clipped southern accent. 

“Agreed by men who know nothing about it,” the crone grumbled. 

“What does she mean?” Lady Stark asked the midwife who was now gently feeling the swell of the lady's belly. 

“Baby's not quite in righ’ place, that's why things have slowed,” she explained as she pressed on the left side of the belly, Lady Stark winced, “but grandmother thinks a little walk might get things moving again,”. 

The midwife glanced over at her grandmother who had closed her eyes and was now looking peaceful in the flickering light of the fire, she looked back at her lady and dabbed the cloth over her cheeks before putting it back beside the bowl of cold water. 

“What do you think?”Lady Stark asked. 

She shrugged, making a point not to look towards the maester before replying. 

“It helped me with mine, and it wouldn't do you any harm,”. 

The maester opened his mouth to disagree and lady stark held up her hand to silence him. 

“Just walking through the keep, out into the godswood for the fresh air should do it,” the midwife continued. 

The lady nodded and lifted herself up onto her elbows, she addressed the maester, privately enjoying ordering the sour faced man about. 

“Lord Cregan is outside the door, fetch him in,” she said. 

Cregan Stark had paced the halls outside of his wife's rooms since he'd been asked to leave them several hours before. While he wasn't accustomed to being removed from parts of his own castle he respected that father's, even lords, were not expected to be present at the births of their children,so he was surprised to hear the door opening when he was fairly certain nothing much had happened yet. 

“My Lord?” The voice of the maester echoed off the walls as the lord strode into view, “your wife would like to see you,”. 

He nodded, his face stern as he stepped past the man and into the warm, dark room. 

“Seven Hells,” he murmured as he pulled at the collar of his shirt, instantly feeling the heat of the room rolling over him like a wave, sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip. 

As he looked around the room he was surprised to see the midwife helping his wife into her fur boots, a long, heavy cloak already covering her shoulders. 

“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

She turned her flushed face to him and smiled. 

“Yes, we're going for a walk,”. 

Cregan’s brows rose but he nodded without further comment, knowing better than to ask questions.  He watched nervously as the midwife helped his wife to her feet, ready to spring forward at any moment if it looked like Lady Stark might lose her balance. 

Once he was happy she was safely on her feet, Cregan stepped towards them, offering his arm to his wife, who took a small step and linked her arm through his. 

“Twice around the godswood’ll do it,” Auld Joan spoke from the chair, she opened one ancient eye that could just be seen through the folds of skin that made up her face. 

“Or as far as you need’t,” the midwife added, her eyes flicking towards the maester. 

From the darkest corner of the room the maester muttered under his breath “foolishness” but no one else could hear him or pay him a moment's more attention. 

As the Lord and Lady of Winterfell stepped out of the stifling room and into the cooler corridor of the keep they both gave a sigh of relief. As they walked they instinctively drew closer to one another. Finding comfort and strength in each other's presence. 

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Cregan said as they stepped through the door of the keep and into the much colder air of the inner bailey. The ground was a mess of mud, straw, snow and grey brown slush that cracked and crunched under their boots. 

“Yes,” she agreed, her hand tightening on his arm as her foot slipped a little on a patch of hidden ice, “Auld Joan felt this would be the best way to get things moving again,”. 

Cregan nodded, “She's seen a fair few babes born in her time, she knows what she's talking about,” he paused and took a deep breath of cold air, “I think she might have even delivered my grandfather,”. 

“Surely not!” She exclaimed, looking up at her husband's handsome profile, “that would make her more than a hundred years old,”. 

“I've heard of stranger things in these parts,” Cregan said with a shrug. 

They walked quietly together, moving slowly and carefully through the slush.

“Not as easy as last time then?” He asked as they made their way past the archery butts where the young men of the household were practising and past the stables with their snorting horses and young boys shovelling straw. 

“No, this one seems to have an obstinate Stark streak in them already,” she replied with a soft laugh that sounded like music to Cregan's ears. 

“I seem to recall your own family are known for their stubbornness so I won't be taking all the responsibility for that,”. 

“Pigheadedness, I believe my father called it,” she replied with a laugh, Cregan gave his own snort of laughter. 

“Your father certainly has a way with words,” he agreed. Recalling a few choice phrases her father had used for him during their courtship. 

As the pair crossed into the godswood the sounds of the keep and the town beyond the walls seemed to fade away and they became the only two people in the world. The ground was covered in a dusting of snow which had frozen overnight and now crunched under foot. From the dark canopy of the trees small birds sang between themselves and bounced from branch to branch, leaves rusting and falling to the ground in their wake. 

“Aly is worried we won't have enough time for her when the baby arrives,” Lady Stark said as they passed under the first dark boughs, “she kept asking me if we were going to send her away when I was putting her to bed last night,”. 

“She's a sensitive soul,” Cregan replied with a soft laugh, his mind wandering to the little girl who was at that moment playing in the same nursery he played in as a child, waiting for his own younger sibling to be born. 

“I dread the day we do need to send her away,” she lamented, drawing her body even closer to his in the cold air. Her free hand resting low on the swell of her belly. 

“We've many years before that day, my love,” he soothed, “and perhaps many more babes to fill our home,”. 

Lady Stark laughed softly, feeling the dull ache of her labours growing in strength as they followed the well known path through the trees.

“You are insatiable, always wanting more,” she said softly and Cregan laughed. 

They had been married 6 years and now were as comfortable with one another as any married couple could expect to be. Having been friends before they’re union had made things easier but the months after Cregan’s return from war had tested them to their limits. The time spent apart had been long and difficult for the both of them, when Cregan had left he was already old beyond his years but on his return he was darker and colder than the longest winter night. He’d forgotten laughter, softness and gentleness and his first few months back in Winterfell had been fraught as the two learned to live with one another again and find their way back to the happiness they’d briefly shared before the dragons tore the realm apart. 

The followed a well trodden path through the woods, her arm wrapped tightly through his and his hand resting over hers, warm and solid. As they walked, Cregan listened to her breathing, noticing every change to her breath and hitch in her voice. He was ready to take her in his arms at any moment to rush her back to the midwife if was necessary. 

They turned a corner in the path and were now on course to the weirwood tree, its ancient face seemed to watch their approach and its blood red leaves reflected in the black water at its roots. 

Suddenly Lady Stark stopped, her free hand going to her belly with a sharp intake of breath, she groaned, her teeth biting into her top lip as a strong contraction wracked her body. Cregan tightened his hold on her, fear gripping at his heart and twisting his stomach. 

After a few seconds of pain her face relaxed and her eyes opened, her cheeks were flushed with colour and despite the cold there was sweat at her hair line. 

“I think this might be working,” she said with a small smile, “or perhaps the baby can feel the tree,” she added, glancing toward the weirwood. 

“A good Stark then,” Cregan replied, forcing a lightness in his voice he didn’t feel. 

She stepped toward the tree and he followed her closely, never letting her more than an arm's reach from him. Once close enough she placed her hands on the tree, feeling the rough bark rasp against her skin. 

“Do you think the old kings of the north were born under this tree?” she asked, turning her face up as a shaft of wintery sunlight broke through the dense leaf cover, “snow and leaves for their midwife?”.

Cregan raised his eyebrow in thought for a moment before replying. 

“They were certainly conceived under it,” he smiled.   

“Yes, I remember the stories,” she agreed, turning to look at her husband and seeing the playful glimmer in his eyes. 

During the long months of the war she’d found comfort in the thousands of books in the Winterfell library, starting with the histories of the North going all the way back to the first men and how those ancient kings of the North did everything important in their lives in sight of a weirwood tree, they were born, married, made oaths and died as close to the trees as they possibly could. The histories had included stories of rituals the ancient peoples had contrived to conceive their children under the boughs of the weirwood trees, they believed these children would have the gifts of prophecy or live impossibly long lives because the powers of the tree flowed through them. 

“Perhaps, when you’re healed, we should try it ourselves,” Cregan teased. 

“When this one is delivered I’ll let you know if you’ll be welcome in my bed again,” she replied with a sly smile, before adding “my lord,”. 

Cregan gave a bark-like laugh, stepping closer to her and slipping his arm over her lower back and around her waist. She turned to face him, moving her hands from the ancient and cold bark of the tree to the living warmth of his shoulders, she studied his features before taking a deep breath and letting her forehead press against his. Another contraction wracked her body, she groaned and gripped tightly at the fur and wool of his cloak, taking strength from his body into her own. 

“I think we need to go back,” she said softly, their foreheads still pressed together. 

“I think so,” he agreed without hesitation.

Keeping his arm wrapped around her waist the two of them turned, she leaned heavily on Cregan as they completed the loop around the godswood and headed back through the castle courtyard. The space now almost completely empty as most of the household had been summoned for the midday meal. 

The progress was slow but they soon made it back to Lady Stark’s chambers, the room was cooler now, the windows had been thrown open but the coverings drawn across them to keep the room dark. The two women were sitting by the fire, talking quietly while the maester was still standing in the corner of the room, glaring. 

The midwife jumped to her feet and took Lady Stark’s arm, allowing her to slip from Cregan’s hold and move toward the bed. 

“How are you feeling my lady?” the midwife asked softly. 

“It helped, the pains are coming much more quickly now,” the lady replied. 

“Baby will be here soon,” the midwife agreed, “perhaps before the noon meal is over,”

Lady Stark glanced over her shoulder at her husband pausing by the door. His broad shoulders blocked out almost all of the hallway behind him.

“I want you to stay,” she said softly as she was helped back onto the bed. 

He smiled but shook his head. 

“This is not my place” he said softly, as he felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat and in his eyes as he fought the sudden overwhelm of emotions. 

“Thank you, my lord,” the old crone said from her seat, “we’ll take care of them,”.

Cregan nodded, knowing well enough when he was being asked to leave, he gave his wife a final look before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind himself and resuming his pacing. He wondered if his own father had paced nervously or if he had taken to the woods to hunt until the deed was over with and the child was cleaned and neatly wrapped in a blanket. He couldn’t imagine being any further than the castle gate while Lady Stark laboured. 

As the midwife predicted the midday meal hadn’t finished before there was the high pitched, squalling cry of a newborn that caused Cregan to stop in his tracks and lean heavily against the wall of the hallway, his hand clutching at his heart that was beating fast enough to burst. 

The door to the chambers opened and the midwife stepped out, a smile on her face as she saw her lord in a moment of unguarded emotion. 

 “A son, my lord, hale and hearty and with plenty to say for himself,” she said, the sounds of the crying child still coming clearly from the room behind her. 

“God's be praised,” Cregan said, his voice cracking with emotion. 

“Come meet him,”. 

Cregan felt his knees turn to water when he stepped into Lady Stark's rooms, the sight of his beloved wife cradling a squalling newborn was a joy that pierced his heart like an arrow. 

“Your son, my lord” she said with a tired smile, turning the bundle just enough for Cregan to be able to see the child's face. 

He stooped and took the child, cradling him close to his chest, for a few seconds the child stopped wailing, his blue eyes opening wide and taking in his first sight of his father. The two of them looked at each other for a few seconds, Cregan's own eyes filling with tears. One hot tear was about to track down Cregan's face when the baby in his arms screwed his eyes shut, opened his mouth and started to howl, his cries even more desperate than before. 

Lady Stark laughed from her seat on the bed, holding her arms out to take the child back. 

“Give him back, you're upsetting our son,” she said, grinning at Cregan who jealously clung onto the child, rocking him gently and trying to sooth the screaming babe. 

“Sorry my boy,” Cregan said softly, “but you'll just have to get used to me,”.

[g0dlyunsub]

stitch me.

you were assigned to negotiate with an unsub keeping a group of females hostage, or so you thought. turns out he has a partner and he’s determined to destroy you, all in front of spencer.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: lots of physical violence, blood, mentions of murder, knife threats, biting, general criminal minds themes.

word count :: 1.8k

author’s note :: so… this is my first post, like ever. sorry if it’s poorly written, but i’m all for slightly (?) protective reid and just wanted to write about him :3 accompanying song :: savior by novulent

you knew something was more than just off the moment you were violently thrown into the room. the hostages were huddled near the left corner of the room, their eyes locked onto you as their shoulders shook in panic.

but the hostages were all supposed to be women. brunettes. young women in their twenties. so why was there a young man among them? there was no mention of a young man reported missing in the case files or when garcia had compiled the final list of hostages, so who was he?

must’ve been a gap in the reports, you shook your head and tried to get up, but your left cheek met the cold concrete ground once again.

“don’t move, sweetheart.” his knife was positioned at the nape of your throat, and you felt your breaths become more jagged, more erratic.

“listen, i swear i’ll make it up to you i never-“ your breath gets caught in your throat when the blade presses ever so slightly into your skin.

“shut your pretty little mouth. i know who you are, an undercover cop. if you think you’re so smart coming in here without your wire and gun, you should be prepared for the consequences.” he spits the words with a nasty drawl.

you barely have any time to respond as he lifts you up by the back of your shirt and drags you to an adjacent room. he grabs a fistful of your hair and throws you to the ground forcefully.

“all the other girls in there, they’re nothing compared to you. i’ll take my time with you, sweetheart”. he approaches you while cracking his knuckles and waving his knife around menacingly.

“who’s the boy?” your voice comes out with a slight quiver, but you’re determined not to sound scared. the man lets out a bellowing laugh in response, examining his knife in one hand.

“that’s my buddy jack. you cops surely would have done your research, right?” his hand is now gloved around your throat, and you struggle to loosen his grip with your arms.

this killer had a partner sitting right between the hostages and you and your team had completely missed the signs.

but the adrenaline must have kicked in at the right timing, since you manage to knock your head back into his face and quickly swivel to deliver a kick into his shins and bring him to his knees before he has any time to react with his knife. then you strike him unconscious with a swift elbow to his temple.

you barely have any time to recover, however, when a blow hits the back of your head and your world comes spinning down. before your eyelids slowly close, you manage to steal a glance at the perpetrator — the male hostage had knocked you with a bat and was now trying to shake his unconscious partner awake.

when you open your eyes, you can’t move. your arms are tied behind your back, and your legs are tightly trapped behind the legs of the chair with knots of rope. you were in the main room now with all of the other hostages, and the former hostage was on the ground, still trying to shake his partner awake.

“look what you’ve done, you stupid brat. i swear if you’ve killed him i'm going to SLIT YOUR THR-“ the crescendo of his voice halts with the abrupt ring of the telephone hanging on the wall. he huffs and makes his way to the phone, never losing his eye contact with you. you try to wrestle against the ropes, but your efforts are useless and your energy is at an all time low.

it was your team on the other end. they must have figured out that it was a team of two and not just one.

“your stupid cop knocked samuel cold and split his skin open. send me a medic and maybe i won’t kill all of them here”. jack’s tone is agitated, threatening, and also lost. now that his commander wasn’t in charge, he didn’t know what to do with the hostages, let alone you.

you can barely decipher hotch’s words as they filter through the noise of the phone. “release the women, and i’ll send you all the medical attention you need. we’ll make sure samuel gets the stitches.” his voice is level and controlled. you’ve always trusted hotch and you’ve always trusted your team, but you couldn’t help but let a sliver of anxiousness cloud your thoughts.

and oh god, spencer. how would he cope when you were gone? how would he react at the sight of your cold body, drowned in the blood of the other hostages? tears fill your eyes and you make a poor attempt to swallow them back.

just as you think of your boyfriend, you hear his name through the phone.

“we're going to send in doctor spencer reid to have a look at samuel, alright jack? i want you to let the women go first. the sooner you do this, the sooner samuel gets his help”.

no. no, no, no. NO.

you squirm in your seat, trying to divert jack’s attention.

“wait-“ you try to shout, before jack cuts you off: “SHUT UP! this is all your fault!” he rolls his eyes before he turns around. jack’s knuckles had turned white, maintaining a deathly grip on the telephone.

“fine. but the cop stays with me.” he slams the phone before he rushes back to check on samuel.

the women are released one by one, each frantically making their way out, and you can hear cops outside ushering them and retreating.

it’s only a few minutes later when you hear the familiar sounds of the leather shoes make their way inside of the room. it’s spencer, and he has no wire, no gun, no vest. he’s carrying a medical first aid kit and making his way toward samuel, but not before taking a glance at you.

your world collapses, right there and then. he’s made the same mistake you had by entering without his gun and vest, and you had to give him a signal somehow. if luck was on your side, spencer would make it out alive. but you? your chances are slim.

“hurry up and stitch him up. don’t fuckin look at the other cop.” jack points his knife at spencer, and you let out a hitched yelp. please don’t hurt him. hurt me instead.

spencer gets down to work quickly, examining and tending to the wounds on samuel’s face, and he doesn’t look up in your direction once. jack’s watching him the entire time, tapping his left foot in impatience.

“there. he’s all good, samuel just needs some time to recov-“ spencer raises his arms and turns his back against you, and faces jack as he speaks.

“shut- sit on that chair”. jack motions at spencer to sit down on the chair across from you. you shake your head fervently, yelling constant streams of don’t to him. but he obliges.

“put your arms behind your back,” jack orders, and spencer obliges. you make a desperate attempt and kick at jack to try and distract him. but jack only slaps you in the face with his backhand before aiming the knife at spencer. your boyfriend flinches, and his friendly facade is now masked with a deathly glare.

“don’t move.” jack grabs duct tape and moves swiftly to bind spencer’s hands together behind the chair. you hang your head down. it’s over.

“listen, let spence- let him go. it’s just between you and me, your partner said you only need me”. you shakingly drew in a deep breath as you spoke.

jack chuckles before he makes a step toward you. the next thing you know, he’s grabbed you by the hair and he’s delivering punches left and right, hurling screams of expletives and slurs. he’s lost it. and you were going to die.

he positions the knife at your chest, and you know he'll do it. you know he will drive that blade straight to your skin. straight to your heart.

“STOP. STOP! PLEASE!” you hear spencer rocking his chair forwards, and jack finally stops. you can’t breathe with all the blood pooling in your mouth, and you let the excess drawl out of your lips to land on the floor.

“jack, listen to me, please.” spencer looks at you with pleading eyes, silently signaling you to not move. to not agitate jack further.

“no. samuel said he was gonna kill her and i have to finish what he started for him”. jack leans forward and pulls the collar of your shirt outwards, and bites down on your neck. you let out a painful scream, tears running down your face just as more blood leaves the corner of your lips. spencer thrashes in his chair, trying to shift jack’s attention.

“but i stitched him up. samuel will live. let her go. you can take it out on me.” spencer’s voice is desperate, but there’s a tone of controlled execution, because his voice isn’t quivering like before.

at that instant, doors fling open and less than a millisecond later, jack drops to the ground, his knife toppling down to the floor soon after. the team of cops, along with hotch and rossi, make their way toward you and spencer, untying the knots.

between the yells of “we need a medic” and comforting words of “you’re going to be okay” being uttered left and right, you hear spencer’s voice. it’s seemingly amplified for some reason, and you can’t help but smile. your boyfriend rushes towards you, sweeping your hair and cradling you back and forth in his arms.

“you’re so brave, you’re so brave y/n.” his voice comes out stifled and hoarse, and you feel him grip your hand even tighter.

“i’m so sorry i let you go in there alone. i’m so sorry i let him do that to you, torture you and almost-“ his head buried into the crook of your neck, and he lightly kisses you right above the dried cut where jack had attacked you.

you turn your head ever so slightly to get a better look at spencer. tears coat his eyelashes and his mouth shakes as he talks. a soft groan rolls out from the back of your throat, and you snuggle deeper into spencer’s hold.

“keep… talking. i want… to hear… you.” you manage to let out, and spencer’s eyes widen.

