#and that little night alone was not happenstance

[skimmingmilk]

can’t put time on hold (my arms are full)

Sonic had never considered it before.

The life he’d led thus far had been a bit unconventional, to be fair, so when it came to certain sentiments—especially those of parents—Sonic could freely admit he was a good deal in the dark and content to be there. Not much applied as far as he was concerned, especially at this point in his (and Tails’s) lives, so he didn’t ever go out of his way to engage in those kinds of conversations.

It was only by pure happenstance that one of his runs took him past a park in Seaside City, where a small group of mothers were chatting. He’d paused at the proverbial water cooler, a park drinking fountain to get a sip of water before he continued on his way, but his ears twitched as he picked up their rather boisterous conversation from where they sat clustered on a nearby bench. 

“You know what Notch said to guilt trip me the other day?” a finch mobian was saying. “That eventually you’ll pick up your child for the last time and you won’t even know it.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that one before,” a sheep mother laughed. “I’ve offered to carry Linen, but she just brushes me off and tells me I’m embarrassing her. She’s six.”

“No,” a monkey mother clutched at her heart. “That’s so sad! I can’t imagine not carrying my little ones around with me. Simone still climbs on my back every chance she gets.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” the finch told her. “If your kid doesn’t make you stop sooner or later, then your back definitely will.”

Sonic snorted, nearly getting water up his nose in the process. He wiped his muzzle off with his forearm, an amused brow arched as he glanced over at the mothers commiserating over the passage of time and their kids growing up. What a thing to fuss about. It was just the nature of the world. Growth and change were part of living life to the fullest, and all anyone could do was roll with the punches and try to keep up. 

Shaking his head, Sonic sped off to finish the rest of his run, then made a pit stop to pick up some takeout on his way back to the Central City workshop—his and Tails’s current base of operations. While in line for chili dogs, he stood behind a family of fennec foxes, a dad with his two kids in tow. The little one was balanced on the dad’s hip, only to be set down when he needed to get his wallet out to pay for their food. The older brother glanced down as the younger started fussing, quietly shushing them. Turning their big-eyed stare on the older brother, the little one lifted their arms in a silent request to be picked back up. Though the older brother rolled his eyes, he crouched down and scooped up the kid anyway, letting them cling to his front with a long-suffering sigh.

“You’re getting a little too big for this, aren’t ya, keed?”

“Oh, but I can keep going, Sonic! I’m not tired yet, honest!”

“Heh, oh yeah? Tell that to your tails, Tails!”

Sonic’s brow furrowed as he watched the fennec fox family get their food and leave, the older brother eventually trading his younger sibling for the bag of food so their dad could take over. The frown remained as the bell over the door rang and Sonic stepped up to the counter to give his order, rattling it off from sheer muscle memory alone while his mind wandered elsewhere.

When was the last time he’d picked up Tails?

Probably to put him to bed after catching him asleep at his desk in the Mystic Ruins workshop, but it had admittedly been a while since that had happened. Not because Tails’s sleeping habits had improved—more like they’d worsened—but he was better at keeping himself awake late into the night and Sonic had been away traveling a lot more lately. A lot more… 

Sometimes he’d pick him up to get him out of danger in a fight, but it had been a while since anything like that had happened, too. Tails was usually careful and Sonic was usually fast enough to just bust up whatever was putting him at risk. Or he’d grab him by the wrist and drag him out of harm’s way if it really came down to it. He remembered carrying him plenty during his transformations into the werehog, but that had been months ago at this point.

Had it really been months since he’d picked Tails up?

It wasn’t like he needed to be—kid was eight, nearly nine, after all—but a dense pit in his stomach dragged down his entire mood at the thought that Tails was like one of the kids those moms were talking about. Not because he was growing up; heck, nothing was more exciting than seeing all the ways his little bro changed every day. No, it was because it had already happened to him. 

Tails’s parents—whoever they were and wherever they’d gone—put him down one day and never picked him up again. Whatever safety, comfort, and love came from being held by someone he was supposed to trust had been lost to him long before Sonic had ever met him. And one day it would happen again. 