“of course. i can do that. i’ll keep talking to you, y/n. focus on my voice, can you do that?” he asks with a slight squeeze to your palm. you give a slow nod in return.

that’s all he needs, because when the medics transfer you into the ambulance, he’s sitting right beside you, not letting go of your hand, and whispering nothing but bittersweet apologies.

his voice is the only stitch you need.

[glitter-epoch]

Hiii, always love to see people obsessing over love and deepspace (bc I'm addicted too), can I please request zayne fic about his hands and fingers? Can be suggestive, can be pure smut, up to you lol, ok thanks byee

HIII yes i can!!! i can't believe my first request is a zayne's hands request this feels like a gift. thank you for requesting i hope you like!!!

[ there’s a part 2 now :) ] ☄. *. ⋆ gn! reader | 2.8k words | suggestive, not smut | zayne gives reader stitches but it's deliberately not described in detail/no mentions of needles/blood

“my lunch break ends in fifteen minutes,” zayne had said, staring past your head in thought. “it would be a waste of time to check you in.” 

you stood there in the bustling lobby of akso hospital, one paper-towel-bound hand pressed to the sliced skin over your hipbone, and waited. surely he wasn’t telling you to just leave. you were only friends, so it’s not like he had an obligation to you; but he was your primary care doctor, and...

and. there was, is, an and. you’re not sure what exactly to call it, and zayne is so adonis-like you’re embarrassed to even suggest he might like you.  

“i’m sorry,” you said in earnest, a little surprised by his usual coldness that you’d arrogantly assumed would thaw upon seeing your injury. “i didn’t mean for you to drop everything for me. i should have gone to an urgent care, or something, i just thought since you’re here...” 

zayne looked down from the spot over your head, clearly removed from his pensive mood. his intention to argue with you was clear, but he held his tongue stonily until you finished your rambling. 

“no,” he replied. “you should never go to another doctor. i was just thinking.” 

you blushed like an idiot. “ever?” you mocked. 

“mm,” he murmured, back to thinking again. he brought his forearm to circle the small of your back, not touching, and motioned you forward. “come with me.” 

and now, here you are: sitting on the grey sofa in front of the wall-length window, early afternoon light bleeding white all over zayne’s office. for a few moments, he’s left you alone to gather materials, and you relish in what feels like a small victory. 

i’ve been personally invited to the office.  

not like it’s the first time, though.  

zayne returns with a small kit swallowed by the size of his pale hands; the sleeves of his button-down pinned up to his elbows. you shift, balancing your weight unnaturally on one leg. His eyes snag on you as he grabs his glasses from his desk (far taller than the tabletop, he must lean down to grab those, too). 

“lay down,” zayne commands.  

you blink, glancing around to try to figure out the most convenient position to get into for him to work. by the time he’s come over and sat down on the glass table in front of you, you’re still sitting up. 

“you can put your head on the armrest and your feet that way,” he nods, not a hint of impatience in his deep voice. “i can see you squirming. when you sit up like you are, you’re putting pressure on the wound. it must hurt.” 

“i haven’t even shown you the wound,” you retort, not sure why you’re arguing so much- and swallowing a wince as you turn to prop your head up on the side of the sofa.  

“i see your handywork,” zayne replies. he pulls on a pair of blue latex gloves and they snap quietly against his wrists. he’s clearly careful not to let the noise be too loud. “hm.” 

you frown in place of a (shameful) gulp at the sight of the gloves hugging his hands.  

“is this bad?” you ask. “i’m sorry. i tried not to mess with it too much.” 

zayne pieces through the small kit on the table beside him. even his rummaging is succinct; long fingers deftly parsing through the stack of metal utensils inside. he comes up with two sets of narrow pliers and a cotton round.  

he passes the pliers through his fingers like pencils, balancing them between his knuckles, and pours a solvent that looks like lens cleaner onto the cotton pad. 

“not bad,” he says, eyes on the pliers as he polishes them. “the paper towel is fine. but you got it wet beforehand.” 

“and that’s bad?” 

“you’ll be alright,” he murmurs- or maybe he always sounds like that- and discards the cotton round. the corners of his lips just barely curl. “you won’t die, i suppose.” 

“well, i’d hope not. it’s just a cut.” 

“and what did you do this time?” zayne demands softly, fishing in the kit for what you now realize will be sutures.  

“i had an assignment with xavier and failed to climb a fence.” 

“you impaled yourself, then,” he remarks coldly. “and xavier.” 

he sets a roll of sterile surgical threads on a wider cotton pad and turns his eyes to your midriff, which is still mostly covered by your shirt; wound hiding beneath it.  

“xavier, yeah,” you inhale deeply, mentally preparing for the stitches. “my partner. i’ve mentioned him, i think.” 

“yes, you have,” zayne says. his voice is strained. then he inhales, a whole breath through his nose, mouth closed in stoic secrecy; and nods to your hips. “lift your shirt, please.” 

you’re grateful that he’s given you a task and you don’t have to look him in his eyes after that tiny display of disdain (for your partner? for your hips? hopefully the former?). But as you lift your shirt, the paper towel comes loose. 

“ouch,” you hiss. 

you realize you’re probably stressing him out.  

“it’s not bad,” you add, uncharacteristically hoarse. 

“it’s not,” zayne agrees softly, eyeing the wound with his usual cold stare. his eyes refuse to flicker above or below the cut, which rests just over the shallow ridge of your hipbone, right above the line of your trousers. “but it hurts, i'm sure.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“sure,” he repeats, almost as if to mock you, almost as if he’s just making sure he heard you right.  

zayne busies himself preparing a cotton round of saline, and in the middle of this, says, 

“you’ll have to unbutton your pants. can you fold the waistband over?” 

your neck is suddenly clammy. “oh. yeah, sure.” 

“if you can’t fold them down far enough, you’ll have to take them off.” 

your eyes blow out like glass. 

zayne, whom you suspected might have been deliberately extending the length of his cotton-round-preparing, is surprisingly the one to smile first. almost wickedly. “i would get you a cover, of course.” 

“oh, how nice of you.” 

he laughs barely, an exhale from his nose. you unbutton your trousers, fabric shifting against metal.  

he inhales at the sound. 

the blue latex over his knuckles catches light from the windows. you watch moments later as he threads the sutures, fascinated by how efficient his hands are. they’re longer than they are wide, and slender, not bear-like; but big nonetheless. and yet his fingers move like knitting needles, never missing a beat, never shaking. “would you like to do it yourself?” zayne asks suddenly. 

his voice is like a hum, always vibrating in his chest. 

you bristle. “god, no.” 

“then why are you staring?”  

you’re hoping he won’t finish on that very word, but he does, and he looks at you with his usual resolve of steel. you decide that no answer is the only good answer, and instead say, 

“okay. good luck. don’t mess up, please.” 

he chuckles and leans over you, the breadth of his sharp shoulders blocking the sun. “i never mess up.”   

the words ‘mess’ and ‘up,’ are foreign on his tongue, like he’d never refer to a mistake so casually, like he’s never made one in his life. he probably hasn’t, you think. 

zayne lifts up the cotton round, which is practically the size of a pea in his hand. “i’m going to clean around it. the solution may sting, but not much. it will be over fast.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

he chuckles again. “sure,” he hums, and then, before he presses down, “here.” 

he swipes the cotton round over your hipbone, startlingly light. goosebumps rise instantly on your flesh. his fingers are icy, even through the gloves; they radiate cold like a lamp radiates heat.  

zayne is kind enough not to mention your instant squirming and moves quickly to start the sutures. 

“this will be fast, too,” he says, looking unwaveringly into your eyes. like he’s trying to will the fear out of you. “not as fast as that, but faster than you’d imagine.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“there it is again,” he smiles. “sure.” 

you grin incredulously. “i don’t know what else to say. you’re about to stab me.” 

his smile is thin and almost prideful as he grabs his glasses and slips them on. he leans over your hips, then looks up at you; pushing them up the bridge of his nose. 

“aren’t you glad it’s me, at least, and not some stranger?” 

you’re busy inhaling and exhaling like a horse, trying to calm down. “i am glad it’s you, yes.” 

your desperation throws him and his jaw sets like a stone, adam’s-apple bobbing.  

“alright,” zayne says, nearly whispering. “now.” 

he begins the sutures. you gasp, instantly, at first through your nose and then through your mouth; which pops open unwittingly. it’s nearly a whine. 

“i know,” zayne murmurs, leaning back a tiny bit as he works; so his face is visible to you. “i’m sorry.” 

“it’s okay.” 

you bite down hard and screw your eyes shut, but all you do is flinch each time his fingers move. he stops almost instantaneously, like pulling the plug on a treadmill. 

“look at me,” zayne says, deep voice rumbling against your thigh.  

you peel one eye open and then the other. 

“i know it hurts,” he says gently. “but you can’t move. i could seriously hurt you.” 

“sorry, sorry,” you nod. “i know.” 

the pools of his eyes are clear. he’s resolute in his instructions as he speaks, every word confident. 

“breathe the entire time, through every suture. i can work while your stomach moves; i can’t work if you’re flinching away.” 

“okay.” 

his brows lift. “okay?” 

again, you nod. “okay. i’m sorry.” 

“no apologies,” zayne says. 

he presses his hand flat to the side of your belly that’s unharmed, the tips of his long fingers just barely curling around the slope of your waist. you inhale slowly at that, blinking rapidly. his hand is cool as glass.  

you panic, as if he can somehow feel the coil that winds up in your stomach; watching his fingers splayed across your navel.  

“i’m going to try again,” he says. you can feel the words all the way down to his fingertips. then his thumb moves, caressing the skin just over your waistband. “breathe.” 

well, i can’t now. 

“got it,” you grind out. 

“good,” zayne hums. “three, two, one...” 

and it starts again. you bite down, tongue taut to the roof of your mouth. 

“don’t,” zayne warns, stern as ever, but his fingers keep working. “breathe. i can see whether you’re doing it.” 

the coil in your stomach tightens. you peel your eyes open and watch him work, knuckles grazing over the soft, thin flesh that’s been revealed from behind the waistband of your trousers.  

his eyes flash away from your navel as you start to watch. moments later, you’re stunned to see how laser-focused he is, pupils never moving from your cut.  

“do you ever get nervous doing this?” you ask, apt to make the time pass faster by talking. like your mouth isn’t wet just watching him do his job. “are you nervous?” 

“no.” his reply is instant. “i’ve done this hundreds of times.” 

you’re stunned. “i would be nervous.” 

“you are nervous,” zayne murmurs. “close your eyes.” 

the ball of his wrist presses into the juncture of your hipbone.  

“no,” you gasp. too fast. 

zayne’s fingers slow, utensils suspended. he looks up at you, somehow feeling taller still. “no?” 

you shake your head. “i-i don’t like not knowing what you’re going to do next.” 

oh, sure.  

he’s stopped working at this point, watching you like a hawk. “then i’ll tell you what i’m going to do before i do it.” 

“that’s okay,” you exhale. i’m dying. 

zayne’s eyes rove over yours, not unkind, but uncaring about how visible his assessment of you is. clinical, even still. the corners of his lips curl up.  

you’re not sure how it’s possible for your stomach to drop while laying flat on your back, but it does; your ears hot as irons.  

he goes back to work without another word. you’re so embarrassed, you finally shut your eyes and let your head weigh on the armrest until he’s done. 

“alright,” zayne says. “that’s it. don’t move.” 

you keep your eyes shut, nodding. “i really can’t thank you enough, i-” 

“watch.” 

for a moment, you lay there. then you open your eyes, peering down at him, too uncertain to be shocked yet. “what?” 

zayne takes his small kit from the table and places it on your lap. you startle, blink, as he sifts through the contents of it. gloves still on.  

“this is another cleanser,” he hums, his voice uncharacteristically musical. “i’m going to clean around the sutures.” 

you stare incredulously at him. “...okay.” 

he’s not fooled by your aloofness. zayne’s right hand works slow circles with a cotton round around your cut; the other comes down flat to keep the waistband of your trousers from getting in his way. both are cold to the touch; never quite warming.  

your jaws come apart and you barely manage to stop your mouth from falling open as discards the cotton round and takes the corner of your waistband into his hand. 

he buttons your trousers; pulls the zipper up. 

you watch like a fool. then, when he’s done, and you think you’ll have to admit to what you’re thinking, he furrows his brows at your face.  

“did you cut yourself here, too?” he murmurs. 

“where?” you croak. 

zayne shakes his head and slowly peels off the gloves; letting them slide slowly off his fingers. “mm. here.” 

he reaches forward and spreads fingers to cup your temples. one thumb glides over your browbone, low enough that you can see it; four or five times before removing his kit from your hips and leaning back.  

you exhale harshly and move to sit up, wondering if you’ll be able to somehow flee the office without another word. 

“not yet,” zayne says. “lay back again. you don’t have to put your head back; just lean back.” 

and you do it, instantly, because...well, because.  

zayne pulls a rectangular gauze pad with an adhesive border from the small kit. then he leans forward- he'd be positioned between your legs, if you opened them- and pulls your shirt up once more. 

as he presses the bandage over your sutured wound, it seems like even he can’t look at you. but his usually statuesque expression is lifted with amusement, plus something more sinister.  

“you like to watch me work,” he hums. 

his fingers dip under your waistband to smooth the bandage over. 

“shut up,” you bite. 

he leans back and watches you with no further offerings- words or otherwise medically dubious practices- and looks quite pleased. his breath is ragged, though; chest lifting and caving. 

“thank you,” you exhale. your tongue darts out over your lips.  

his pupils are swollen. “sure.” 

you grin, caught off guard by the joke. it sounds ridiculous in his voice.  

“my break will be ending,” zayne says, stony as ever once again as he walks to his desk.  

you stand, smoothing your hair down like something far more scandalous just occurred than stitches. 

“what do i owe you?” you ask. this earns a genuine, icy glare. 

“nothing,” zayne replies, pulling on his white jacket and grabbing his things. “but go to the front desk before you leave. i’m going to call in a prescription ointment for you.” 

you blink at him, thrice. a little dizzy. “oh, wow. thank you.” 

as zayne strides to the door, you think he might genuinely leave you there without another word. but he takes the door handle, and, almost shy, turns over his shoulder and says, 

“i’d like to stay with you, but i can’t. i’ll be working until dinner.” 

“no, no,” you rush, stepping to meet him at the door. “i’m fine. thank you so much, for doing this. i was just thinking.” 

he still can’t look at you, but at that; zayne grins. 

“i’ll call you when i get home,” he says. then, “is that okay?” 

you swallow. “of course.” 

“i want to know how the sutures feel in a couple of hours,” he adds. 

“oh, sure,” you tease. 

his eyes darken, like darts. you’re almost afraid.  

zayne opens the door for you and waits for you to pass by, eyes full of mirth as he looks down at you. “i’m glad i could be of service.” 

he raps his fingers on a clipboard until you look away. you blush feverishly all the way down the hall at how he says ‘service.’ 

☄. *. ⋆

this is not how you do stitches nor how you sterilize utensils. anyways FIRST POST. lol. anon if you or anyone else wants a part 2 of this (nsfw) i wiiiiiill do it lmk

[eddiesghxst]

best friend! steve x best friend! reader and steve is talking ab how he didnt get laid on his date and reader is like “i can do it”

LMAOO poor stevie, i’ll take one for the team i guess🤭

18+ — MINORS DNI

contains: oral (m recieving), p in v (unprotected - don't be stupid), and steve's big d!ck

word count: 1.9k

(this is def not proofread srry)

————

Steve has been ranting for ten minutes straight.

You’re laid on his bed, head resting at the foot of the mattress and legs sprawled out to where the soles of your feet just barely brush against Steve’s thigh. You had originally come over to watch a movie, but you got dragged to his room, and ever since you sat down on his bed, Steve’s mouth has been running, complaining about his current dry spell.

“I mean really, I don’t mean to toot my own horn here, but I don’t remember it ever being this hard to get fucking laid,” He complains as you quietly entertain yourself with imaginative shapes in the ceiling. “I’m dying, man, it’s ridiculous.”

And you’re tired of hearing your best friend complain about his lack of pussy, you want some popcorn and you want to watch the movie. So, before you can fully register your thoughts, you’re already spitting out a suggestion, “I can help.”

Steve glances at you, watching as your folded hands rest against your steadily rising stomach, “We’ve already tried that, your advice doesn’t work.” He points out. You roll your eyes, craning your neck to look at him as you flex your foot and press against the side of his thigh, ignoring when he bats you away, “No dummy. I mean I can help you.“ 

You lay your head back down, wriggling your feet as if you hadn’t just suggested you fuck each other and Steve is… well Steve’s not sure what to say.

You sit up to lean on your elbows and glance at Steve, raising an eyebrow, “You didn’t die did you?” You joke. Steve shakes his head as you shuffle to your knees and begin crawling over, “No I… I’m just…” He swallows heavily when your hand rests against his thigh, fingers gently squeezing as you lean into his space.

“A-are you sure?” He asks. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t, Stevie.” You confirm, gently batting your eyes at him as a sickeningly sweet smile spreads across your lips.

Steve curses, gaze flickering to your pretty lips before surging forward to press his lips against yours. It’s not the first time you and Steve have kissed, there've been a handful of drunk nights where you shared a few harmless pecks here and there, but nothing of this manner.

It’s never been passionate enough to have Steve pulling you by the hips to drag you onto his lap or good enough to have you moaning as you stuff your fingers into his brown hair. Your knuckles curl into the roots and Steve moans, leaning forward into the kiss until you’re giggling against him, sneaking a hand between the two of you to palm at his crotch. “You’re already hard, Steve.” You point out.

“Did you think I was lying when I said I’ve been living like a repressed nun?” 

You laugh, “No I just… I thought I’d have to work for it a bit, I guess.” You shrug as your fingertips curl around the hem of his shirt, pulling upwards and removing the thin material from his frame.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless many times from countless summers spent at the pool and countless nights sleeping over. You’re well aware that Steve is gorgeous, and you’ve always wanted to do more than just admire, and now that you’ve got the chance, you don’t waste a second to run your hands over his chest. Your fingers curl against the patch of hair covering his chest as you kiss him again, grinding against his bulge and moaning.

Steve’s big hands are on your waist, eagerly squeezing before making his way down your back. He’s hesitant as his hands round over the fat of your ass, but you grind back against his touch as a way of encouragement. His fingertips dig into your ass before he moves his hands lower to slip up under the tiny shorts you have on, groaning at the sensation of your warm skin against his hands.

“Fuck, Steve, that’s really hot.” You breathe against his lips. “Yeah?” He hums, pushing your ass down to grind you against his dick. “Yeah… I wanna taste you.”

Steve’s cock throbs at your words and he mumbles a curse before nodding, pulling away from you to hastily shove his sweats down as you shuffle to settle between his legs. You quickly remove your shirt, giving Steve an eyeful of your tits sitting prettily in your bra. He palms himself over the thin material of his boxers as you shuffle closer, situating yourself between his spread thighs.

Your fingers brush against his when you reach out to dip your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, eagerly tugging them down to release him. Steve moans as you pull the boxers down, stiff cock slapping against his tummy once it’s freed from the thin cotton material. 

“Holy shit, Steve,” you whisper, eyes wide and lips parted as you gaze down at his cock, hard and already leaking with excitement. You glance up at him before looking back at his dick, “I guess the King Steve rumors were true…” You mumble, ignoring Steve’s breathless laugh as you drag a finger up the length of his cock. Steve’s breathing is slowly rising as he silently watches you touch him, circling your fingertip around his aching tip to smear the sticky precum around.

You giggle when he visibly twitches from your touch, “Excited?” You tease. “Fuck you,” Steve breathes, moaning when you finally wrap a hand around him.

You smile, watching as his face twists in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as you begin to stroke him. He slowly thrusts up into your hand, working to meet your strokes in tandem as breathy moans tumble from his lips. You watch in awe as he melts into the pleasure, “God, you really are pent up, Stevie.” You point out, gently pulling Steve’s attention to open his eyes and watch as you wriggle to lay down on your stomach.

You pause your stroking to spit into your palm before resuming the task, humming at the sinful shlicking sound of his wet cock in your hand. You admire the sight in front of you; Steve’s thighs, hairy and toned, bracketing you in with his cock standing tall, firm, and achingly flushed before you. Your gaze drags up the expanse of his heaving chest to fall upon his flushed face. His lust-blown eyes excitedly watch as you lean forward to drag your wet tongue up the underside of his cock, lewdly humming at the taste as you wrap your lips around his tip.

“Oh fuck,” he pants, head falling back against his headboard as his eyes squeeze shut. “I can’t believe this is fucking happening.” He breathlessly mumbles, tuning back in to watch as you pull him out with a crude pop, smacking your lips open to stick out your tongue and slap his sticky tip against it a few times before swallowing him once again.

Steve is big, filling and stretching your mouth so much to where you can already tell there will be an ache in your jaw afterward, but you don’t care. What you can’t fit into your mouth, you make do by simultaneously stroking with the rhythm of your movements.

It doesn’t take long before Steve’s hands are in your hair, softly tugging as he moans out, “I’m gonna cum.”

You pull off of him with a wet gasp, strings of spit and cum sticking to your lips and falling to cool against Steve’s wet hips. You languidly stroke his throbbing cock as you shuffle up onto your knees, a swollen smile bracing your lips as Steve pants beneath you, gazing up at you on hunger.

He nods down to your waist, “Take them off.” 

You waste no time following his orders, wiggling out of your shorts and tossing them somewhere in the room. Steve leans forward to kiss you, hands sneaking behind you to unclip your bra and shuck it off with the rest of your clothes. You’re only left in your panties when Steve pushes you back to lay against his pillows, legs falling open to welcome Steve as he leans over you for a sloppy kiss.

He palms your tits with one hand as the other strokes his cock, mumbling against your lips, “Gonna let me fuck you?” 

He presses himself against your clothed center, both of your moaning at the sensation as he rubs against your covered clit. You eagerly nod in response, fingers tugging at his curly hair as he reaches down to pull your panties aside. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” He whispers to himself before running his thumb over your aching clit. You pathetically moan and squirm against him as his name falls from your lips. 

He kisses you again, thrusting his hips forward to run his cock through your wet folds. He slaps his dick against your pussy a few times until you’re mewling in pleasure and agony, “Please, Steve. I didn’t tease you.” You whine.

Steve chuckles, “I know… you’re right, I’m just being mean.” He says. He holds himself up with one hand beside your head as he pulls away just enough to glance down between your bodies, brown curls falling over his face as he watches himself drag his tip through your folds once more before lining up at your entrance. He pushes in achingly slow, looking back up to watch as your face is masked with a look of pleasure.

Your thighs shake as he bottoms out, and Steve groans above you when your wet walls clench and swallow him whole, “O-oh my god, Steve… holy shit, you’re so fucking big.” You breathlessly moan.

You’re already pulsing around him when he begins thrusting into you, sloppy wet slapping noises filling out the space around you as each thrust pulls moans from both of you. You’re not sure you’ll last long, the feeling of being so stretched out and filled with your best friend's cock has your head spinning until you’re nothing but a moaning mess.

You think you lose sense of time as Steve fucks you because you only come back to earth when you’re teetering on the edge and hear Steve’s gravely voice in your ear, “You’re so good to me,” he pants, “Such a good friend, letting me fuck this tight little pussy of yours.” 

You whimper, nails digging into his arms as the band in your tummy begins to snap, a long string of moans and curses pouring from your chest as you cum. “Fuck yes holy shit I’m gonna cum.” Steve moans.

Before you know it, Steve is pulling out of you and spurting thick ropes of cum against your tummy and pussy, cursing and moaning as he jacks himself off the rest of the way. You’re breathless and hazy as you watch him, squirming at the sensation of his warm cum on your skin and his hot fingertips digging into your thigh.

Steve is panting as he looks down at you, taking in the sight of the white sticky release glistening against your pussy, some of it seeping into the thin material of your panties. He breathlessly chuckles, glancing up at you as join in and ask what he’s laughing about.

Steve shakes his head in disbelief and lets out a short laugh, “We should’ve done that a long time ago.”

[megistusdiary]

pooks please write something vampire!arlecchino au x fem!reader plsplsplspls im having a brainrot. the plot is your choice you can do anything i just need vampire arlecchino.

if you do that ill give you a kiss pls 😞🙏

i see vampire arlecchino has caught on.

let's see what i can cook up 😁

it got kinda long and boring, but i like writing pointless dialogue. what can i say?

vampire arlecchino ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

dom!vampire arlecchino x sub!fem reader

warnings: smut (mdni), wlw content, vampire arle, biting, blood, fingering, size kink, established relationship

you gently knocked your knuckles against the dark, elegant wood door of arlecchino's office. your ears strained for her soft 'come in' through the wood, slowly turning the knob to enter her office.

arlecchino was busy at her desk, piles of paperwork covering the surface. you closed the door quietly behind you, pulling your robe tighter over your body as you approached her.

she looked good like this, you found, very good. her hair was slicked back, a few strands escaping and framing her face.

her jacket was gone, and her traditional uniform was traded out for a long sleeve collared shirt. she left it half-unbuttoned, showing off the valley of her breasts, sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she concentrated on her work.

she glanced up at you, deep red irises finding yours. "you came." she hums.

"you called." is your response as you approach her desk, leaning over it to look at her papers. "i was waiting for you to come to bed. i thought you would've put everything aside for the night by now."

you knew she didn't need to sleep, or, at least not as long as you did. it was a common occurrence for her to work late into the night, joining you long past midnight in bed.

unfortunately, it seemed tonight was one of those nights she couldn't find it in her to set her work aside. not even for you, despite how the notion wounded you. you were at least grateful she called upon you, unable to sleep without her in bed next to you.

she scooted her chair out, patting her thigh for you. like a little puppy, you gingerly pranced to her side, situating yourself in her lap, turning to face her.

your eyes found hers, trained on her papers. her face carried a hint of exhaustion, slight bags forming under her eyes, skin paler than usual.

"how long has it been since you fed?" you suddenly ask.

it seems just the thought of blood has her hand faltering, nearly ruining the elegant signature on the paper in front of her. "why do you ask?"

you frown at her, leaning up to gently cup her face. "why won't you answer me?" your voice is sweet and gentle, causing her to set her pen down, opting to hold your hips instead.

she pulls your body to kneel over her lap, facing her. "despite how i would prefer to deny it, nothing seems to satisfy me these days. not since i drank from you."

your face heats up at the thought. "you mean to say that you won't feed unless it's me? but what if something happens to me? or i am suddenly anemic-"

"i will do everything in my power to keep you safe. you're more than a bloodbank to me. i'd sooner starve myself than drain you, doll." she cuts you off. "besides, i am perfectly capable of feeding infrequently." she pauses.

"you don't have to starve yourself on my account." you shrug your robe off one shoulder, baring your skin for her. "please?" your voice was so soft and sweet, and her jaw clenched at how you tempted her.

"you are the devil in disguise, doll." she mumbles to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. "is it that you want me fed, or you want me to fuck you properly?"

your face heats up immediately. "what? no! i- i just...i..."

she tuts, shaking her head. "you're lucky i already decided to be done for the evening the moment you walked into my office." she pushes your robe gently further down, untying it to reveal the tiny silk nightgown beneath. "i hope you are not too fond of this piece, but i'll buy you a replacement."

she leans down and licks a strip up your neck, sharp fangs teasing you and leaving scratches. you shivered against her, bracing for the pain. you were surprised, however, when she decided to indulge you.

a hand snuck its way up the hem of your nightgown, teasing your thigh before pressing a fingerpad to your clothed clit. she felt you writhe on her lap, rubbing delicate little circles while she lapped at the crook of your neck.

"hold still." she warned, sinking her fangs into you eagerly, slipping her fingers under your panties to keep you placated.

her eyes fluttered shut at your little noises, stuck bouncing between pleasure and pain as she rubbed your bare clit.

blood seeped out of the puncture wounds, dripping down and staining the silk nightgown. you were too far gone to care, though, head tipped back as her fingers prodded at your pussy.

she collected your slick just as eagerly as she drank from your neck. using the wetness on her fingers, she eased one in gently, allowing you time to adjust.

even though your brain was fuzzy, you noted the way she trimmed her nails down, specifically to play with you. her other hand remained untouched, sharp nails digging into your skin as she kept you pressed tightly to her larger frame.

her fingers were longer than yours, always reaching deeper spots, stretching you out further as she pressed another into you. the little whines and whimpers you made had her groaning into your neck.

the hungry look in her eyes had disappeared, replaced by lust as she detached from your neck, licking over the wounds to close them.

"that's what i was missing..." she sighs, licking over her blood-coated fangs, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. your nose wrinkled at the taste of your blood, and she chuckled lowly.

her fingers crooked deeper inside of you, moving faster as her thumb rubbed into your clit. "be a good doll, and cum for me." she urged, enjoying the way your whines rose in pitch as you approached your high.

soon enough, you were spilling your slick over her fingers, head falling back at how she helped you ride it out.

small trails of blood still escaped from the wounds on your neck, prompting her to lick the blood up, dragging her tongue up your jaw messily. "good girl." she praised, feeling the way your smaller body rested against her own, melting into her.

[alchemistc]

(dys)functional | bucktommy 1/1

an: the hockey au keeps growing, have some tommy whump in the meantime

read on ao3

"Hey," Tommy says, rolling the word over his tongue, letting the door close behind him and leaning his head back against it as it goes. Evan glances up, and immediately sets the knife in his hands down, expression going concerned the moment he sees the look on Tommy's face.

"Uh wha - what's wrong?"

The concern in his voice is ratcheted up in a way Tommy doesn't quite understand - he knows the look on his face is a little resigned but Evan looks stressed. "I'm gonna have to reschedule our weekend," he tells him, already shifting away from the door, moving in, chasing after the distressed little tilt of Evan's head, completely incapable of not trying to fix it even though his mind is going in about fifty different directions, right now.

Around the corner of the island, into Evan's space, and Evan melts just enough for Tommy to get his hands around Evan's hips. "Is everything okay?"

Tommy grimaces. "Not - not really, no. I've got to catch a flight in about six hours."

Evan goes stiff under his hands. "O-okay."

There's an art to fully grasping his tone, in these moments. He's - not an easy read, exactly, because his default seems to always be doing a terrible job of hiding whatever it is he's feeling, but that doesn't actually mean he's not masking the actual issue. It's confusion, mostly, maybe a little bit of hurt, a quiet sense of foreboding in his expression as he leans back to get a good look at Tommy's face, like he's searching for an answer for a question he doesn't know if he's allowed to ask.

Evan shifts impatiently, stormy expression clearing up. "Can - do you need to -" He makes a face Tommy knows is aimed at himself, a little recrimination for not being able to gather up the proper words in the proper order. He pulls in a deep breath. "Okay, so this is maybe too much to throw at you right now but those are kinda famous last words for me and I'm - will you tell me why so I'm not thinking up worst case scenarios here?"

Tommy slides in, fingers curling into the hem of Evan's shirt, gripping, tugging just enough that they both drift into one another. "It's my father." Brow furrowed, Evan nods, and waits, still rigid in the circle of Tommy's arms. And Tommy really does have to leave, soon, pack an overnight bag and try to get a couple hours of sleep before the slog to John Wayne, but he's a little concerned that leaving right now is going to send Evan into a tailspin. Thank God he'd decided to drive over first, tell him in person - he's missing a heap of context here but clearly a phone call would have been the wrong move. "He's - I have to..."

Evan knows the basics, bare minimum shit because Tommy hates acknowledging how much his father had fucked him up, how many years of therapy have been required to untangle the dad shaped knots in his brain.

"I don't really have all the details, yet, but my uncle called and I - I'm needed, apparently. I don't." Tommy has felt wrong-footed since the moment the name flashed across his phone screen, he doesn't talk to them, to any of them, and now his uncle has given him a vague 'Tom you need to come home, it's your pop' and his sister isn't answering her messages. Tommy takes a breath, realizes his hands have tightened into fists in the seams of Evan's shirt. "What do you mean famous last words?"

Evan is studying him carefully, elbows bowed behind him because he's got his palms curled around Tommy's fists, eyes shifting over Tommy's face, and Tommy knows he's seeing the shit Tommy likes to keep under lock and key. "It - it can wait. Tommy, do you need me to come with you?" Head tilted, gaze assessing, fingers shifting, soothing over the stretched tight skin of Tommy's knuckles.

It's too soon for that. He doesn't want Evan to see that part of him, the piece of the puzzle that Tommy has had to chip at, and shave and sand down to make fit, that ugly little part of his life he'd shed the day he'd set his house key on the dining room table and left for boot camp.

It's not too soon - he doesn't want Evan to ever see that.

He's also suddenly incredibly aware of how nice it would be to finally, finally have someone he knows is in his corner for whatever bullshit he's ten hours away from walking into. His grip loosens and Evan seizes the opportunity, awkwardly lacing his fingers through Tommy's. It's a weird angle, uncomfortable with the current positioning of their arms, but it feels a bit like a lifeline. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not. I'm offering."

There's a stubborn part of him that doesn't want to accept. He's kept his life out here so separate; even Sal, who'd kept all his other secrets for going on a decade, barely knows shit about his family. He has a good life, rich and fulfilling. Out here. He's got Evan, who'd do practically anything for his friends, his family. Tommy can't justify subjecting him to whatever garbage the Kinard's have going on three thousand miles across the country.

Evan tugs at his hands, shifting his weight enough to send Tommy stumbling half a step into him. Toe to toe, gazes catching again, because Evan is seeking him out, Tommy feels some of the weight lift off his shoulders.

"Okay."

It gives him the excuse of leaving as soon as possible, once he gets there, at the very least.

Evan nods. Whatever weird tension he'd been carrying ebbs from his shoulders and Tommy puts a pin in that - he's spiraling and upset but for a second Evan had been, too, and he needs to circle back to that when he can think straight.

He's got his phone out, free hand digging into Tommy's front pocket, and Tommy blinks, tries to think of something clever to say, something flirty and wry. They were supposed to go out tonight: dinner, maybe dancing, after, if Tommy could convince him. Then a three day stretch of matching days off - a drive up the coast, a little rental within walking distance of a beach, a seafood place that made a lobster roll almost as good as the ones up in Maine. He'd been contemplating whether or not it was too early to bring up Evan's lease.

Evan fishes Tommy's phone out and presses in his passcode without a second thought, and something eases in Tommy's chest. He trusts Evan. Has trusted him, consistently, unquestioningly - he'd given him his passcode on a whim when the screen went dark on it halfway through Evan adding his food to whatever they'd been in the middle of ordering in before Evan got derailed by a story about the anatomy of seahorses.

"Did you already book a flight?"

Tommy nods. Points out the Southwest icon he'd moved to his home screen for easy access.

He doesn't argue when Evan guides him around the island to one of the stools, there, fight and flight both losing out to freeze as Evan takes charge.

It's not their usual dynamic. Evan has been happy to set the pace, but once he takes his cues from him, Tommy's typically the one taking point. But Tommy feels unmoored, and it's nice, actually, to have Evan press a kiss to his temple, to pull up his flight information, to squeeze Tommy's shoulder as he books a second ticket on the credit card Tommy's really only let him use once or twice, happy to be seeing someone who will actually let him pay more than his fair share, who seems flattered that Tommy's always got his wallet out before Evan even thinks to reach for his.

Everything's a bit jumbled. He's halfway to Jersey already, maybe, pulled into the riptide and dashed against the rocks of Richard Kinard's bullshit, he doesn't even know why he's going, just that his uncle had told him he needed to come. He comes up for air feeling battered and bruised when Evan rubs a hand down his shoulder, over his arm, up again with harder pressure as his palm shifts down and over his spine.

Evan's face hovers close to his. "I'm just gonna call Bobby, and then we can pick up something to eat on the way over to your place." The upside to having something already planned is that Evan's already got a bag packed with everything he'll need to travel.

It sounds so simple, so effortless, and Tommy's throat feels tight when he swallows. He gets two fingers into Evan's belt loop before he can pull away, and Evan comes easily, stepping into the spread of Tommy's legs, forehead coming down the few inches to meet Tommy's. "You - thank you."

"Of course," Evan says, a little wry, an echo of Tommy's own favorite phrase whenever Evan gets a little caught up in the way Tommy keeps showing up for him. He gets it, now. It's been instinct, really, to be there when Evan asked, to try his damnedest to make it to the things he's promised to be there for - nothing particularly remarkable about it, in Tommy's mind, but Tommy's starting to see the larger picture. It's grounding, it's comforting, it is actually a little remarkable to be on the receiving end of it. It feels like devotion.

Tommy rolls his forehead, curls a hand up over Evan's shoulder, his neck, fingers catching in his hair, along the curl of his ear. When he blinks and meets Evan's gaze, there's something in his eyes that Tommy isn't sure either one of them is actually ready for, but then, they haven't really stumbled on their way through those things up to this point anyway. Blazed past them, maybe, but always with an understanding of what they mean while they waved at the mile marker blurring past them.

Evan squeezes at Tommy's knee. "I'm not going anywhere," he assures, and Tommy snorts.

"You're literally going to Jersey in, like, five and a half hours."

Evan huffs. "With you. I'm - you're ruining my moment, Tommy," he pouts, and if the both of them dissolve into a fit of giggles, no one has to know but them.

-----

Tommy hasn't been back here in eight years. It's been longer since he's talked to his family - he'd shown up fifteen minutes into his grandmother's funeral, slipped in to a pew at the back during mass and and skipped the wake before he found a bar and made a few bad decisions with a man who'd sat next to him four drinks in and smiled at him like the sun peeking through a billowing stormcap.

Evan presses a tentative hand to the small of Tommy's back and Tommy melts into it, pleased when the hand shifts to curl around his waist. He's apparently already rented a car, and Tommy can't quite hide the heavy sigh of gratitude at the admission - the getaway will be a lot smoother if they don't have to stand outside waiting for a ride.

He's seen Clipboard Buck in action before. The last time, he'd barely managed to get them somewhere private before he was on his knees to express his appreciation of Clipboard Buck. This is - not better, but different in a good way. It makes him feel tethered, reminds him that as crazy as it had been to accept an invitation to a wedding after a spectacular explosion of a first date, he'd been right to follow that spark he'd first felt on the tarmac while Evan Buckley shook his hand for about thirty seconds too long.

"I can help whoever's next," says a voice as Evan shuffles him along the rental line, and Tommy's gaze darts up, his posture sharpening.

Evelyn.

Christ, it's a day for reunions, Tommy guesses. They're next, actually, and Evan tilts his chin with narrowed eyes when Tommy sighs and moves to the counter.

For a second, Tommy's convinced she doesn't recognize him. She pops the gum in her mouth, bored gaze bouncing between them as Evan scrolls through his email for the confirmation number on his booking, and then her eyes go wide.

"Tom? Tom Kinard?"

Evan's eyes shift up. It's a lot more subtle than Tommy'd expected. So is the hand that squeezes at Tommy's hip in question.

Tommy curls his fingers around the hand, squeezes back. He's spent too many years on the other side of the closet door to go crawling back into the dark now.

"Hi Evie."

Tommy hasn't told this story, but he doubts Evan will be particularly surprised by it. He's heard about plenty of Tommy's other beards.