One day he’d be set down for the last time and never picked back up.

The thought stayed with him all the way back to the workshop, frown still etched onto his face as he stood in the doorway to Tails’s lab. He watched him tinker at his work table, music playing from the surround sound speakers hooked up throughout the workshop. His legs still kicked back and forth where they dangled in the air, much like they had when he’d been little, and his teeth still gnawed little indents into the end of his pencil as he hummed along to the melody, deep in concentration.

Until that concentration was promptly shattered.

“Woah!” Tails yelped, suddenly finding himself hoisted in the air from behind, pencil falling to the floor. “Sonic! What gives? Lemme go!”

Both of Sonic’s arms wrapped around Tails’s middle. The bag of takeout abandoned on the floor somewhere behind him, so he could focus entirely on holding his little brother. His squirmy, huffy, unamused little brother. 

“Just checking something,” Sonic chuckled, resting his brow at the nap of Tails’s neck as the crease that had been embedded there finally faded away.

The fight left Tails as confusion replaced indignation. “Sonic?” He craned his neck back to try and check on him.

“Eh, don’t mind me.” Sonic tilted his head up and grinned shamelessly. “Knuckles just bet me that I wasn’t strong enough to carry you anymore. Had to prove him wrong!” 

Tails rolled his eyes. “You interrupted my work to manhandle me because of a bet with Knuckles?”

“Well, yeah! My credibility as your big bro was on the line!”

“What credibility? It’s not like this is something you still need to be able to do. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“Don’t I know it.” Sonic finally set him down, but he couldn’t keep from ruffling the fur between his ears. “Just means I’ll have to keep getting stronger, huh? Keep pace with ya! Trade in one of my leg days for arm days maybe. Or combine ‘em! Heh, I can carry you around while I run up the walls.”

Tails batted his hand away. “What are you even talking about? You don’t need to do that. Actually, please don’t do that.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! Used to carry you like that all the time when you were just a little guy! You’d practically beg me to whisk you around at top speeds!”

“Are you trying to embarrass me on purpose?” Tails grumbled, stooping down to pick up his fallen pencil.

“Aw, what’s there to be embarrassed about? And, heck, you still carry me around when I need a lift. That's part of our whole teamwork thing. How’s what I’m doing any different?”

“Because it’s actually useful for you from a tactical standpoint. You can’t fly. Having me carry you can be a strategic advantage in various circumstances. But I don’t need you to carry me, especially if it's just to use me as dead weight. There are plenty of more efficient ways for you to strength train that don’t involve lugging me around like a sack of potatoes.” Tails pointed out, jabbing the lead point of his pencil at Sonic. 

Sonic’s grin wavered. “I guess. Sure.”

“Besides, if you’re looking for volunteers, I bet Amy’ll be more than willing.”

“Yeah…”

“Or ask Knuckles since you’re so eager to prove to him how strong you are,” Tails scoffed, hopping back onto his chair. “Heck, you can just carry around weights or a giant rock or an actual sack of potatoes and you’d get the same results.” With a shake of his head, he turned his back on him. “Sometimes your competitiveness can really blind you to the dozens of more logical options that don’t involve dragging me into whatever show you’ve gotta put on. But congratulations, I guess. You win. If Knuckles asks, I’ll let him know you sure showed him.”

Sonic rubbed the back of his quills, glancing away. “No, that’s not… I just made that up on the spot, bud, I wasn’t—” He cut himself off with a wince when Tails turned to look at him. “There was no bet with Knuckles. I just wanted to pick you up.”

Tails stared at him. “And you didn't just say that because…?”

Sonic’s ears lowered. “While I was on my run, I overheard this conversation. About how everyone gets put down one day as a kid and never picked up again. Just got me thinking, that’s all. Couldn’t remember the last time I carried you.”

“Seriously?” Tails arched his brow in disbelief, but at least whatever irritable storm clouds that had been hanging over his head cleared up and an amused grin stretched his muzzle. “Jeez. Since when did you get so sappy?”