Her gaze shifts. From her spot behind the counter he doubts she's seeing much, but the anchor of Evan's arm around his waist has them sharing space, Tommy's shoulder pressed to Evan's chest, the two of them breathing the same air. Her brow ticks up behind her glasses. She's got a streak of grey along her temple, and the start of crows feet around her eyes.

Evelyn snaps her gum. "You missed the reunion," she notes, and then smiles. "Although I can't blame you if this is what you've got back at home. A large improvement on Jason Ledecky." She leans in. "He's got five kids and a truly tragic bald spot."

Evan's eyes gleam. Tommy realizes he's actually looking forward to telling this story, in the sanctuary of a rented car on the way to his uncles. Evelyn Carinni had been a godsend for a Tommy who'd shot up four inches and slimmed down over the summer after junior year -- she'd scooped him right up that first day of school when it became clear that a suddenly sharp jawline was all it took to garner the attention of the female population of Cliffside Park High, and the first time she'd whipped out her tits and seen the disinterested look on his face she'd made it her mission to make sure he made it through senior year undetected.

"You here about the will?"

Tommy pauses. "What will?"

Her eyeroll is exactly as disparaging as he remembers. "Christ, your family is a piece of work. According to Tina, who heard it from Daryl, Old Man Gio apparently had an updated will your dad tried to hide. There's been a whole lawsuit about getting it recognized."

"What the hell does that have to do with me?"

"Well, I imagine dear old granddad had a nice little end-of-life realization that the only descendant he had who didn't want any of his money was you, so as a last fuck you to all his ungrateful kids he left it all to you."

"There's no way any of that money hasn't been spent already." Not to mention he has no interest in some long drawn out court case where all his extended family has to admit they have no way to pay it back.

Evelyn hums. "A lot of it's been tied up for years. Plus there's the royalties his estate is still getting."

Tommy sighs. "My uncle made it seem like it was more serious than that."

"Is there anything more serious to them than who gets the lions share of daddy's money?" At Tommy's raised brow, she shakes her head. "Anyway, your pop might be looking at jail time, so there's always a possibility they're looking for preemptive bail money."

If he lets them, he'll tie up Evelyn for hours, standing here gossiping like teenagers. "We should have a reservation," Tommy tells her, before things get really off the rails, and they go through the motions of pulling up Evan's information. Evelyn pops her gum again.

"What a shame," she says, brow raised and eyes focused on Evan. "We promised you we had plenty of inventory in basic economy but it looks like those are all off the lot." Tommy watches Evan frown, eyes darting to the prices detailed behind her. Neither one of them is overly concerned about their savings account, at the moment, but Evan isn't fond of surprise price increases. He'd complained for a week the last time avocados had gone up thirty cents. "Looks like I'll just have to upgrade you free of charge, Mr. Buckley."

The clerk to her left shoots her an exasperated look and leaves it at that, but something happens in Evan's expression, the realization rolling over him that he's been included in some subterfuge. "Oh, well, if you have to," he says, but he's leaning his free arm against the counter now, posture open, happy to be included in this little bubble with someone who has loved and cared for Tommy. He knows the feeling -- knows how he'd had to take a deep breath at Chimney's bachelor party, when Eddie had glanced between them and implied that Evan inviting him to the karaoke bar was a date, remembers the way he'd had to dig his fingers into his thigh in the pocket of his pants to keep from being weird about how nice it was to laugh with Maddie Buckley-Han.

Evelyn chuckles, and smacks her gum, and the keys under her fingers clack away for a moment before she spins in her chair and marches off to grab something from the printer, and Evan hip checks Tommy with just enough force that Tommy sways, maybe a little overcome in the same way Tommy always is when Evan's friends, his family make it clear they like having Tommy around. He grins, and Tommy returns it, the edges of his smile bleeding into his cheeks.

Evelyn returns with contract for a sports car. "I waived the deposit fee," she intones. "For the inconvenience, sir."

Evan looks delighted as he signs off and Evelyn splits their copies. The sticky note affixed to Evan's copy has a phone number with a Jersey area code written on it, and she taps it.

"When you find out you're insanely rich and finally cut off the rest of your family completely, you two should take me out for coffee."

Evan isn't so caught up that he doesn't check in with Tommy first. It's not entirely necessary --he likes Evelyn, and Evan can clearly tell that -- but it's nice, all the same.

"How about a steak dinner," Tommy negotiates, and Evelyn's grin goes wide.

-----

As it turns out, Grandpa Gio was a petty little bastard with a penchant for dramatics, and according to a court of law his aunts and uncles (and father) owe him close to two million dollars, between them.

"I don't want it," Tommy confesses, laid out on the hotel bed that night, still too loose-limbed to move as Evan putters around in the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and brushing his teeth.

Evan looms over him a moment later, warm towel running over the ridges of Tommy's stomach, the rise of his pectorals. Christ, he'd shot off like a goddamn missile. Evan bites his lip to hide a grin when the towel catches on the underside of Tommy's chin.

"I'm assuming you're talking about the money," Evan says, folding the towel over itself to give him one last rubdown. "It seemed like you liked the sex."

Tommy shifts, tugging at Evan's wrist until he settles in beside Tommy. With the remains of his energy, he slings a leg over Evan's and rolls himself into the cradle of Evan's embrace. "That was never a question."

Evan maintains the silence for a grand total of thirty-seven seconds. It's longer than Tommy had expected. "So your family." Tommy hums, already tracing the edges of the tattoo on Evan's forearm. "Kind of dicks."

The snort of laughter settles into Evan's still-sweaty temples, and Tommy shifts to press his nose into the damp curls there. He'd been so hesitant to share this part of himself with Evan, but as always, Evan had forged on ahead like there was nothing in the world he'd rather do than provide the landing spot for Tommy to settle down his gear once the storm passed.

"Took me twenty years and a boatload of therapy to train that out of me. I'm still --." Tommy pauses, the usual self-deprecating comment stuck on the tip of his tongue, because for once, it doesn't feel like an effort to be nothing like them. He'd spent so long hiding in the shadow of the asshole his family had taught him how to be, and dragging himself out into the sunlight always felt like a struggle.

But it hadn't felt like an effort, really -- to hold Evan's hand under the judgemental gaze of ten cousins and four aunts and uncles, to stand tall and stick to the barest edges of polite while the room erupted into chaos the moment his father opened his mouth to defend himself, to excuse himself and tuck his arm over Evan's shoulder on the way out the door.

He can still remember the dazed way Evan had responded to that first kiss, while Tommy busied himself tugging the hem of his shirt back down, too nervous to look at him while he asked him out. The way he'd looked, when Tommy'd been brave enough to glance up, eyes a little glazed, mouth still open, and told him he was free.

At the time, Tommy'd been furiously convincing himself not to lean in for another kiss, fully aware he'd make himself late to work if he allowed himself another taste, but the memory had lingered the rest of the shift. In the days after, once he'd had a clearer picture of exactly how wide he'd just blown open Evan's world, he'd thought of it often.

I am free.

Tommy turns his face to meet Evan's gaze, nose dragging across his cheek, lips aching to find a home against Evan's again, but he catches his eyes first, slides a hand up over Evan's arm, shoulder, neck, until he can curl his fingers over his jaw, thumb tucking in to the little dimple as Evan grins at him. "Thank you for coming."

Evan sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tongue darting out to wet the top one, a mischievous gleam in his eye, but he lets the dumb joke go, gaze shifting into something more serious as he drums his fingers along Tommy's bare hip. "Thanks for letting me," Evan murmurs back, and Tommy knows they need to talk about that sentiment in more detail, but for now he'd rather roll Evan on top of him and slide his tongue past the seam of Evan's lips.

Evan doesn't seem to have any complaints.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unorthodox 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.

Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“I think that’s everything,” you smile at Conrad across the table. 

Sy continues to loom and pace around the edge of the room. He’s been doing that. Hovering like a vulture. Even when you try to get him to participate, he only has grumbles and glares. You’re used to his grumpiness but lately, he’s been nearly intolerable. 

“Mm, yes, I think it is,” Conrad smirks, “shall we have a celebratory drink? Seems the old boar could use it?” 

“I’m younger than you,” Sy stomps over, his ears sharp. “So how’s that?” 

“Yes, well, one might not guess it by looking. Do relax, I am merely making fun,” Conrad crosses his arms. “Is there a reason you are so antsy to be away? I was rather happy to receive an old friend such as yourself.” 

“Nice seein’ ya and all but we gotta get back,” Sy crosses his arms. “Izzie’s got friends waitin’, don’t ya?” 

He nudges you with his elbow and you send him a skeptical look. Since when did he care so much? 

“Ah yes, so you mentioned some wonderful ladies back home. Do have a drink in my honour. Such a considerate boss, eh, Syverson?” He smirks. 

You stand and press your fingertips to the table, “thanks. Uh, I guess he’s right. The sooner we’re on the road, the sooner we’re back. It was nice meeting you. And doing business.” 

“Always a pleasure, Syverson, and I do enjoy a beautiful lady darkening my door now and again.” 

Sy growls and you try not to notice. You’re not sure if it’s territorial or what but you don’t need him acting like a guard dog. You prefer his slightly oblivious gruffness to his intense derision. 

“Thank you. You’re a great host.” 

You shake Conrad’s hand and he tugs it up. Once again, he kisses your knuckles and sends you a wink. Sy grabs your other arm and yanks you away. 

“Get on with it, Izzie,” he snarls as he drags you away. 

You stagger with his furious pace, not mentioning that he hardly bothered to give a proper goodbye. The way he’s gripping you so tight, you can’t think of much else but the creak in your bones. You dig in your heels as you get through the compound door. 

“Yow! Sy!” You yank your hand away at last. He takes a few steps before he stops and faces you. “What is your problem? You can’t grab me like that.” You raise your arm and rub the tender skin, “you hurt me.” 

“Ah, I’m-- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, Iz. Ya know I wouldn’t ever--” 

“But you did. What’s gotten into you, anyway? Why are you being so rude?” 

“I’m not,” he harrumphs and drops his shoulders. “I just wanna be home. Bein’ out here in all this sand, takes me back. That’s it.” 

“Is that it?” You challenge and stand straight. Even with perfect posture, you hardly measure up to the large man. 

Sy frowns, “I’m sorry, Izzie, truly. Why don’t ya give me a smack then? I deserve it.” 

You almost laugh, instead snorting, “I wouldn’t-- I’m not that sort, you know that.” 

“I do. It’s why I like ya, Iz. You temper me out. I’m a big oaf without you,” he looks away bashfully. “How about you go grab your bag and I’ll go say sorry. You’re right. No way to treat a friend. And partner.” 

You consider him and slowly nod. “Alright, I’ll meet you at the gate then.” 

“Sure thing, sugar.”  

You tilt your head at the pet name but have no time to comment. You move aside as he moves towards you and let him pass. You stare after him for a second then turn back to your path. You know how he feels. You just want to be home in your bed. Oh, and it would be nice to have cell reception. 

You find your room after a few stray wanderings and grab your bag. You head back out, still lost in the maze of the compound. You find the sunlight and walk out into the blaze of the noontime apex. You go to the gate and peer around at the mercenaries in their padded vests and harnesses. 

As you wait, you grow uneasy. You’re still not entirely used to this job. Not always. It’s easier to manage Sy’s grocery list or his forgotten appointments, but out here, in the shit as he calls it, you feel lost. 

He appears with a wave of his large hand. The fingerless glove nearly blends into his skintone from the wear and tear. You face him fully as he approaches and he points behind you. 

“Ready to go for a ride?”  

You follow his finger to the buggy just on the other end of the yard. You squint and turn back to him. 

“Conrad can be nice when he wants to,” he grins, “you wanna drive?” 

You stare at him, deeply considering the prospect. You don’t know if you trust him to make the drive and yet, you don’t if you should trust yourself either. He dangles the key from a thick finger and you roll your eyes. 

“I wanna get outta here in one piece,” you snatch it. 

He chuckles and lets you have it. He reaches for you and you wince. He grabs the strap of your bag and hauls it onto his shoulder next to his. 

“I’ll get these secured, Iz,” he offers. 

You hesitate. He’s being awfully helpful. Not that he can’t be but the last few days have been strange. You guess both of you might be getting a bit homesick. 

[saltnsugarbear]

baby, it's Halloween and we can be anything

summary: you help the Gallaghers decorate for Halloween!!

title from: "Halloween" by Phoebe Bridgers

word count: 0.6k

content warnings: just fluffy again!!

divider by @strangergraphics

"Hold on, let me.." Lip comes up beside you, holding the side of the pumpkin. The extra hand stabilizes the pumpkin more than your own two were.

"Thank you..." You mutter, focusing on thinning the wall on the side you've put your design on. Lip hums beside you, keeping his grip steady against the scraping motions.

The familiar smell of him is all around you. The warm smell of cigarettes and the store brand cologne you told him you liked one time and he's bought ever since.

"Think next year Liam'll be old enough to do his own?" You glance up at him quickly before going back to the pumpkin.

"Maybe... Don't think he'd like the insides, though.." He chuckles softly.

You hum softly, collecting the shredded pieces of pumpkin and tossing them in the garbage beside you.

"Next year, we should do a family patch. Get the whole Gallagher clan to carve their own pumpkins." You say, pushing one hand into the pumpkin and pressing against the wall. You give it a soft tap, pressing the palm of your other hand on the outside.

You can feel the firm rap of your knuckles through the wall. With a thin enough base, you rest the pumpkin flat against the table.

"Looks good.." Lip says, bringing his free hand to cradle the back of your head.

"Thank you." You say sweetly, leaning your head back to look up from where you sit. Lip leans down, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

"'S Liams, right?" He asks, resting his forehead against yours as he looks back at the design.

"What gave it away?" You grin, thumbing over the messy stenciling of the bat symbol.

"Just a guess.." He tells you, lifting his head and placing a soft kiss to your temple.

You huff, looking around for your carving tools. Lip leans out of your way when you stand from your chair to lean across the table to reach the tools.

"Wish you would join me, would be fun.." You glance at him before puncturing the skin of the pumpkin.

"'S too dirty for me... Get under my fingers nails and everything.." Lip scrunches his nose up as he wiggles his fingers at you to show you his nails.

You scoff, nudging his hip with your elbow.

"Such a diva..." You tell him before focusing on the pumpkin.

"Just your diva.." He tells you before he places another soft kiss to the top of your head. You roll your eyes at him, wiggling the knife to cut through the pumpkin.

You listen to Lip walk into the kitchen, shuffling around before he comes back with two bowls. When you peek over, you spot the bowl you had filled with the pumpkin innards.

"What're you doing?" You ask him, eyes flicking between him and the bowls.

He shrugs, bringing the already full bowl to his lap. "Figured I'd get this done... Know you and Debs like the pumpkin seeds, and you'll be tired after you finish carving the pumpkins."

"But that's a lot of seeds, Lip." You look at him, eyes wide as you study him. "Your hands.."

"Not that big of a deal, baby..." He tells you, looking up to meet your gaze.

"Lip..." You say softly, feeling tears well along your lash line.

"Not a big deal, baby.. Just helpin' out.." He tells you.

You sigh softly, blinking a couple of times to keep from crying a just how sweet he was being. You nod, swiping the knuckle of your thumb under your eye to remove any chance of crying.

"Thank you.." You tell him, giving him a soft smile.

"'S whatever..." Lip mutters, but you can see the flush working across his cheeks. You huff softly, taking in the weight of his actions.

You turn back to your pumpkin, letting the silence that settles between you and communicating all that you're feeling for him.

[springcourtrose]

Please, stop... | Part 3

Pairing: Helion x reader (x Nessian)

Warnings: smut - mentions of abusive relationship and SA - MINORS DNI

Prompt: you’re Nesta and Cassian’s mate and yet you are so different from them. From day 1 you tried to be a good mate and do as they wanted and liked but they like it rough and you just don’t. Not only is it not enjoyable for you, it is actually painful. And not just in bed. You always excused their behavior as being overprotective but recently you started calling it something else: controlling. And one night, all changed as you uttered the words you had tried so hard never to say, but always thinking if you ever did they would listen. But they didn’t. And that night, everything broke.

(A/N: English isn't my first language)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Helion had promised himself three things:

He'd make Cassian and Nesta pay for ever hurting you.

He'd tell Rhys exactly what he thought of his 'court of dreams'.

He would make you happy again.

And he would stop at nothing to make the latter happen sooner rather than later.

He hadn't left your side ever since you woke up. He had looked after you and seen you through the withering until he was satisfied you weren't going to die from it. He had wiped away all of your tears. He had held you as you cried. Had comforted you when your thoughts took you in deep and dark places.

To his relief, you didn't show anymore sign of withering after the first day. He hadn't asked but you knew he knew. He knew you hadn't destroyed the bond completely.

That one thin thread remained. Neither of you spoke of it. You didn't even want to think about it. But you couldn't bring yourself to shut your mates off completely. To say goodbye to them forever. Perhaps that made you an idiot, or weak, but you just couldn't do it. And Helion never made you feel bad about it.

You had lost track of time. Helion had made it so easy. He had food brought to his chambers and he ate every single meal with you in his bed. He had made everything available to you. You were never alone, if only for one hour every day to allow you to bathe and for him to see to his duties. But when you got out of the bathroom, he was there, waiting for you. Every time.

That was when you had first smiled at him. Your first smile since...

You had found him on his bed, waiting for you with a plate of sweets. The sight had filled you with a warm joy. It had made you feel like the luckiest female in Prythian. The smile he gave you in return had healed a small part of you. You had felt it in your chest.

You laid in his bed, feeling content and at peace. He was lying on his side next to you, one arm propped on his elbow, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. The first time he had done so, you had burst into tears after a few minutes. You had never shared such a moment with Cassian and Nesta. They had never showed you such gentleness and patience. You had apologized to Helion for it, but he only kissed the tears away and made you promise never to apologize for crying again.

The feeling of his lips on your skin had sparked something in you. Something you had never felt before. A craving. You craved his touch and presence. You had never craved for anyone in this way. Not even your mates. No. You had feared and avoided them. And deep down you knew you would never fear or avoid him.

Slowly, you brought a hand to his cheek. He closed his eyes and hummed as you touched him.

"Thank you, Helion."

"Mmh, do not thank me, my moonshine. I am a selfish male."

"Why?"

"Because I wished for this. I've been wishing for this since the first time I met you."

His confession startled you. But only for a moment.

"I wished they were more like you. When I went back to them after our days here together. I wished they would be as nice and gentle as you. But they never ever asked me about my day. You asked. You wanted to know everything. You cared."

"I care," he nodded, taking your hand in his and bringing your knuckles to his lips. "I've always cared and I always will."

Tears filled your eyes as you inhaled deeply.

"I know," you smiled sadly, a tear finding its way onto your cheek. "I felt so horrible when I went back. Because I didn't feel safe there, but I felt safe here, with you."

"My love," he smiled back, resting his forehead against yours. "I will always keep you safe."

"Show me," you said and he blinked. "Show me, Helion. Show me how gentle you are. Show me how you'll always care for me."

"Are... are you sure?"

"Yes, Helion, yes. Please. I want to be yours. Only yours."

He growled. "Mine? As you wish, my love."

He wasted no more time as he claimed your lips and it was like being kissed for the first time. His hands and fingers traveled on your body, worshipping your skin, his tongue brushed yours and you moaned as you opened your mouth to him. There was no fear when he touched you. No tear when he undressed you. Slowly, gently, whispering sweet nothings, and it was everything.

"Are you certain?" he asked again and you nodded. "Words, my love."

"Yes," you breathed and he rewarded you by pushing two fingers inside of you. The feeling amazed you. The lack of pain surprised you.

You moaned as he moved his fingers deeper, searching, not for his pleasure, but for yours. You had never known it could be like this. His lips never left your skin. He kissed your forehead, your nose, you chin, then both of your cheeks before moving down to your throat, your neck, your breasts. You called his name as you felt your climax approach.

"Please," you begged.

"Please, what, my love?"

"May I... come, please..."

You felt him freeze but only for a second. You forgot about it the second he started moving his fingers again.

"You can come whenever you're ready, my moonshine," he encouraged you, running a thumb over your clit, "my beautiful love," he whispered before pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

Your orgasm came mercifully. And you actually enjoyed it, for once. He kissed you through it, didn't stop kissing you afterwards.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright," you smiled shyly at him. "I'm really good."

"Good," he grinned as he leaned to capture your lips once more.

He brought his fingers to his mouth and you turned red as he hummed and he licked them clean.

"You taste absolutely divine, my love. Will you allow me to taste you some more?"

"Wh- what about you?"

"What about me?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't it... your turn?"

"My turn? No, moonshine, this is all about you," he said, leaning over to kiss your face once more. "I won't if you don't want me to, I won't be mad, I promise," he added as he felt your hesitation.

"Okay."

"Okay? Should we stop?"

"No, I mean, yes, we can keep going."

"Are you sure?"

You gave him a small smile then took his face in your hands and kissed him.

"I'm sure," you assured him.

He smirked. "Then open your legs for me, my love."

And for the first in your life, you happily obeyed that command.

Tags: @chessebookgirl @impossibelle @esposadomd @saltedcoffeescotch

[the-kr8tor]

hihi!! I hope you're having a great day and a new year!

I have a small fic request (u can take it any other forms u want, all up to you!) Can I request a fic where reader asked Hobie if he would rather elope instead of a normal wedding? Since he doesn't like the idea of getting marriage (My hc by the way). Eloping is still kinda like a wedding but just the two of them! No loud music, not alot of money spent etc etc! U can write on how they would do it!

(also I'd like to imagine this is them getting 'enganged' before having the twins HEEHHEHEHE) (i hope this isn't too much) (i would love to see on how you'd write this!!)

reader can be gn or FEM btw :)

Thank you for the adorable request 😘

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Brown/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: No use Y/N, no specific description of the reader (r is mentioned wearing makeup though), lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie watches you sing with the band that's currently playing further away on stage. He dragged you out behind all the crowd so you could properly enjoy the concert without getting elbowed by someone. He doesn't mind standing that far from the stage since he gets to see you dance unabashedly when there aren't a lot of people this far back.

The music isn't that loud from where you're both standing, helping Hobie hear your singing, providing a front row seat to your very own concert. He thinks you deserve top billing from how you belt out the lyrics.

The strobe lights illuminate your face, lighting up your best features, add it up with the moonlight shining directly at you like your very own spotlight, he can't get his eyes off you, lips softly smiling, fondness seeping out from his pores.

You feel his stare before you feel his featherlight touch atop your arm, knuckles brushing on your skin, goosebumps spreading through them like fire.

Grinning at him, you wipe sweat off your brow, guessing the summer heat has probably melted all of your makeup, thinking that you look worse for wear.

“Yeah, Hobs?” He once hated that nickname but with you saying it, it might as well be his given name. He loves it if it's you who says it.

Hobie has never seen you look so beautiful even with your mascara running down your cheeks. He's seen you at your worst, loved you more through it, and will continue to love you through your best too.

He loops his pinky around yours, clammy hands meeting equally clammy skin. He blames the weather for the lack of physical affection, if it weren't for the heat he'd be embracing you like a boa constrictor, taking your breath away without devouring you for dinner of course.

“You okay? You look like you're about to pass out. Do you want to sit down for a minute?”

His next words shocks you both.

“I have no idea where we go from here.”

“What?” You chuckle nervously. Maybe you should've worn waterproof mascara. “What are you saying, Hobie?” You forgo his pinky, opting to hold both his hands instead.

Your frown tells him he should've thought this through.

“Sorry,” he laughs shakily, none of the usual Hobie charisma you're used to. “I meant, fuck this is hard.” he's sweating, why did he decide to wear leather vest and heavy boots in this heat? He blames the weather for his shortcomings.

Your heart falls in your stomach. “Are you…are you breaking up with me?” words barely strung together with your tongue tied up.

“What? No!” Hobie backtracks in a split second. “No, love, that's not what I meant.” shaking his head, he removes his hands from yours, deepening your frown.

In an attempt to fix his blunder, he cups your face, thumbs rubbing just under your eyes, spreading the dark ink all over your skin. He definitely needed to think it all through.

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, mascara running with the wetness, turning you into one of the heavy metal band mates that played a couple hours ago.

“Shit!” He roams his face around the concert hall, not knowing how to fix the situation.

“What did you really mean, Hobie?” You sob, balling his shirt in your hands tightly.

Hobie inhales and exhales, collecting his thoughts properly. “We're living together.”

“Uh huh.” You nod, confused.

“We clearly love each other.”

“You're just stating the obvious.” you pause your weeping when he groans in frustration. “What is happening?”

“I–” his next words surprises you more than him. “I wanna fuckin' marry you, love.”

You blink rapidly, tilting your head, utterly flabbergasted. “Huh?”

“That's what I meant with ‘I have no idea where we go from here.’” he sighs, facepalming, pursing his lips. “I want to take another step forward with you, but fuckin' hell I hate the bloody pomp and circumstance of it all.” A smile spreads across your face with every word he says.

Did he just ask for your hand in marriage?

“At the same time I don't think we have to marry just so people would know how committed we are to each other.” He's rambling and you smile wider through mascara filled tears. “Not to mention the fuckin' government knowing about all of it, seriously, why can't they just mind their own business about—”

“Hobs,” it's your turn to hold his face, he stops speaking, his chest heaving, eyes glued to you. “Let's elope then.” Hobie mentally conks himself right on the head for not thinking that. “just us, no two hundred guests, no thousands of pounds needed for the ceremony, no stuffy officiant. Just us and our vows.”

Hobie laughs at himself before he places his head on your shoulder, he can't believe he just asked you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Nosing your neck, he embraces you fully, swinging you slightly to the music that's definitely not for slow dancing. Holding on to him, you kiss his hairline, tracing it with your lips.

While Hobie recuperates from his blunder, you on the other hand feel like you're about to burst out of the seams, flooding the entire venue with your love for the man before you.

After the song ends and they announce the new act, with the roar of the crowd Hobie has one last thing to add.

“Let's do it now.” Hobie lifts his head, facing you in all your glory, heart shaped eyes staring at him affectionately, face aglow with so much love that Hobie can feel it flowing directly to his chest. “Let's elope right now, say our vows, we don't need an officiant to declare us married when the band corroded coffin works just as fine.”

“With a few hundred witnesses and a cover band as our wedding singers?” You loop your arms around his neck, linking your fingers together just to hold him closer. Nodding, you can't help but giggle. “Sure, let's do it right now.”

“You first.” Hobie thinks he chose right.

“Nu-huh, you asked, you go first.”

With a joking huff and a thumping heart, he eggs you on.

“I think the bride goes first.”

“Yeah? You've been to a ton of weddings?”

He laughs, the sound is better than the band playing in the background. And in that musky concert hall, underneath the stars and strobe lights, you do your vows.

“Okay, I'll go first.” You clear your throat, hands shaking not from nerves but from excitement. “I vow to always mend your wounds when you get home.” He smiles, eyes shining with unshed happy tears. “But I can't promise that I won't complain and nag you the entire time.”

Chuckling, you continue. “I vow to always be understanding, and to love you until I'm six feet under ground and even then I'd continue to love the shit out of you, Hobart Larry Brown. Even love your government name.”

Hobie can't help in anymore so he leans in but you stop him with your hand shielding your lips.

“You're horrible.” His words lack venom, all love and endearment pointed at you.

“I just vowed to love you unconditionally and you call me horrible?” Your words are muffled that he barely understood it. Yet he still pecks the top of your hand, to satisfy his need to kiss you. “You're not allowed to kiss me, not until we finish our vows.”

He rolls his eyes comically and you laugh. Your lips hurt from all the smiling.

Face hot, (not from the weather) you wipe his cheek free from sweat, leaving your hand to grasp his face. You hope it's enough to convey how utterly in love you are with him.

“My turn?”

“Mm-hmm”

Hobie inhales, he has fought a bunch of villains who wanted to end him but asking you if you want to marry him has him more terrified than facing green goblin. He's exhausted just from that. But he's more than ready to do this, to make his vows. It's only you isn't it? The love of his life who's currently staring at him warmly.

He's glad you agreed to elope, he can't imagine doing this in front of a hundred guests.

“I vow to always come home even when I'm beat up and bloodied. I'll crawl just to get to you.”

If your makeup wasn't ruined before it's properly ruined now with how much tears you're letting out. A few people look at you two weirdly.

“I vow to make time for you, I'd sacrifice sleep if you ask me.” He whispers the next line. “I'm serious. That's how much I love you.”

You laugh through the tears, gripping his collar, it might look like you're about to beat him up but you're actually holding back from snogging the shit out him.

“I promise to love you as long as you let me.” Hobie takes one of his rings off his finger, a favourite of his, a promise to you. The word wife slips his tongue and it has you almost fainting.

That got you and now you're sobbing your heart out. But after a beat, he lifts your face by your chin to let him look at you, he's right, he chose the right one.

“How does forever sound?” you manage to let out, lips still wobbly.

“Perfect. Forever sounds bloody perfect.” He leans once again, this time you don't stop him.

“You may kiss the sweaty bride.” You laugh and you kiss your husband.

[aspiring-house-husband]

yes, im watching anastasia. 

I would know you anywhere, he tells me, my prince, i finally found you. 

I am no prince, at least, as far as i know. but the knight is insistent- he says he knows me, remembers me, from childhood. from when he trained, his solemn duty to protect the royal family. he’s convinced me well enough to get me onto a train to the palace, in a far too fancy private room. 

the prince. still, it’s been a decade since the prince disappeared, how could it be me? 

how could it not be? he takes my hand, cradling my fingers in his palm, kisses my knuckles. I shiver at the contact. His lips are chapped.

The hands of royalty… he lowers my hand so that he can kiss the muscle just below my elbow. I can’t break my eyes from him, how reverently he touches me. 

The smooth skin… he turns my arm over just a bit, so that he can press his lips to the inside of my arm. 

You are nothing short of regal. 

He bows his head, pressing his forehead to my bicep. His breath fans softly against the skin of my inner wrist, warm and moist, and his cadence is almost too quick. 

knight… i whisper to him, terrified to speak any louder. 

you are to be treasured, your highness. finally he looks up at me again. you deserve to be treasured. 

I couldn’t guess why I suggest it. it’s just… right. 

Treasure me, i say, and he wastes no time to sweep me off my feet, delivering me onto my back in the far too large bed. he kisses up my arm again until he pulls my collar open with his teeth, pressing a kiss against my collarbone. my eyes close and i arch my back, as he undoes the rest of my clothes, opening my chest to the air. i want to feel him against me, but he lifts away, making me open my eyes again. 

he’s kneeling at the base of the bed, next i see him. he takes off his shirt unceremoniously and tosses it aside without a thought, but with gentle hands he grasps my ankles and pulls me across the bed to him. nimble fingers unlace my boots and pull them from me, then my socks, then my pants. just as with my arm, he kisses up my leg- my shin, my knee, my thigh, until finally he kisses between my thighs just not quite where i want him. he pulls my underclothes from me and without warning his tongue is on me, skillful and flicking and moist and warm, making me grip his hair and arch my back again. he slips a finger beside his tongue, and it’s divine, stretching me and pressing into me. he’s perfect. he’s the only thing connecting me to earth. he’s lifting me, readying me, throwing me- 

he pulls away just before i go over the edge, and his eyes are dark and hungry as he wipes the slick from his lips. 

let me worship you, your majesty, he says, crawling over my body until he can press our hips together. he’s hard and throbbing against me. 

yes, i breathe, canting my hips up and arching my back. he uses one hand to free himself from his pants - hard, aching, dripping - and presses himself to my entrance. 

your highness, he breathes, tantalizingly close, and he has one last shred of self respect in his eyes as his gaze meets mine. I do not deserve the privilege of having you. 

don’t be silly, i wish i could tell him. you deserve the body you’ve teased. 

i’m no prince, take me. 

you’ve come this far, take pity on me. 

But he would not accept these words. he would only accept an order from his prince, so my arms wrap around his neck and i force his lips to mine before he can talk himself down. 

does your prince not deserve the pleasure of his knight? i ask, and he moans before thrusting deep into me, one smooth motion, slow and pleasurable. i moan into his mouth when he kisses me, arch into his hand as he touches me, and buck into his hips as he fucks me. there hasn’t ever been anything like this, not for me- he’s fast and strong and his hands hold me in place when they aren’t lovingly tracing shapes in my skin. i scream and cum and buck across the bed, and he only lets me recover in the time it takes for him to pull out, toss me into my stomach with a pillow propping me up, and thrust into me again. still, he kisses down my back, hitting places inside of myself i never knew were there. 

you will know pleasure, highness, he growls, and it isn’t long before i cum again, dropping my head down into the pillows. i can hardly hold myself together. i can’t at all hold in my moans. everyone in the train car must have heard the sounds he pulled from me, the simpering moans and whines and pleas for more. he speeds up, and surely he’s getting close, with his higher pace and deeper thrusts and soft grunts, but it takes just long enough that it throws me over the edge just one more time, just before he spills inside me. he flops on top of me as i shudder, twitching and exhausted and panting beneath his weight. 

some prince i must be, i whisper, ruined in a traincar by a knight. 

some prince you are, he says, punctuating it with a kiss to my temple, to still be so handsome, even ruined. 

[fluentmoviequoter]

One More Favor

Pairing: Titans!Dick Grayson x fem!reader (most of this fic takes place in/around Titans 1x2)

Summary: When Dick takes Rachel out of Detroit, he needs help, but he'll have to call in a few favors first.

Word Count: 5.0k+ words

Warnings: POV changes (that hopefully make sense), fluff, a little bit of angst, descriptions of injuries/self-harm (reader cuts her arm open to remove a tracker), several descriptive fight scenes, guns?, spoiler for Titans.

A/N: This is my first Dick Grayson fic, and I actually wrote it several months ago and just got around the editing it. Dick may be OOC, but I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think!

Masterlist | DC/Dick Grayson Masterlist | Request Info (OPEN)

Gotham City - 4 Years Ago

The heavy door creaks as it is pulled open, warm air blowing out into the cold rain. You step inside, dropping your umbrella in the overflowing bin and wiping your shoes on the mat. Shivering slightly, you run your hands up and down your arms, attempting to warm up.

“Hi, Alfred,” you greet as you look over at him, your smile dropping at the solemn look on his face. “What happened?”

“Master Grayson left last night. He left you this,” Alfred answers as he hands you an envelope, your name written in Dick’s handwriting across the front.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” you ask, tears welling in your eyes.

“I’m afraid not. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you, Alfred. I’m going to go home,” you say as you pull the door open and step out, waiting for the door to close behind you. You take a deep breath and start running, not even thinking about the umbrella you left. As your tears mix with the rain on your skin, your heart feels about as warm as the Gotham City air.

Fremont, Ohio - Present Day

“Where are you taking me?” Rachel asks, spinning one of her rings on her finger as she looks out the window.

“To see an old friend. She can help us,” Dick answers, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.

An hour later, Dick checks his phone while he waits in the car as Rachel goes into a truck stop. He tracks her through the window as he dials a number he hasn’t called in years. It rings several times, and he thinks he won’t get an answer.

“Hello?” A voice asks as the line connects.

“Hi, Alfred, it’s me.”

“It’s been a long time, Master Grayson.”

“I know. This is a one-time thing; I need a favor.”

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

You enter the diner, sighing as you fall into a booth. Looking up at the television mounted in the corner, you see a story about yet another murder in Detroit. It’s almost as bad as Gotham City these days. 

“How’s my favorite customer today?” Dan asks as he walks to the booth, his apron still on.

“I’ll bet you say that to all of your customers,” you counter with a smile, your hood still pulled over your head.

“I most certainly do not. What can I get you today?”

“Just some tea, please.”

“You need to eat.”

“Will you let me pay?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I’m not letting you give me free food every day, Dan. Just tea.”

“Fine,” Dan sighs, returning to the kitchen and passing your order to a waitress.

The bell above the door chimes as it opens, a few sets of footsteps echoing as the door closes. You pull your hood up further, turning to face the back corner. Kelsey, Dan’s only waitress at this hour, drops off the mug of tea and a book, smiling at you as she walks away. She’s been lending you books since you first visited two months ago. You slide it closer, shaking your head as you read the summary: a vigilante who gets a new partner. Sounds familiar.

Benton, Pennsylvania – 3 ½ Years Ago

You take a deep breath before you dig the knife into your arm, making a shallow slice from the middle of your forearm up to your elbow. After you drop the knife into the hotel bathroom sink, you grab a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit and dig around, gritting your teeth as you ignore the pain. When you finally see a glint of silver, you grab it and pull. The tracker makes a ‘clink’ sound as it falls into the sink and goes down the drain. You sigh as you pick up the pre-threaded needle and start on the stitches. Good luck finding me now, Bruce.

Norwalk, Ohio – Earlier Today

“If the police are looking for me, is it smart to be on an interstate?” Rachel asks.

Dick sighs, knowing she is right. He pulls off at the next exit, getting on a small Ohio state route and heading south. They drive for about thirty minutes before coming to a small diner, claiming to have the state’s best chicken and waffles. Dick is ready for a break, so he doesn’t fight Rachel when she asks him to stop. They walk into the diner, and Dick looks around, planning escape routes and scanning for trouble. The waitress and the cook both say hello as Dick and Rachel sit by the window, the kitchen and the door visible. Dick looks at the only other customer, a girl in an oversized sweatshirt leaning over a book and nursing a mug of something.

“I’m Kelsey. What can I get you, folks?” Kelsey smiles as she approaches their table.

“Chicken and waffles, please,” Rachel orders.

“Coming up, and for you, sir?”

“Just coffee,” Dick answers, smiling.

Dick watches as the cook takes the order from Kelsey before nodding toward the girl in the booth. Kelsey walks over and starts talking to her, but Dick can’t tell if it is a friendly conversation or a ‘you need to leave’ conversation. Kelsey’s shoulders drop as she turns around and walks back to the kitchen pass-through, shaking her head as she speaks to the cook. A plate and a mug slide onto the counter, and Kelsey carries them over to Dick and Rachel, telling them to let her know if they need anything.

“What are you looking at?” Rachel asks.

“I’m trying to figure out what’s going on over there,” Dick answers, gesturing across the restaurant with his chin.

Rachel looks over and cocks her head slightly, “Kelsey’s happy but a little worried, the other one is really hard to read.”

Dick nods, sipping his coffee as he looks up at the television screen. His heart drops as Rachel’s picture appears on the screen, but it is gone before he can say anything. Dick looks toward the kitchen, but no one is there. Turning his head, he sees the cook talking to the other customer, sitting at the booth with her. Kelsey and the cook stand, and the cook returns to the kitchen as Kelsey walks toward their table.

“How is everything?” Kelsey asks.

“Great. Those were definitely the best in the state,” Rachel answers.

“Need anything else?”

“Just the check,” Dick answers, reaching for his wallet.

“It’s been covered,” Kelsey assures before clearing the table.

“By who?” Dick asks, eyebrows furrowing as Kelsey smiles.

The girl in the booth looks up suddenly, leaning to look out the window. She stands and moves toward Kelsey, telling her something before walking out the back door, the book she had been reading abandoned at the booth. Kelsey whispers something to Dan before turning quickly to walk back to Dick and Rachel.