Sonic shrugged half-heartedly, still refusing to look at him as he crossed his arms. Embarrassment prickled along his spine, but it paled in comparison to the sting of rejection. Maybe this was what those mothers meant. It wasn’t so much the growing up that hurt as it was the growing apart. Not that they didn’t need you anymore, but that they didn’t want you either. 

A heavy sigh broke the silence, then Tails hopped out of his seat to stand in front of him again. “Two weeks ago.”

One of Sonic’s ears swiveled towards him. “Huh?”

“You picked me up two weeks ago after I fixed your Extreme Gear,” he sighed, but exasperated fondness was reflected on his face. “You hefted me up on your shoulder and paraded me around the workshop until you tripped and I had to catch you before you fell flat on your face. And a week before that, you picked me up off the couch and carried me to bed when I fell asleep during movie night. I told you I could go to bed by myself and you said, ‘nice try, spaghetti legs. You can’t fool me with those limp noodles ya call limbs.’”

“Heh.” Sonic’s muzzle quirked up, the impersonation of him terrible on purpose. “Yeah, that… that sounds about right.”

Tails’s expression softened as he reassured him, “You haven’t put me down for the last time yet, but if I ever feel like it’s been too long, I’ll let you know.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Sonic immediately brushed it off, the prickle of embarrassment escalating into an all-out itch with the realization that he’d shown too much of his hand. “It’s not that big a deal. Just something that got into my head, that’s all. I bet I won’t even be thinking about it in a few days. Won’t even remember this conversation even happened!”

“Okay, well… what if I don’t think I’m ready for it to have been the last time?” Tails glanced away as he shifted to hold onto one arm; and Sonic could see his little buddy was fighting against every independent instinct in his body to let him know that. The desire to be seen as grown-up and capable always at odds with his too-big heart. “I mean, like I said, I don’t need to be carried or anything, but… sometimes it’s nice.”

Hope reignited in an instant. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tails shrugged, the same jerky motion Sonic had just displayed moments again. “Not as strength training or to prove a point or anything, just sometimes... I dunno. Just feels like I haven’t been forgotten.”

Sonic’s grin grew and for the second time he scooped his little brother up into his arms and held him up off the ground, only this time it got a surprised giggle out of him instead. “That’s ‘cuz you’re unforgettable, little bro!” he declared.

Tails latched onto his shoulders to steady himself, even if he knew Sonic wouldn’t let him fall. “Shut up,” he laughed, removing one hand to playfully bop him on the nose. “I was being serious, you know.”

“So was I.” Sonic stopped his whirlwind to focus on the kid he knew he’d always be able to carry with ease. “I know you don’t need it, too, but you’re right. It is nice sometimes.”

“Finally, we’re on the same page again,” Tails snickered. “And about time, too. Our lunch is probably getting cold.”

He pointed at the takeaway bag still sitting on the floor and Sonic’s smile turned sheepish. “Whoops. Eh, I’m sure it’s fine.” He gave Tails a little bounce as a warning, then tossed him in the air so he could start hovering with a whirl of his tails. “Race ya to the kitchen, spaghetti legs!”

“I’ll make you eat those words!” Tails zoomed after him.

Sonic had never considered the idea that he'd one day put Tails down for the last time before, because there was nothing to consider. He could always count on Tails to have his back and lift him up when he needed it. And as long as he could help it, Sonic would always be there to return the favor. They’d keep changing and growing as time went by, but that was one thing that would remain a constant.

One thing they’d never have to doubt.

---

A/N: This is just a little something I wrote a while back that I've been sitting on, lol. These kinds of fics are always fun to play out, but they definitely feel like shameless indulgence on my part xD But it's been a minute and the fic I was hoping to have done this week isn't ready yet, so thought this would be a cute, silly thing to have in the meantime. Might put this on AO3 in the Little Gestures set? Since Sonic needed the reassurance here a bit more than Tails, lol. But we'll see!