“Someone is here for her,” Kelsey says to Dick, gesturing toward Rachel, “there’s a room through the kitchen with a back door.”

Dick and Rachel stand quickly, following her through the kitchen. They all freeze at the sound of gunshots, then begin moving again.

“Why are you helping us?” Dick asks.

“Favor for a friend,” Kelsey answers as she opens the back door. “Be careful.”

Dick nods as he ushers Rachel to stand on one side of him, gripping his gun in his other hand as they slowly round the building. The girl in the sweatshirt, who Dick really needs a new name for, is standing in the parking lot, a pipe falling from her hand and three unconscious men sprawled on the ground around her. She looks up before dropping her head, putting her hands in her pocket, and walking away. Dick hears one of the men groan and decides to leave before they come to. Rachel keeps asking him if he knows the girl, and the only answer he can supply is, “I don’t think so.” Maybe he should make it his new catchphrase.

Gotham City – 4 Years Ago

You enter your apartment and grab your backpack, dumping its contents out on the floor before you run around and grab what you consider “essentials”: an extra pair of shoes, a change of clothes, cash, a fake ID, a sweatshirt, a blanket, and the letter from Dick. You slide the letter into the protected laptop pocket of my backpack, promising yourself you will read it someday, but not right now. You put on your best pair of sneakers, comfortable and warm clothes, and a jacket with a hood before walking to the ATM, emptying your account, and ditching your card before boarding a bus to Princeton. As you watch Gotham City fade behind the bus, you cry because you lost a part of yourself, and you know it would hurt too much to see reminders of him. So, you leave.

Glen Easton, West Virginia – 2 Years Ago

You check into the small motel with cash and a fake ID, grateful you can sleep in a real bed for once. You find your room and collapse against the small mattress, setting your backpack beside the bed. You open it and pull out a change of clothes before showering. The letter from Dick is still in the computer pocket, unopened. When you think you are finally ready to open it, you get scared about what is inside it and change your mind.

You retrieve the sweatshirt from the bottom of the backpack and put it on. Then you order a pizza and turn on the TV. The sweatshirt is the only thing that provides you comfort after leaving Gotham City. You left everything that tied you to that life, except the sweatshirt, and nights like this make you wish you had realized Dick was going to leave and chased him.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“Why are we driving around in circles? I thought you were taking me somewhere?” Rachel asks.

“I’m looking for the girl that helped us,” Dick mumbles as he looks across the street.

“Oh,” Rachel says with a smile.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve felt different since you saw her in the diner.”

“She just reminded me of someone I used to know.”

“Someone you knew. Seems like a lot more emotion than simple acquaintances.”

“Fine, we were best friends. We did- some stuff together and we were super close,” Dick said, failing to find a way to explain their vigilante activities.

“You did stuff together?” Rachel repeats incredulously.

“Not like that,” Dick huffs. “We just- she was my best friend, and I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Why?”

“I left.”

“You left her?”

“I didn’t leave her; I left the life I had then.”

“And by extension, her,” Rachel scoffs. “Why haven’t you called her?”

“I tried, once. Her number had been disconnected and I didn’t know her new one. Or if she even wanted to talk to me.”

“Surely you know someone who would’ve stayed in contact with her. Call them.”

Dick sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He does know someone.

“Right now,” Rachel adds, “I can feel your sadness and it’s bumming me out.”

Dick pulls over, pulling his phone from his pocket and typing the number. “It’s me again. I need one more favor,” he says when the line connects.

“Of course, Master Grayson,” Alfred agrees.

“I’m looking for,” he glances at Rachel, who is listening intently, before finishing, “her. I was wondering if you had a new number for her. Or know where she is?”

“Master Grayson,” Alfred says sadly, “we haven’t seen her in four years.”

“Four years?” Dick asks, eyes widening.

“Yes, sir. She left right after you did.”

“Did you give her the letter?”

“I did. She ran out of the manor, literally, after I gave it to her. We have not heard from her since.”

“Any idea where she went?”

“Last we knew she was in Benton, Pennsylvania. But that was nearly three and a half years ago. I’m sorry, Master Grayson.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick says before hanging up.

“Sorry,” Rachel says quietly, “I shouldn’t have made you call.”

“Not your fault,” Dick assures her before pulling out. He slams on his brakes and backs up, turning into an alley and parking.

“What?” Rachel yells, gripping her seat.

“I think she’ll go back to the diner, they seemed to know her. Enough to give us free food on her behalf.”

“That’s what you think happened?” Rachel asks sarcastically.

“You’re the one that read their emotions.”

Rachel sighs before agreeing, “You’re right. She’ll go back.”

They find a small motel and get a room for the night, leaving their stuff in the room before returning to the diner. Entering, Dick and Rachel look around but only see the cook and a different waitress. 

“Welcome back,” the cook, who introduces himself as Dan, greets.

“Hi, Dan. We’re looking for the girl who was in here this morning. She was wearing a grey sweatshirt, reading a book, and left quickly out the back door,” Dick explains.

“Yeah, I know her. Why are you looking for her?”

“She helped you. That’s why you’re so nice to her, if not a little protective, isn’t it?” Rachel asks.

Dan’s brow furrows as he answers, “Yes, she helped me.”

“We’re not trying to hurt her or get her in trouble or anything. She helped us this morning and we’d like to repay the favor,” Dick promises. “Could you at least give us her name?”

“I don’t know her name,” Dan answers. “But she’ll probably come back here in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Dick and Rachel say together.

The following morning, Dick checks out of the motel and drives to the diner. They both look to the booth where she sat yesterday as they walk in, frowning when they see no one there. Kelsey smiles as she greets them and takes their order, exactly as they had yesterday. Dick spins his mug around as he watches the television, trying to keep himself from staring at the door.

“Dick,” Rachel whispers a few minutes later. She gestures toward the counter, where the girl is now sitting, wearing the same sweatshirt as yesterday.

Before Dick can do anything, Dan’s voice fills the diner. “All three of you need to get somewhere safe. Everyone in town is talking about some secret service agents asking about you folks.”

“All of us?” The girl in the sweatshirt asks.

“You know how these people feel about cops, but they’ll come in here eventually and you don’t need to be here,” Dan says.

“11 North Country Road 29,” the girl in the sweatshirt calls as she stands, “you got that?”

“Yeah, we got it,” Rachel answers, practically dragging Dick to the front door.

Dick gets in the car and speeds toward the address, hoping that the girl in the sweatshirt will meet them there. And give them her name. He parks between the house and a row of trees, where the car is hidden from the road. The back door is unlocked, and Dick sweeps the house before ushering Rachel in. Several minutes later, the back door opens again, and the girl in the sweatshirt walks in, coming face-to-muzzle with Dick’s gun. Her hands are raised as he lowers the gun.

“Sorry,” Dick apologizes as he holsters it.

“Not a problem. I’d give it a few hours before leaving,” the girl says, moving past them.

“Thank you. For yesterday and right now,” Rachel says.

“Least I could do. I’ll be in the back room if you need anything.”

Rachel waits until she is out of earshot to turn toward Dick and ask, “She really reminds you of this girl doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Dick sighs. “That obvious?”

“Your shame is practically choking me. Why did you hurt her?"

“I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s not an excuse, Dick.”

Rachel walks toward the back room, determined to find a way to help Dick get over his hurt.

Omar, Ohio – 2 Months Ago

“Take your hands off the girl,” you demand as you enter the dark room.

Three men turn toward you, one raising a gun as the others take a step closer. You see a girl tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth, blood everywhere, and fear in her eyes. 

“You don’t know who you’re messing with, sweetheart,” the man with the gun growls.

“Right back at ya,” you say, taking a threatening step toward him.

The two other men charge toward you. You catch one of their fists as they throw it toward you, twisting him in front of you to encounter the brunt of the other man’s hit as he throws it. Their shared momentum knocks them both to the floor. You slide across the floor, elbowing the third man’s knee as you grab his hand, flipping his wrist so the gun falls to the floor. You pick it up and level it at his temple.

“One more time: let the girl go,” you demand slowly.

One of the men on the floor throws a knife, which spins in the air and nicks your arm. You glance toward him before swinging the gun and taking three shots, taking out one knee on every man. As they groan in pain and roll on the floor, you untie the girl and ask her where to go. She directs me to her father’s diner.

“I’m looking for Dan,” you say as you carry her through the back door.

Dan comes running, grabbing his first aid kit as he sits beside her. “Your arm needs attention?” he asks as he points to your scarred forearm and the small bloody patch from the knife.

“No, I’m all good. Thank you.” You begin to stand, but he stops you, refusing to let you leave until you eat something.

“You’ll never pay here. Come back anytime,” Dan says when you leave an hour later.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“Sorry about him,” Rachel says as she walks into the back room.

“It’s completely fine.” The girl in the sweatshirt laughs softly, her hand playing with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Rachel says as she sits in a chair across from her.

“How long have they been looking for you?”

“About a week. Since they killed my mom.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rachel shrugs. “Just so you know, the guy I’m with, Dick, he’s a cop. And he’s not usually this weird.”

She laughs again, looking up long enough that Rachel can see her face.

“You remind him of someone he used to know.”

She shakes her head before changing the subject. “You’re Rachel, right? I’m assuming you can do something, otherwise, they wouldn’t be looking for you.”

“I can feel what other people are feeling. There’s something inside of me, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Rachel, you can learn to control it. It’s obvious you’re a good person.”

“I tried to read your emotions at the diner yesterday,” Rachel admits, “but you have a lot, and they were overlapping.”

“A lot has happened to me in the last few years. I don’t even know what I’m feeling all the time.”

“They’re clearer now. You’re sad and regretful,” Rachel says quietly.

“I don’t care that you’re looking, Rach. The more you use your powers, the better you’ll get at them. And you’re dead on.”

“Sometimes, when I touch people I can see some of their memories,” Rachel explains.

The girl in the sweatshirt smiles. “You don’t even know my name.”

“What’s your name?”

She extends her hand and answers, “Find out.”

Gotham City is cold in winter, and the freezing rain is not helping the temperature issue. Robin is fighting behind me, our backs touching as we take down the last of the numerous bad guys.

“Nice work,” Robin says as he smiles at me. “But you’re cold, stop touching me.”

“Oh? I am cold? Your Kevlar is practically frozen,” I respond sarcastically.

He pulls me into his side, pressing the button on his belt to turn on his cape heater.

The setting changes: a large door opens, and an umbrella is placed in a bin, destined to be forgotten.

“-left last night. He left you this.”

An envelope trades hands, and a name is written on it. The door is opened and closed, then running in the rain gives way to stressed packing and boarding a bus. The same envelope is unopened years later, a new scar appears on a forearm, the same backpack is stashed in a motel, and a sweatshirt is the most prized possession.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“It was you,” Rachel says, her eyes wide as her hand slips from yours.

“What was?” you ask.

“You’re the girl Dick left, the one he’s feeling so guilty and sad about.”

“He what?”

“He saw you in the diner and was reminded of a girl he used to know. He said they ‘did stuff together.’ You don’t look like that girl; you are that girl.”

“What did you see?” you ask, confused about how exactly her powers work.

“I see some of the most important things in your life. I saw you fighting with Robin and then learning that someone left. You’ve been on the run since then, haven’t you? And the sweatshirt means something.”

“What do you know about Robin?”

“I know who he is. I know what he went through. I think you two should talk.”

A noise outside causes you to stand suddenly. “Stay here.”

You walk out, seeing Dick holding his gun as he moves toward a window. You move to the other side of the room, by another door, and stand against the wall as the door is kicked open. A hand holding a gun comes inside; you grab the wrist and slam it down against your knee. The gun hits the floor and slides away. The man raises both hands to your shoulders, pushing you backward and into the wall. You form a fist and slam it up into his chin, his head snapping back as his grip on you loosens. While you fight him, Dick takes on a second man who enters the house.

Dick moves behind the door, grabbing the man’s shirt collar and flipping him to the floor. He attempts to get information from him but comes up empty. Slamming his fist to his nose repeatedly, Dick doesn’t stop until the man loses consciousness. He looks over and sees the girl in the sweatshirt standing from the floor, wiping blood from her nose.

“That was impressive. You two could be partners,” Rachel says as she walks in, smirking as she looks over at you.

Dick opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, telling them, “You two should get out of here while you still can.”

“I’m not leaving,” Rachel says, crossing her arms. “Not until you two talk.”

“About what?” Dick asks.

“Rachel,” you warn.

“She’s right. We do need to get going.”

“Show him.”

“Either we need to leave, or I need more information,” Dick sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A phone rings in the back room, and you walk away to answer it, releasing a breath as you realize it was Kelsey.

“What was that about?” Dick whispers.

“You two have to talk before you never get a chance again,” Rachel says.

“Someone broke into your house and assaulted several officers,” you say as you return, “the police are calling a nationwide manhunt for you, Rachel.”

“I am not leaving without you,” she says, stepping toward you and grabbing your hand. 

Her eyes fall to the sleeve before she glances up at you and pushes the sleeve up. You push it back down quickly and look away from her.

“I can’t go with you,” you say sadly, shaking your head.

“You can if you want to,” Dick offers, “you’ve been a huge help.”

You look toward Rachel, who only nods as she squeezes your hand.

“Just tell him,” Rachel whispers.

You take a deep breath before you look up and pull your hood down. “Hi, Dickie.”

Dick’s eyes widen as he takes a hesitant step forward.

“Rachel said I remind you of someone,” you say. “I thought-“

Dick cuts you off by rushing forward and hugging you tightly. You return the hug, gripping him tightly and burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I left,” Dick whispers.

“It’s okay.”

“Tell him everything else,” Rachel encourages from beside you.

You squeeze Dick one more time before pulling back and saying, “I left Gotham City after you did. Alfred gave me the letter and I just ran. I’ve been in a bunch of small cities since then, but nowhere as long as here. I saved Dan’s daughter from some kidnappers and just stayed for some reason.”

“Alfred said he didn’t know where you went after Benton,” Dick says.

“I cut my tracker out in Benton,” you explain, pulling your sleeve up and exposing the scar.

He reaches forward and gently runs his fingers up the scar. “Tracker?”

“Right. Bruce told me he sedated you when he gave you yours, something about you being too excited about being in the bat cave.”

“He put a tracker in me?”

“He put trackers in all of us.”

The phone rings twice before silencing. “That’s our cue to leave,” you say.

Columbus, Ohio – 1 Week Later

“How’s your arm?” you ask as you enter the room.

“Healing quickly,” Dick answers, smiling as he looks up at you from the hotel bed.

“Looks good,” you say, gently holding his arm, “yours probably won’t scar.”

“Pizza’s here,” Rachel calls as someone knocks on the door.

Dick answers the door and gets the pizza while you and Rachel get drinks from the mini-fridge. You all sit on the small couch as you eat, and you can’t help but think of old times. The following morning, you, Dick, and Rachel load into Dick’s car and drive toward Covington. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Rachel asks as we wait in the car while Dick goes into a police station. 

“Tell him what?’

“That you still love him.”

“I-“

“I can feel it. I could feel it when he was Robin and when you found out he left, in the safe house, and right now.”

“I don’t know, Rach.”

Dick sighs as he gets back in the car. “I got the description of the woman who broke into the crime scene.”

“Where to now?” you ask.

“Arcade. 5 miles north,” Rachel answers.

You laugh lightly as you shrug at Dick.

“An hour,” Dick says as he puts the car in gear.

“And a half,” you and Rachel correct together.

You give her some cash before you and Dick find a seat where you can see the entire arcade.

“You’re good with her,” you say as you steal a fry from his plate.

He playfully swats your hand away before moving his plate closer. “So are you,” he agrees.

You watch Rachel for a moment before looking down at your sweatshirt sleeve.

“Are you okay?” Dick asks, his hand landing on your arm.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod, still looking down. “This sweatshirt is the only connection I’ve had to you for the last four years.”

“What?”

You extend your arm toward him, watching his face as he grabs your wrist and looks at the sleeve, his initials and a small Robin messily embroidered on it. 

“You kept it?” he asks.

“Of course, I did.”

“Mine’s in the trunk of my car,” he admits, smiling as he looks back up at you.

“Really?”

“You think that I’d leave it after all the hard work we put into them? I couldn’t leave it behind; it felt like leaving you behind. I tried to call you.”

“I left my phone; didn’t want Bruce to come after me.”

“Why does Rachel keep telling you to talk to me?”

You laugh before answering, “There’s something I haven’t told you and she wants me to.”

“What?”

“That I’m in love with you,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.

Dick is silent as he stares at you, his hand still wrapped around your wrist.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said any-“

Dick pulls your wrist gently, slamming his lips to yours. His other hand raises and wraps around the base of your neck, pulling you closer. You move your hands to his waist, pulling yourself closer to him as you kiss him like he’s your source of life.

“I take it you told him,” Rachel says, suddenly standing on the other side of the table.

Dick pulls back, smiling at you before saying, “Shut up, Rachel.”

“I’m out of money.”

Dick pulls a fifty from his wallet, handing it to her and smiling in gratitude as she walks away. She nods and returns the smile.

“I love you,” Dick says.

“I love you,” you respond, stealing another one of his fries.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I wanted to find you but had no idea where to look.”

“Rachel was right. We could be partners. Again.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Grayson,” you smile before kissing him again.

“You didn’t read the letter did you?”

“I couldn’t,” you admit, shaking your head, “hurt too much. Why?”

“I wrote it to tell you I loved you. I wanted to take you with me but was scared.”

“I guess I should read it then, because I love you, too, Dickie.”

You and Dick watch as Rachel walks toward you, a tall woman with bright Magenta hair on one side and a green-haired boy on her other side. 

When they reach the table, Rachel says, “This is Kory and Gar. They have some interesting stories.”

“This feels familiar,” you mutter to Dick as you stand up.

“I’m gonna need a bigger car,” Dick says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

[saturnsorbits]

Wingman

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Kaminari is an insecure idiot, Breeding, Oral(ish), Light Choking, V. v. v Slight FemDom, Saturnari Coded. Word Count: 7.5k.

Summary: Kaminari has always been the wingman, but with you, he wants to be anything but...

Coming out tonight was a bad idea.

Through some miracle, the whole gang has managed to swing the same night off, a rarity that Kaminari should be enjoying, but even as he watches all his friends cut loose, he can't say he shares in their excitement.

Slouched in the back of a booth, he nurses his fourth drink. It had taken almost twenty minutes to convince everyone to go have fun without him. He'd fed them all the usual excuses – that he was tired, his new shoes where a touch tight, he was too busy scouting for girls and didn't want them hanging around to ruin his vibe. It had been the last one that had sold it, which was ironic. Kaminari shifts to itch the back of his calf with the point of a shoe. He'd be okay here, camped out in the corner with nothing, but a drink and a sinking sense of disappointment.

In the middle of the club, Kirishima has his arms wrapped around Bakugo's neck. His nose is pressed to his cheek, lips barely a millimetre from pale skin as to better whisper low to him. Around them, a steady flow of interceptors try, and fail, to slip between them.

Sero is at the bar. He leans lazily against it, an elbow dug into hardwood at an angle that just lets him hold his drink without dropping it. Already, there's a semi-circle of women around him. They touch him in the absent way one touches something they want to own. He doesn't stop their advances.

Somewhere out there is Mina, too, but she moves too quick to spot. Flitting between groups of people, she dazzles anyone who so much as glances in her direction without pausing to tarry on just one conquest.

Then... There's you.

Kaminari finds his gaze drifting, naturally, until he finds you. He's just keeping an eye on you. Or, at least that's what he's telling himself. He can see Sero looking too, and the occasional glances Bakugo spares you before he's twirled away and forced to break his line of sight. Mina, as well, he's seen it and even though Kirishima thinks he's being subtle, he's not.

He wonders which of them you want. Which you'd let take you home and touch, delicate, against your skin. You could have any of them, that much is for sure, but that doesn't stop the acidic burn that washes his throat when he thinks about his own odds. With friends like his, Kaminari has long since come to terms with always being the last choice.

'Kami!' You slip into the booth ass first and almost, almost, lose an inch of your gin. Righting the glass, you tap your shoulder playfully against his, reveling in the way the muscle of his bicep twitches with the contact.

Kaminari sighs, running a finger around the lip of his glass. At this point, he figures it'll just be less painful to beat you to the punch. 'So go on.' He fixes his smile back into place, erasing the edges of a frown and looks out at the mess of people on the dance floor. 'Who's your type?'

'Huh?'

'Which one?' He pretends to have already suffocated the wisp of hope alight in his chest and forces a chuckle up his throat. He wiggles his eyebrows at you while almost white-knuckling his drink. 'Because Sero'll take you home like yesterday, but he's got metal in his... Y'know, so if that's not your bag you might want to try one of the other two... Maybe, both?' He cocks his head, smirks without the mirth. 'Or, fuck, do you want Mina's number?' His intonation spikes towards the end, curiosity and panic bleeding into his tone.

'I don't want any of them...' You frown and shake your head, moving to lay a hand on his shoulder, but just before your fingers can play against the cuff of his t-shirt, he moves.

'C'mon. You don't have to play coy with me.' Shoulders tensing, he tries to steady the beating of his heart. The small fire in his chest is still kindling, burning hope bright and sure. Best not to let you touch him until it's extinguished then - he'd only be letting himself get the wrong idea. 'I am supposed to be the wingman and all that...'

'Kaminari.' His ignorance is endearing. There's a pinkness on his cheeks that makes you want to kiss them, but you'll have to get to the root of the reason he won't let you get close if you're looking to live out that fantasy.

Unperturbed, Kaminari continues on with each of his words stinging like small splinters wedged under his skin. It's not like he hasn't done this before, helped one of his friends hook up with the object of his desire, but you – you're different. He likes you. 'Personally, I'd say try your luck with Kirishima first if you're not up for handling a bit of a brat, Bakugo can be -.'

'Kaminari -.'

'And Mina! Well, Mina's...'

'Kaminari, I don't want any of them.'

Kaminari tenses. No. Don't do that. He doesn't want you to fan the flames, doesn't think he can take being swallowed alive by that fire tonight. The tone that lifts from his tongue is sharp, cracking like a whip between you. 'I said you don't have to do that -.'

It only makes you smile. 'Denki...' You coo. Then, when he tucks his chin to his chest, you lift it with a finger and force him to look: to see.

'Baby.'

'Huh?'

'I said.' You keep hold of his chin and make him watch your mouth as you speak, enunciating every word as clearly as you can. 'I don't want any of them...'

'Oh...' He nods despite having not digested any of your words. Until... His jaw drops, mouth rounding. 'Oh.'

The tip of his nose has pinkened, glowing soft in the dim lights of the club and his eyes are shining, golden half-moons bright as they flicker subconsciously from your eyes to your lips and then back again.

Cocking your head, you chuckle. 'You can't really expect me to buy that you don't know when you're being hit on?'

'I – Women don't usually...' He trails off as embarrassment coils low in his gut. Once upon a time, he'd fancied himself a ladies man, but by the end of high-school he'd been made aware that promiscuity was simply a dream for him. He'd been the last to lose his virginity and even then, he's pretty sure Camie fucked him out of pity. A familiar swirl of uneasiness whips around his stomach as the ever-present tendrils of insecurity wiggle and twist. 'I mean – Have you seen my friends?'

You snort, refusing to give him an inch. 'Have you seen yourself?'

You laugh and Kaminari thinks he'll never have to listen to music again. 'I don't – I'm not.'

Shaking your head, you press a finger to his lips and smirk. 'Mr. If I hear one more stupid thing fall out of your mouth I'm gonna have to kiss it.'

He chuffs before he's able to stop it, one million dull insults swelling in his chest. He never was good at saying the right thing and people have always been too keen to point it out. 'Gonna be kissing me a lot then.'

'Yeah?' A pleasant warmth spreads through your chest at the thought of stealing multiple of his kisses. It makes your shoulders tight and your stomach feel light.

Kaminari nods. 'They don't call me Dunce Face for -.'

You cut him off with a kiss. Just as you'd promised. It's a soft thing, a barely-there graze of lips, but he reels back from it almost breath-taken. Reaching up, you play with a strand of blond falling from his fringe and wait, patiently for his brain to catch up with the situation. Truth be told, you've had your eye on Kaminari for a while, but when even your blatant flirting at the last squad BBQ hadn't been enough to convince him of your interest, you'd decided to take more divisive measures.

An airy chuckle breaks Kaminari's lips. 'I might have to say stupid stuff more often, because – mmhmph.'

You kiss him again.

'I don't just get kisses when I say something stupid though, do I -.'

And again.

This time, he lets himself sink. He's still not really sure what's going on. Maybe one of the others put you up to this, to make this night one to remember – but, as your mouth migrates from his lips to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and neck, he struggles to dwell on whatever scheme has lead to him being here. A dull pressure slips easily up his thigh, skating over the ripped denim of his jeans until he can feel your fingers curl at the join of his thigh. Spit sticks in his throat, his hands instinctively reaching out to touch, to curl around your arm and hip. 'I -.' He reels back with a heaving chest. The words tumbling from his mouth before he can catch them. 'I can't – don't – I don't want...'

You flinch back as if burnt.

The absence of your body crowding against his makes his entire chest feel cold, but he pushes on, tripping over his thoughts as he goes. 'I – fuck – Okay. So I think, I think you're... I think you're so fucking pretty, like wow, like holy shit you're – you're incredible, okay, but I don't... I can't, if you...' He looks down, then back up at where Sero is standing at the bar.

The other man looks at him, cocks an eyebrow and smirks, just enough to still seem nonchalant.

'If you're looking for a one night stand or something, then – then you're better off taking Sero home.' Squeezing an eye shut, he braces for impact – ignoring the pain that flares in his chest when he thinks of you slipping back out of the booth. He's gotten a taste now. He's not sure how he's supposed to ever forget about that.

'Kaminari, you fucking moron.' You blink and shake your head, ignoring the flittering anger that bubbles steady in your chest.

'Huh?' Cocking his head, Kaminari is almost wounded by the idea that – should he not feel as though he's just stumbled into something remarkably more serious – he'd be getting a kiss for whatever idiocy has just fallen out of his mouth.

You shove him. 'Who said I was just trying to fuck you – you -.'

'But -.'

'Do I really need to say it out loud? Do you want me to write it down? Text it to you?'

Kaminari feels something close to panic flood his veins as he watches disbelief wash clean over your features. 'I don't – When...'

'I could not have been any more obvious. I was practically falling over you at the barbecue. Kirishima's mums wouldn't stop saying how much of a cute couple we where...' Shaking your head, you widen your eyes and shout even louder over the music. '… You went along with it! I asked you to be my date to Bakugo's fucking award show last fucking week... I thought you -' A dizziness plants itself at the base of your skull. Honestly, you'd thought you'd been playing the long game. Convincing him of his worthiness, of your interest, but now... Now you're starting to think all of that energy might have gone to waste.

Kaminari blinks. 'You weren't just...' He swallows as something squirms in his stomach. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd misunderstood someone's intentions. Fuck, his and Momo's entire friendship is built off of the fact that he thought she'd been flirting with him and not just adopting him as some kind of awkward best-friend, who she could gossip with and put make-up on when she got bored. That had been one Hell of an awkward conversation. He can still remember how sweet she'd been when he'd slipped a hand onto her knee, how she'd cooed at him and apologised for giving him the wrong impression. It had been humiliating. Even if he did manage to swing a pretty amazing friend out of it.

'Just what?'

'Just being nice.'

You shake your head, still somewhat perplexed. 'No, Denki, I'm not just being nice. You ever see me pull that shit with anyone else?'

It feels as though someone has just doused gasoline onto the fire in his chest. Hope wraps itself around his lungs and squeezes until he has no other option other than to haul in a shallow breath. 'No.'

Huffing, you chew on your lip and fix him with a stare, eyebrows raising on your forehead. 'Exactly, and if I have my way, I'll be one Hell of a lot nicer.'

With his tongue stuck to the basin of his mouth, Kaminari summons the strength to mutter a soft: 'Really?' Already his body has broken out in a chill. Anticipation uses his spine as a ladder, causing the muscle of his back to tense and straighten his posture.

'Mmmhmm.' Leaning forward, you plant your elbows on the table and push your tits together. You don't miss how his Adam's apple bobs, or the way he finds himself unable to drag his eyes back up from your cleavage. 'So... You gonna let me be nicer to you, Kaminari?'

'It's – it's a bit of a mess, I – uh...'

You barely allow Kaminari to shut the door before you have him pressed against it. Your hands reach out to cup his face, fingers touching soft as they curl around the back of his neck and thread softly into the hair at the base of his skull. 'I don't care that you haven't cleaned up, Denki.'

He chuckles, disbelief and excitement mixing together in the basin of his throat as he his hands ball to fists at his sides. Static fills his joints. There's so much energy bubbling up inside of him that he doesn't quite know what to do with it. It zips through him, paralysing and energising in equal measure as he loses himself to your touch.

'I...' Swallowing, he leans forward until his forehead touches against yours. It grounds him, combines with the dull scratching of your nails on his scalp and lets him breathe. 'I really – Fuck, I can't believe this is happening.'

You laugh, eyes fluttering shut for a second as you bask in his gaze. You're not sure if he knows he's doing it, but Kaminari looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing in the world. Large, luminescent irises highlight his adoration, spotlighting every inch of you as his eyes flicker from yours, to your lips, to the dip of your collarbones. 'Yeah...' You huff. 'Well best start believing.'

It's a messy stumble to his bedroom, a mix of uncoordinated limbs and hot, open-mouthed kisses. His hands are everywhere and greedy, grabbing at anything he can: the small of your back, your waist, your ass.

'Oh, shit...' He mumbles against your lips, already drunk and pulls back just enough to catch your eye. 'Is that...' Licking his lips he raises a hand to his own mouth and tests the stickiness there. 'Is that strawberry?'

Nodding, you subconsciously let your tongue dart out to taste. The gloss is barely tacky, almost gone from Denki's assault. Instead, you can see it on his lips – the faint shimmering of pale pink that glitters in the low light. If you kissed him again now, you're sure you'd be able to taste it too.

'It's nice.' He chuckles, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

Humming, you wrap a palm around the back of his neck and pull him in close, feeling his breath on your cheeks. 'Yeah?' It feels juvenile, getting butterflies over the evidence of your kiss, but there's no denying the pins and needles that perforate the insides of your lungs.

'Yeah....' There's a smile tugging at his lip. The steadily darkening of his cheeks suits him, makes the cool gold in his eyes stand out, alive and clear, against the burning plain of his features. What starts out as a small fire ignited on the high of his cheek bones is soon scorched earth across much of his nose, reaching to the peak of his chin. The joy makes him look boyish. Distractingly handsome as he erupts into another foray of half-digested laughter.

Leaning in, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and taste strawberries. It mixes with something harsher, the spirit he had been so easily tipping down his throat back in the club; but underneath the tart and fruit mixture all you can taste is undeniably: him.

It's a stray trainer and the edge of Denki's oddly coloured purple mattress that is your eventual undoing. You'd been too lost in each other to notice that the slow push of small steps backwards had run it's course, leaving little room for anything other than a fall.

You go down hard.

Denki hits the mattress first, his back concave, arms stretching up to pull you close before you'd even managed to feel the bite of the connection. He reaches up, brushing his fingers across your cheeks as if to check for injuries he knows you don't have.

'Isn't this the part where you ask me if it hurt when I fell?' You have to purse your lips to stop yourself from laughing, but it doesn't work.

The noise is infectious, making him break out too. 'I don't know about you, but it fucking hurt me.'

Kissing his nose, you carefully spread your legs to bracket his hips and push up, until you can hover over him with your hands denting the mattress at either side of his head. 'Always knew you'd fall for me, eventually.'

He rolls his eyes, but blushes deeper. Cupping your chin, he rubs a thumb across your jaw. 'I never thought you'd fall too, though.'

'Less of that.' Sitting up, you playfully slap at his shoulder before letting your hands skate down the sides of his arms. When you reach his wrists, you take hold of him and list, encouraging his palms to find a place on your thighs. Shivering at his touch, you swallow a smile.

'Touch me.'

As soon as the hold on his wrists loosens, his hands start to shake. Left to his own devices he finds himself torn, eyes eating away greedily at your body as he decides just where to lay his hands first. 'Can I...' His voice shakes, nerves soaking into the back of his tongue as he hooks a finger around the top of your dress. 'Can I take this off?'

Rolling your shoulders, you nod. You can feel the flex of his stomach muscles underneath you as he curls himself into a half-crunch to reach you. His hands skate across your shoulders, fingers catching on the thin material of the straps as he gently, slowly, encourages them down your arms.

There's something caught in his throat as he watches the material slide. It slinks down your skin, stretching around the width of your shoulders before coming back together when you pinch your elbows in towards your core.

You let the material bunch around your waist, exposing your chest to the air as you perch In his lap. Already, the cold has your nipples pebbling, rising to the air as the faint buzz of arousal continues to make a mockery of your nervous system.

'Sh – Shit.' He breathes. His hands twitch into the air automatically, rising to hover over the ruched material of your dress. There's a desperation in his fingertips, a burning itch that has his ligaments twitching as he attempts to commit every inch of your body to memory.

'Hey...' Huffing air out of your nose, you press your palms to his. His fingers slot between yours easily, allowing you to squeeze tightly once before retracting your touch. Tensing your fingers, you don't have to encourage him much before he's taking a firm hold of your chest and smoothing his thumbs across the apex of your tits.

A shaky breath bullies it's way from Kaminari's mouth, the dull click of his throat audible as he swallows down the groan vibrating through his chest. 'You're... Why're you, so – so soft?..'

You chuckle, the noise bouncing your chest in his hands as he continues to slowly explore your skin. 'I moisturise.'

At that, a laugh breaks through the lull. It's full bodied and high, a giggle born from pure amusement that makes the apples of his cheeks glow. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah...' You repeat and take his hands once more, encouraging him to take a rougher grip of you. ''m soft here.' Pressing his palms up, you let your chest spill into his hands, but before he can even think about taking a hold of you, you're moving him on. '...And here.'

Next, you skate his hands down your sides making him feel the swell of your curves as your waist gives way to the shape of your hips. 'But...' Biting your lip, you hook your thumbs below his palms and lift, forcing him to venture across the bunched material of your dress until you can nestle one of his hands against your thigh and the other, square over the mound of your cunt. 'I think I'm the softest here.'

Denki moans. Even through the sheer lace of your underwear he can feel how wet you are. It warms the pad of his thumb, making his skin tingle as he presses just so against the raw bud of your clit.

You jolt, even the gentle touch of his thumb making your cunt clench with anticipation. Humming under your breath, you let go of his hand to tug at the collar of his shirt. 'Off... C'mon, it's not fair.' You're whining now, hips moving in the smallest circles you can manage against his stationary pressure.

'Hmm?' Mesmerised by your sudden neediness, he has to shake his head to bring his brain back online for long enough to process your request; but as soon as he does, he's sitting up and almost unseating you in his haste to get rid of his shirt. He yanks at the back of the material, hoisting it over his head and tossing it as far as he can manage. Curling his spine, he blinks up at you with hazy golden eyes and offers you an expectant smile. It twitches the corner of his mouth, pulling his lips into an expression that almost shows his teeth.

'That better?'

You nod and lift your hands to his shoulders. His skin, now bare, is warm under your palms. The lean muscle tangled over his bones is firm and yet, soft; moving delicately under your touch with each of his unsteady inhales. Your eyes eat at him greedily, at the surprising broadness of his shoulders, the cleft of his chest and the neat rolls of his stomach as he bends.

Shifting, he feels chews on the edge of his lip. 'W- What?'

'Nothing...' You smile, pulling your eyes back up to his. 'Just looking at you.'

'Why?'

Lifting a hand, you smooth your knuckles down his cheek. 'Because you're pretty...'

He blushes. Bright red blooms on the tips of his cheek bones and runs like a river down his face until almost his entire chest is flushed.

'… And,' you smirk. 'I think you're going to look even prettier when you're inside me.'

A strangled whimper leaves his throat. It catches behind his Adam's apple, clicking audibly in the new dull silence of the room. His hands lift, fingers digging crescents into the fat of your thighs as he tries to stop his hips from rutting up and into the softness of your cunt.

'You like the idea of that?' Using your thumb, you pull down his lip, exposing gum. 'Like the idea of being inside of me. You wanna fill me up, huh?'

He nods.

'Words.'

'Y – Yeah. Fuck, yeah... Wanna, wanna fuck you.' His grip tightens, eyes unable to be torn away from yours. Grinding down, he shifts his ass further into the mattress, trying and failing to slink away from your heat.

'Good boy.' You kiss him softly, letting him whine into your mouth, but before he can lurch forward and deepen the kiss, you're pulling back and shimmying off of his lap.

For a moment, he attempts to move with you. His head follows, lips still pursed and searching even as you almost clear his knees, but all too soon there's the obvious indents of your fingers in his chest stopping him.

Your hands fiddle with the button of his jeans, making quick work until you're able to slip your hands under the waistband. 'Lift your hips.'

He does, complying easily as you rid him of the offending material. Resting himself on his elbows, he watches as you drop the clothing off the end of the bed and lean back just enough to snake your way out of your dress. He licks his lips. Your body twists, exposing the rough curves of your hips as you shimmy to reposition yourself on the bed. The plush fat of your breast swaying, nipples flat in a way that makes him want to taste them, to feel them plump on his tongue.

Holding onto the small amount of cognition that he still possesses, he uses it to drink in the sight of you perching over his hips.

Lowering yourself onto your elbows at either side of pelvis, you feel your skin prickle under his gaze. Burning suns threaten to scorch your skin as he devours you, eyes everywhere, committing even your most unattractive details to memory. It makes you feel exposed, vulnerable and powerful, having him so captivated without even a touch. Shivering against his gaze, you dip your head and, while keeping your eyes on his, lick a long, thick stripe across the hardness straining against his boxers.

It's like he's just been shocked. Two million vaults course up through his legs with a violence that makes his eyes roll. His cock twitches, jumping against your touch even as you pull away. 'Not... Fuck, that's not fair.'

'No?' You cock your head and purse your lips, pressing the softest of kisses to his covered head.

'No: fuck.' Stretching out his shoulders, he tries to loosen the tension quickly building in his stomach. The last thing he wants is to paint the insides of his boxers and become the latest laughing stock of your friends. Clamping shut his eyes, he breathes deep, but his breathe is stolen again too soon when he feels your tongue press hard against his cock again. Reaching down, he catches hold of the front of your throat.

'That's not going to make me stop, baby.' You laugh, lowering your head again and pushing your throat against his palm. 'If anything, it's going to make me tease you more.'

The rough pads of his fingers dig in for a moment, half-crescents threatening to mark your throat as he tests his grip before releasing you. Rocking his head back onto the pillow, he feels the elastic of his boxers pull from his hips and slip until it's nestled below his balls.

As soon as it's released from its confines, Denki's cock snaps back against his stomach. It's a pretty thing. Slight in it's length, with a girth that is comfortable enough to sit perfectly in your palm and a soft rose to the skin; just looking at him makes you want to swallow him down. His head is darker, a deep red where it peaks from underneath his foreskin and weeps pearled white over his shaft where it races its way to the thick copse of dirty blonde hair that gathers around the base. Wrapping your lips around the tip, you suck ever so softly.