[voxmortuus]

⇘ PAIRING:⇙ Dom!Benny Cross x Sub!F!Reader

⇘ UNIVERSE:⇙ The Bikeriders

⇘ WORD COUNT:⇙ 3k

⇘ SUMMARY:⇙ Seems you've found yourself in a rather unique situation. You've known Benny for a long while, but you always felt a little out of his league, whatever league that may be, it just didn't feel like you were good enough for him. The thing is, you're just what he's looking for. You've got a lot of love to give, a heart on your sleeve, and a loyalty that is stronger than a dog. He wants you, but he wants you specifically. He wants you to be his old lady, he wants you to be his ride or die. Once he gets you alone though, the patches stay on, and things get a little far from vanilla.

⇘ TRIGGER WARNINGS:⇙ Fluff | Language | Smoking | Smut | Some BDSMesque Scenes | Dom!Benny | Kissing | Face Smacking | Boot on Face | Hair Pulling | Fingering | Hand job | Oral (M) | Face fucking | Guided Masturbation | Benny Masturbating | Begging | Facial | These are in no particular order! PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this…

⇘ NOTES:⇙ I hope this brings you some joy.

⇘ DIVIDER CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa

⇘ IMAGE CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa

⇘ My Master Masterlist ⇙

Was it happenstance, or was it planned that he happened to show up today? Handing the beer over the counter, you lean against the bar, and you smile the sweetest smile you've got in you.

"Well shit, if it ain't Benny Cross. How long has it been?" You asked. Benny looked up at you as he walked in, giving you that same crooked grin he always walked around with. He gave a slight chuckle.

"Well, no shit. It's been, what, almost 7 years?" He asked you. You nod your head and chuckle a bit.

"Yeah, somethin' like that." you smirk and look down at the bar top.

It had been what feels like forever. It feels like you haven't seen him in ages, and truth be told, it had been ages. Seven whole ages, as a matter of fact. Smirking, he looks over you as he approaches the bar. Looking over his face, you smile, and a soft blush graces your cheeks, causing you to feel warm. Letting out a soft, shaky breath, you glance around, realizing that no one else was there in the bar, but you knew that wasn't going to last too long. How do you even say what you think you need to say. You groan, and you sigh and decide not to say anything.

As the night went on, the two of you mingled and caught up. He learned quite a bit about you, just as much as you learned about him. You learned quite a bit, and he learned just as much. However, you learned something that he didn't tell you either, he had always liked you. Well fuck. Upon closing up the bar, you look at him and shake your head.

"Benny, I've always had a thing for you. I always thought you were too good for me. Outta my fuckin league." you state honestly.

Benny stopped and stared at you. "Outta my league? No, no. I felt you were outta mine. Let me ask you this... you still want me?"

"I've always wanted you... that never changed, never after all these years." you admit.

He looks at you and runs his hand over his face. Nodding his head, he looks back toward the door. Looking back at you, he walks to the door and locks it. "Come here." he points to the ground in front of him.

Lifting a well-manicured and well-defined brow, you walk to him and stand in front of him. You look over that face, that handsome, perfectly chiseled face, and you lose yourself all over again. Why? Why, when you are around him, he makes you feel so... weak. He makes you feel so... dead-brained.

Walking to you, he sticks a finger under your chin and forces you to look up at him. A thought crosses his mind, an urge.

"I want you to prove to me how much you want me." He tells you, his voice drops an octave as he watches you.

"How do you want me to do that Benny? Just say the word and you got it." You state.

"Strip, then lay flat, face down on the floor." He states.

Okay, so that was NOT what you had expected. Blinking a few times, you don't hesitate, and you do just that. Stripping down, you fold your clothes and place them to the side, and you lower yourself to the floor. Biting your lower lip, you listen as he paces around you, observing you, taking in your figure, your heartbeat picks up in anticipation as you watch his boots come into view, and he stops and looks down at you.

Benny lights a cigarette and takes a long drag from it. Watching you as you lay there, he runs his free hand through his hair and then over his facial hair for a moment. Smirking, he takes a few steps closer to you and kneels down a moment, a hand dangling between his legs.

"So, you've gone this whole time not sayin anything. All because you felt I was out of your league... You know Darlin' if you had said anything, you may have learned a thing or two about how I felt. Maybe you need to be punished for that, huh? Teach you how to speak your mind? Make you beg for my attention now?" he stated.

Why did that make your cunt tingle? Make you hot? And why the fuck did that sound like such a good idea coming from him? You nod softly.

"No, I want you to say it." He stated firmly as he took a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke bellow above him as he exhaled.

"Yes. Punish me, teach me to speak my mind... make me... beg." You state. Your eyes look at his boots, and your fingers press into the floor as they are stretched out to your sides.

Standing up, he looks ahead of him, out the window of the bar, and smirks. He leans against the pool table, thinking of ways to punish you. Looking at your figure as you are sprawled out against the floor, so many things come to mind.

Standing back up from leaning, he pushes himself from the pool table and walks to you. He places his right boot on the side of your head. Not stepping, but applying just enough pressure for it to feel -- oddly comfortable. Your fingers press into the floor as you gasp. Why are you feeling this right now? Feeling these... feelings push through your thoughts. You bite your lip, and you let out a slow breath.

"Now, I've been thinking, since walking into this place, since we started talking, reminiscing about the past. I have been thinking about how things could go. About how we could have been together this whole time. But now, now I see the kind of girl you really are. I won't lie, Darlin'... kinda revs me up a bit. Eager to please." he mused a moment.

Looking down at you, he tilts his head, a sight for sore eyes, and fuck did he enjoy the view. Licking his lips, he took another drag from his smoke before he reached over to a close by table and tapped the ashes into an ashtray he had. With your head under his boot, he looks over the rest of your body. Leaning over with a smoke between his lips, his fingers run down the length of your spine. Feeling your flesh under his fingers.

"Soft to the touch." he pointed out.

Standing back up, he moved away from you, leaving you to bite your lip and almost ask for more. But instead, he reached down, grabbed your hair, and moved you to a standing position. You guided yourself with ease, and there was this deeper part of you that also enjoyed that. "What is wrong with me?" you asked yourself.

Moving you to sit in a chair, he spreads your legs apart. Looking over you, he licks his lips.

"Hands on your thighs, don't move them." He demands.

You nod in agreement. He wasn't going to demand the 'Sir' word just yet, but holy fuck was he going to enjoy it when it happened.

"Now I'm going to ask you a question, either say yes or say no. It's that simple. Got it?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Good. I'm going to hurt you, but it's not because I want to hurt you, it's because well... I want to see you in a different light, and because I enjoy it. Do you consent?" he looks over your face.

Taking a moment to understand, you've read some raunchy trashy books, so you knew not to compare the two, you weren't that naïve. You draw in a breath and you nod. "Yes. I consent." you finally state.

With a smirk across his lips, he nods. "Good girl. So long I've wanted to do this to you." He stated as he put his smoke out.

Walking behind the bar, he went to wash his hands, took a swig off a whiskey bottle, and made his way back toward you. Standing in front of you, he tilts his head. With a firm hand, he looks at you and throws it across your face. At first, you gasp, you close your eyes, your head whipped to the side. You whimper, not sure how to feel about it. You look to the ground, but he takes your chin and forces you to look back at him, and he smiles. Giving you a wink, and that's when you feel this sense of calm wash over you. It's like this switch was flipped in your mind. Submissive mode on... more so than before.

You didn't dislike the feeling on your skin, a hot sting. He brought his hand back, and it met your face again. Quickly moving to grab your chin, he leaned in and kissed your lips softly.

"Atta girl." he praised.

You felt this bubble of excitement rise inside you. It was this rush that moved through your veins like a hot liquid. Bubbling at the surface, wanting more.

"More, please." You ask.

He was happy to oblige. A little harder, be clipped your lip, but you didn't mind. The coppery taste on your tongue was sort of pleasant, a welcomed gift. You smile looking up at him. He looked at you, almost worried, but yet oddly calm. He smirked, leaning in he kissed you again, nipping at your now swollen lip. You feel your lower lips clench and quiver with want. Your breath was shaky against his lips.