Denki whimpers. Reaching up, he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to stem the onslaught of stimulus threatening to reduce him to a premature end. His breath stutters in his chest, caught somewhere underneath his diaphragm as he feels your tongue slip over his head and inch beneath the stretch of his foreskin.

Moaning, you bob slowly on his cock swallowing barely an inch before he's pushing his ass into the mattress and trying to scramble away.

'Shit. Hang on, hang on...' Hand shooting down, he grips the base of his cock with an almost bruising pressure while still wriggling backwards. 'Don't wanna... I don't -.' His breath comes out in pants, his chest caving in with each shaky inhale as he prays for his body not to betray him.

'Are you okay?' Wiping your lip, you sit up and cock your head. You're about to reach for him voice dripping with concern when he peaks open an eye to stare at you.

A dull laugh skips from his tongue when he takes in the confusion lacing your features, allowing him enough air to splutter out a broken: 'Was... Fuck, wasn't going to last.'

'I barely touched you -.'

'Guess I just find you that hot, huh?' With his pulse steadying, he chances a steady stroke of his cock gathering both pre-cum and spit in the twist of his fist. 'You, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?'

Settling back over his hips, you reach for the hand not wrapped around his cock and interlace your fingers before guiding him to your hip. It takes a simple hook of your finger before the heat of your cunt is exposed, underwear unceremoniously tugged aside to allow you to reposition Denki's hand beneath you. 'You have no idea, either.'

The first grind of your cunt across his knuckles has him sucking in breath. Each bone catches against your clit, coating him in your arousal as soft moans begin to leak from your mouth. It makes his stomach twist, his cock twitching in his hand as he feels your need grow large enough to match his own. 'I – I think I'm getting one.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' He swallows. The edges of his vision swim, growing blurry as he struggles to comprehend you grinding on his hand and soaking his lap. Even with the tension still around the base of his cock, he can feel it twitch in his hand, desperate to feel the sweet recess of your cunt. 'I'm... Fuck, I'm not gonna...'

You cock your head, a smile playing at your lip as he trips over his words. 'C'mon, use your words.'

Groaning, he rocks his head back on his shoulders before fixing you with a needy gaze. He speaks quickly, with barely a breath between words as if there isn't even enough time for him to finish his sentence. 'If... Fuck, if you're serious about wanting to sit on my cock, you're going to have to do it soon because just looking at you has me nearly -.'

You cut him off with a kiss. It's immediately deep, needy in its pace and leaves both of you panting when you finally pull away. Resting your nose against his, you whisper into the slither of space between you. 'You want me to fuck you, baby?'

He nods.

'Words.'

'Fuck, yeah. Yeah. I want you – shit, want you so bad.' Twisting his palm, he uses his thumb to gently tap at the hood of your clit. With each subtle moan he earns from your chest, his taps become longer, harsher, causing you to bite your lip and grind down onto him.

Nodding, you cover his hand with yours to inch him away. A smile twitches at the corner of your mouth as he whimpers, chest hollowing at the idea of being parted from you for even a moment.

Leaning forward, you press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose before reaching between your own thighs and taking hold of his cock.

He releases himself as soon as he feels your fingers close around his shaft. His cock pulses, twitching into your hold as you give him a single cursory stroke, spreading the pre-cum leaking down over his skin from tip to root. Flicking your eyes back up to his, you feel the dull thrum of arousal beating in your cunt as you watch his lips drop open even with the little friction you've allowed him. 'Look at you... You're almost as wet as me.'

A blush blooms high on his cheeks, his eyes blowing almost black; turning his eyes into a solar eclipse. His mouth moves, but the words stick in his throat – leaving nothing but a moan able to escape as he nods in agreement.

Wiggling your hips, you shift back and line him up. You're dripping, skin shining with slick as you slowly, slowly, lower yourself down onto his cock.

Immediately, his hands clamp solid around your waist. His eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering as he huffs. You feel divine, hot and wet and squeezing him so tightly that it's hard for him to focus. The edges of his vision blur, his head swimming even though you've barely taken an inch of him. 'Shit, shit... Fuck -.'

'You feel so good.' You finish his sentence for him. His cock forces you to stretch around him, opening you up as you continue to sink down onto him. It's a mild presence, but one that manages to press up on every single nerve inside of you making you want to cry out. Your thighs shake, hands reaching forward to splay over his chest to steady yourself as you finally bottom him out. The nest of blond pubic hair at his base tickles against your clit, causing you to gasp and roll your hips, searching for more.

'I -.' Trying to pull his head from the pillow, Denki stares through the haze of his eyes. 'I'm not gonna last.' His grip tightens on your waist, a new desperation crawling into his voice as he almost whispers... 'Wanna – fuck, wanna make you feel good though.'

'Yeah?' Lifting yourself, you sink back down onto him with ease and shiver against the flare of pleasure that twists your stomach up into knots.

'Please...' Denki's throat is raw, tightening around his plea.

Desperation fills his chest as he watches the point at which you're joined. His eyes fixate on it. On where your body stretches for him, cunt open and drooling as you take him with ease; the flushed bud of your clit twitching each time you manage to impale yourself just right. 'Please...' He tries again, voice still warbling. 'Please, cum on my cock. Please – I wanna, wanna see, wanna feel – please...'

You chuckle, lifting one of your hands from his wrists to stroke your knuckles down his cheek. 'Look at you, begging so pretty...'

'Please -.'

Nodding, you straighten up and roll your shoulders back. For a moment you stay still, letting the taught pleasure simmer inside you until it settles. Your cunt has slicked his skin, making the soft rose flesh shine in the low light of his bedroom. The sight does something funny to your stomach, making it twist and bubble. Clenching your hands, you beckon him to hold you.

There's something impossibly grounding about the way you lace your fingers with his. His palms face upwards, providing a platform for you to press against and he's forced to tense his biceps as you use him as leverage to bounce. 'Oh, shit.' Pleasure flares through his body like wild-fire, making him cling to your hands and his clamp shut his eyes.

'Look at me.' Your voice is soft, although, if he were to listen close, he'd be able to hear a similar desperation to the one that infests his own. 'D-Denki, look at me.'

He obeys immediately. His gaze is hazy. His focus shattered as he looks from your eyes, to your lips, to where your cunt swallows him and back again.

'Want you to watch.' You whisper, causing his eyes to widen.

Nodding, he lifts his hips, fucking up into you just enough to have you teetering on the edge of bliss. He can feel it, how close you are. It's in the tightness, in the way your cunt squeezes him and pulses. You look like a vision, your skin flushed, with sweat beginning to dew along the line of your collarbones and your eyebrows drawn up making your features stretch with pleasure. His heart stutters in his chest, betraying the swirling emotions that threaten to make this mean a whole lot more than just sex.

''m close.' You stutter over your words, so close to your own end that you can almost taste it, but it isn't until you see the soft mouthing of Kaminari's continued begging that you finally feel yourself hit free-fall. His eyes are glued to yours, making you feel observed and worshipped all at once as the entirety of your body lights up like a sparkler.

Kaminari has seen a lot of great things in his middling twenty-seven years on this planet, but watching you come undone on top of him drops itself clear at the top. Ignoring his own nearing end, he attempts to commit every inch of you to memory as he feels you tumble over the end, once and for all.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Your cunt pulses, thighs and stomach tensing violently as each wave of pleasure threatens to black out your vision. With each ebb, another dull thrust of Kaminari's cock brings back that same crashing pleasure. You're not sure if you cry out, not sure if you call his name – your ears are full of static, your eyes clouded as you remain air born into bliss.

'Did -.' Swallowing around the spit pooled in his mouth, Kaminari still can't pull his eyes away from you. 'Did I do good? Did I?'

Coming back to your body feels strange. There's a lightness in your bones and a burn in your muscles that screams satisfaction, but that still doesn't stop the fire churning in your stomach once your eyes clear enough to see him. He's close to tears, flushed and needy with his hips still grinding up unable to stop as your cunt continues to milk him. Biting into your lip, you reduce yourself to your elbows beside his head and press your chest to his. 'Cum for me... Want you to use me.'

There's no need to tell him twice. Electricity flashes in his eyes as he lifts himself enough to plant his feet square on the mattress and begin fucking up into you. It's desperate, the pace he sets, as is the series of moans that leak from his mouth as he loses himself to the feel of your cunt. 'Feels, fuck – fuck.'

'That's it, baby.' You coo, pressing an uncoordinated kiss just south of his mouth. Overstimulation bites at your insides making your stomach tense as his cock continues to press square over your G-spot, but there's no mistaking the hum of pleasure it continues to force through your body.

It takes barely a handful of stuttering thrusts before there's a gasping 'Where... Fuck, tell me where now Princess, or I'm gonna -.'

'Inside.' You moan, the idea alone making your mind reel. 'Please, fuck. Cum inside me, please.'

'Yeah...' He nods, huffing. 'Yeah, shit, okay.' His hands find their way down to the small of your back when he cums. His palms spread there, pressing down to ensure he's as deep as possible when he finally begins to fill you. Thick and white, he spills inside you, his cock pulsing as he quakes through the last of his orgasm.

Lifting your head, you blink at him as he slowly comes back to himself. There's a warmth floating in your stomach and a subtle ache in your muscles that you're sure will only feel better in the morning, but that matters a lot less when you lock eyes with him again.

He blinks, disbelief and joy mixing on his features as he mumbles: 'You let me cum inside you.'

'I did.'

'You -.'

'Yeah.'

'Holy shit.'

'You liked it?'

'No-one has never, no-one has...'

You hum and lean in to press only the softest of kisses to his cheek. ''m glad I did. You did so well...' Sitting up, you let your hands roam over your stomach and the fat that lives there. 'Filled me so good.'

Many things flicker through his mind then, none of them savoury. The way you're sat, straight with a subtle curve to your spine, makes your stomach stick out slightly. So much so, that if he where to squint and let his mind wander, he could almost believe that you were... Kaminari's cock twitches.

'Are you getting hard again?' You cock an eyebrow.

He swallows. 'Maybe?'

'Because of?..'

This time, he has the decency to blush, but he doesn't dare lie. He nods, biting down on his lower lip. 'I think I just discovered a new kink?'

'Hmm.' Purring, you rock your hips against him and feel his cock give another valiant twitch. 'Maybe you should breed me again, just to make sure it took, then?'

Kaminari short circuits. His eyes shimmer in the dark, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest as he tries to calm himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders just what the Hell he did to ever catch your eye.

'Would you like that?'

Sitting up, he wraps his arms around you before twisting and tossing you back to the mattress. He looms over you, an elbow beside your shoulder as his other hand travels down your body and graces the mound of your cunt to play with your clit. Lingering there for a moment, he slips lower and collects the spend that has leaked from you with his fingers before gently pushing it back inside you. 'Yeah...'

Curling his fingers, he makes you arc off the bed as he rubs at your G-spot. 'I'd like that a lot.'

Denki rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns. There's a pleasant ache in his limbs when he stretches his arms above his head, his toes pointing underneath the duvet as he rocks his head back on his pillow.

His movement jostles you, causing you to open your eyes and squint against his smile.

'You're still here.' He beams.

You respond as if it's obvious, as if there wasn't any remote possibility of you leaving in the middle of the night. 'I am.' Wriggling closer to him, you ignore the dampness still lingering between your thighs from an entire night spent together and lift your leg over his knee.

It still feels surreal as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and uses his thumb to stroke at the skin there, carving unknowable shapes into your muscle. He's longed for this, for you, for longer than he can remember and yet, if he had only seen past his own insecurity... Who knows how long he could have indulged in your body for? How long he could have made you moan and made you breakfast and seen what you looked like at seven in the morning when the sun was in your eyes?

'So, do you believe me now?' You blink at him and smile, resting your head against the turn of his collarbone.

'What?'

Running a finger down the cleft of his chest, you tap out a tune against his sternum. 'That I only want you, silly.'

There's no evidence of yesterday's former ignorance lingering on his features when he stares back at you, only the something close to happiness and the faint shimmer of mischief. 'Eh...' Taking your hand from his chest, he lifts it to his mouth and presses a series of kisses across your knuckles.

The gesture makes you giggle, but before you can lose yourself to his sweetness, he's twisting your hand and pressing your palm to his skin once more. You let him guide you, letting him encourage you down over his chest and past his stomach. You let him push onward, even when you already know exactly where he's heading.

'I think I might need more evidence.' He mumbles as your fingers slip through his pubic hair and make his skin tingle. Already his cock his half hard and swelling fast, just at the mere thought of your hand wrapping around it.

'Yeah, you think so, huh?' Biting your lip, you wait until the breath catches in the back of his throat to stop his onward march.

He swallows.

Sitting up on an elbow, you tilt your head and press a kiss to his mouth, before whispering against his lips. 'Then, maybe my mouth will be better at convincing you...'

-> Masterlist

[unspeakable-imagination]

Cigar Smoke and Sleepless Nights || Part 6

My asks are open and my masterlist is here

Cw:blood, use of tabacco and alcohol, cursing, canon-typical violence, mentions of anxious tendencies and behaviors

Ik it's short, sorry not sorry

You winced as you woke up, blinking slowly and powering at the slit through the blackout curtains. The sun was falling just below the forests horizon. Rolling to your side and using your elbow to prop yourself up, you grunted. Your head throbbed and your spare hand put pressure on your brows while you pushed yourself completely up.

"Fuck," your brows knitted and you tried to roll the tension out of your neck and shoulders, pushing your head from one side to the other till you heard your vertebrae crack. You released a breath you hadn't realized you'd even been holding and slipped your legs out from the covers onto the cool wooden floor.

Your shoulders and legs were still a bit stiff, but you made do, going about your waking routine.

It wasn't to long before you were down in the dim light of one of the kitchen lamps, leaning over the counter while making yourself a cup of tea. Your jacket was tied around your waist, ready for when you stepped outside for your smoke break. When your tea was ready, you tossed the sache and made your way to the little smoke spot that you'd designated outside.

You used one hand at a time, shifting your mug back and fourth while you'd got your jacket on and when you opened the door, you noticed Logan, leaned against the wall like he was last time you'd seen him here.

You nodded, silently acknowledging his presence before finding your place on the opposite side of the door. You fidgeted with some loose thread in the pocket of your jacket with your free hand before you opened the carton to pull out a cigarette and put it between your lips before you went fishing for your lighter. When you found the smooth zippo, you flicked it open with a clean "Snikt" and tried to light your cig, sparking the flint a couple times before you remembered that you didn't buy lighterfluid.

"Fuck," you murdered and turned to Logan, who was already staring at you. You moved closer, passing the door till you were just a few feet apart. "Can I borrow a light? I realize I forgot to buy fluid when we were in town. I'm really sorry."

He only grunted in a response, a nod shortly after as he leaned down, pressing the tip of his cigar to your cigarette. You caught on quick and took a drag that was able to light the tiny cancer stick between your lips and you fulled away from the ember end of his blunt. "Thanks," you muttered, retreating back to your side of the door. You hadn't realized that you were turning red, and not from the cold flushing your face.

You'd finally eaten your normal protein- meatbased breakfast after rummaging through the fridge and made it to the gym. You were spending some of your time working out in physical combat against the punching bags, using whatever core strength you could to beat your growing fresturation out on it.

You'd been increasingly growing antsy. You hadn't been able to use your fox in awhile, which stressed you're mind and body out eternally, and that was making you more skittish. Not to mention the lack of socialization, aside from going to the store only 12 hours prior. You'd hardly had a real conversation since you moved into the mansion and room refuge. You felt like clawing your eyes out.

You stilled at stopped your attacks on the bag when you smelled the familiar scent of blood and looked at your knuckles. Red was seeping through your skin and you nearly cringed. Now that you were of more sound mind and not ripping your skin off, the sight of your blood made you feel mildly disturbed. You hadn't meant to hurt yourself. Usually, you'd stop before you got to this pijt so you could develop good, strong callouses.

"Great," you said under your breath. You laced every word with sarcasm and furrowed your brows, walking to one of the aid-kits attached to the wall. You opted the tin open and grabbed a handful of band-aids and a roll of pressure tape.

You scurried to one of the benches and took care to place a bandaid on each of the four bubbling areas before wrapping your fist in tape. You had just finished your first hand when you picked up on the car door opening and the smell of adamantium, tabacco, and liquor invade your sensitive nose. Your face involuntary scrunched and you lifted your head to face Logan.

His eyes zeroed in on your bloodied knuckles as soon as he caught the scent of your blood, then be glanced up at you. Your eyed met, but briefly. He looked away and beeline towards one of the far end heavy bags hanging on chains.

You stopped watching him and focused back on your less-dominant hand, patching it like the other. After only a few minutes you were done, and decided it was best not to use your sore hands against the bag no more.

Maybe, it was time to go clean up some. So, you left the gym and went to go do your normal janitorial work in the hallways.

[little-emerald-snake]

Smutmas Day 16

“My parents are home!” “Then I guess you’ll have to be quiet.” - Sebastian Sallow X F!MC

🔥NSFW 🔞 MDNI

576 words

Warnings: unprotected p-in-v

Sebastian had crawled up the lattice below her window, pleased that she’d opened up after hearing the smaller raps of his knuckles against the glass pane.

Upon helping him inside and kissing him deeply she whisper-yelled to him. “Why are you here? You can’t be here right now. My parents are home!”

He chuckled softly, pulling her close and walking her backwards toward her bed while placing one hand around her waist and another behind her neck. “Then I guess you’ll have to be quiet, hm?”

The backs of her knees hit her mattress as he carefully lowered her down, climbing on top of her and kissing her passionately.

One of her hands slid its way into his hair while her other went to his chest. His lips worked their way down to her neck, causing her to gasp slightly. He nipped gently which caused her head to tip back.

He made quick work of their clothes, and finally with no layers between them he slotted himself between her legs, biting his lip while sliding inside of her.

He fully bottomed out inside of her, letting out a heavy breath in her ear. She moaned in response and he held his palm over her mouth. “Shh, careful darling. Don’t want your father to come up here and catch me balls deep inside of you, do you?”

She clenched around him, causing him to bite gently into her shoulder to stifle a groan. He thrusted into her, groaning at the tightness gripping around him.

She always felt good but since it had been a while away from each other she was oh so tight around him. He bucked into her, flinching when the bed creaked below them.

She adjusted them a little to the side as breathy moans left her mouth. The squeak disappeared and his teeth left her shoulder. “Oh, Merlin. Your pussy is so fucking tight. I-I’m not gonna last long.”

She sighed in pleasure, reaching between them to roll her finger over the sensitive bud of her clit. She let out a small gasp, tightening around him again. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he held himself up on his elbows, frantically trying to hold himself back from orgasm while plowing his hips into her.

She tipped her head back, eyes rolling back as her heels dug into his lower back. He felt her tighten impossibly around him and groaned as low as he could against her sweat slicked skin. “Gonna fill you so full…”

After coming down from the high they laid in her bed, tangled up in each other till she heard her mothers voice from downstairs calling her for dinner. Her eyes widened as she shot up from bed, frantically throwing on clothes.

She turned to Sebastian who was still laying in her bed, naked under her sheets. He looked up at her with a smirk and she shook her head. “No, you can’t stay up here during dinner. Y-you have to go…”

He shook his head, grinning mischievously. “No I don’t think I will. I think I’ll wait right here and when you’re done eating I’m going to fuck you again. Longer this time, like you deserve.”

She turned very red, throwing on a sweater before leaving her room to head down to dinner. Sebastian crossed his arms behind his head with a wide grin on his face as he relaxed back onto her pillows.