His hand moves down your torso, moving to grip a breast before his hand moves down your apex right to your core. Your breath, staggered, your heart, pounding, your mind, stupid. You clench your lower walls and bite your lip, watching him, feeling him, desiring and needing him. You whimper. His fingers hover, and the heat from his flesh kisses your warm, swollen, needy bud.

When he finally brings his fingers to touch you, you gasp. You lock eyes with him, studying his baby blues as he begins to work your little swollen bundle of nerves. His free hand moves to jerk your head back by pulling your hair, as he hovers over you. His legs pressed against yours spreading your legs further as he worked you, exposing you to the pool table behind him.

But it was when he slid his fingers into you that your mind went more stupid. You let out a heavy moan as your eyes flutter, feeling his fingers work you. Leaning back in the chair, you let him take complete control, as he desired, and your body was no longer your own, and you were far from upset with that idea.

His fingers were like magic, but suddenly that all came to a stop. He looks at you, holding his fingers up as he looks at you. Bringing them to his lips he placed them in his mouth and smirked.

"Finger lickin good... Now... show me what you do with that pussy of yours when you think of me, because let's face it, Darlin, with all you've admitted, I know you've thought about me." He smirked as he moved back to lean against the pool table.

Looking at you he watches intently. Your hand moves to your bud as you slowly begin to work yourself. You watch him, intently, watching how he moves, how he breathes, how his lips curl with that crooked grin of his. You begin to remember how his lips tasted, how they felt against yours, how his fingers felt playing with you. You whimper as you bring your other hand up to grip your breast. Your breathing becomes heavy and you watch as the front of his pants grow tight.

Biting your lip you tasted the blood but your focus was on him.

"Atta girl, slow down, not too fast." he guides.

He readjusts against the pool table as he undoes his pants, freeing himself, he begins to stroke himself slowly. You slow down a bit, your toes curl against the floor as your legs spread even wider giving him a full view as you scoot forward a bit and expose your whole self even more.

"Just like that, keep going. What crosses your mind when you think of me?" he asked you.

Letting out a whimper you look over him as he strokes himself right in front of you. Dear fuck, his cock is god damned perfect.

"What you would feel like inside me." You state honestly with a soft whimper.

"What I'd feel like inside you huh? Well, maybe if you're a good girl, you'll find out." He mused as he moved his hand a little quicker against his cock. "Pick up a little speed." He demanded.

Without a shadow of hesitation, your fingers begin to work yourself quicker. You moan a little louder. His hand works himself faster, a little harder. He grunts, you whimper. It's a tandem of back and forth, a perfect give and take.

It feels like a lifetime, but a lifetime you'd never give back. He sees how wet you are, how you're beginning to drip off the edge of the chair. He snarls and walks to you, taking you by your hair he guides you to the floor and slips his cock between your lips, pressing to the back of your throat. He lets out a heavy groan.

Like a good girl, you take all of his cock, your tongue swirling around as he uses you like a little sex doll, fucking your face. He pulls you back, strings of spit from your mouth to his cock still connected as he slaps you across the face and shoves his cock down your throat again. Your eyes water and your breathing through your nose becomes heavy, and he does it again. Pulls you from his cock, slaps your face and brings your mouth back to his cock, and proceeds to fuck your throat and mouth, his grip on your hair tight it pulls at your scalp. Your moans and whimpers echo and vibrate through him and you as he uses your head to pleasure himself.

"Finger yourself." He snarls

You begin to do just that, your fingers working yourself as your mouth is being used. He smirks looking down at you before he's had enough of using your face he throws you back onto the floor and stands over you.

"Keep going." He demands.

And you do, you don't question him.

"Yes Sir." You state. Again, no question.

He's officially lost all control, at this point you both have. He works his cock faster, and you're watching every bit of it while you're moaning loudly just slightly below him as you work your bud, driving your fingers as deep as you can, feeling your wetness. You want to finish, you're right there, you almost cannot contain that hot explosion between your legs.

"No girl, you gotta beg for that finish." He states.

"Please, please let me cum" You plead.

He shakes his head. "Not yet... keep going... faster." He demands.

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you work yourself faster, you arch slightly your toes curled under you. You're rocking back and forth your hips buckle.

"Please... please Sir... I want to cum. Can I please. Please." You beg.

He looks down at you as he works his cock, and he feels his own eruption on the rise. He looks down at you and smirks.

"Open up." He states.

Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out flat and you begin to taste those hot wet ribbons as he releases against your tongue, and over your face.

"Come on... Cum for me." He growls as he continues his facial finish.

You let out a heavy moan, a loud breathy gasp as your body begins to tremble. His cock tapped against your tongue as if saying he was finished with his finish. He watches you shake, almost a pleasure convulsion. You begin to giggle, swallowing what was in your mouth, and cleaning up your face. Licking it from your fingers.

"Thank you." you muse.

He looks over you and smiles. "No, thank you." he chuckles as he puts himself away.

Moving toward you, he scoops you up places you on the pool table, and looks over your face. He moves a moment and grabs a bottle of water from the bar fridge, and a clean, rag, getting it cool, he moves back toward you. Wiping your face, and neck, he starts to wipe you off and smiles handing you the water bottle.

"So I have a question." He states.

"Yes Sir?" you ask.

"How about you be my Old Lady... my ride or die... my one and only. My little pet... my little pain slut... my girl." He asked you looking over your face.

You look up at him, and this sense of perfection washes over you as you lean forward and kiss him sweetly. "I've waited a long time for that..."

"So is that a yes?" he asks with a smirk.

Nodding your head you chuckle place your arms around him and pull him in for another kiss. "That's a Yes." you whisper against his lips.

Smirking he presses his lips against yours and wraps his arms around you. Holding you tightly against him he leans back and looks over your face.

"Now, how about I take you back to my place, and show you how I feel inside you..." he smirked.

Nodding your head you chuckle. "Yes please, Sir." you whisper against his lips.

He kisses you again, and helps you get dressed before he takes you to his bike, hands you a helmet, and takes off in the direction of his place.

Everything that happened today, it felt like a dream, but this dream was one you'd remember. Only it wasn't a dream. This was real, and you were about to unlock a new chapter in your life.

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch 3: The Wheels of Fate Started to Turn

Previous | Next | Ao3

MDNI

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

You feel sick when you wake. Muscles weak and body shaky. It takes more effort than you would like to peel your eyes open. You haven’t sat under a UV lamp in a while and it’s starting to show. The cocoon of sheets feels so good you don’t want to get up, to peel yourself away from them.

You realize Johnny and Kyle are gone as you sit up, all alone in the center of the massive bed. The room feels darker without them, somehow. Emptier. You roll over to climb off the bed, interrupted by the sound of paper crinkling under you. You feel around the mattress only to find a thick envelope with ‘Fancy’ neatly written across the front. As you open it, your breath catches in your throat at the contents. It’s nearly double what they said they’d pay. More than you could have ever hoped for. It makes your hands shake to hold that much money all at once. Once the shock wears off, a folded up piece of paper catches your eye.

Hey lovie,

Sorry to take off without saying goodbye. Had some business to attend to. Figured we should let you sleep. Hope you won’t be too mad ;)

We left a little extra for spending the night. Nothing like cuddling up next to a soft, warm lady.

Let’s do it again soon.

Kyle + Johnny

The handwriting changes to a messy scrawl that you have to squint to make out.

P.S. You look bonnie in my shirt. Gonnae be thinking about that all day. Feel free to take it with you.

P.S.S. I want it back unwashed.

You can’t help but snicker to yourself. Damn dirty dog.

You have no reason to deny him, though. So you slip the t-shirt on over your dress as you get ready to leave. The dress feels far too constrictive for the early morning. This is why you don’t do nights - walking out looking like a mess in the itchy day old clothes. You give up looking for your panties which seem to have evaporated, not too keen on putting them back on anyway.

Before you can tip-toe your way out to the front door, you find yourself pausing. The kitchen light is on, illuminating a figure working over the stove. Curiosity gets the better of you and you circle around the counter to see John sorting ingredients in nothing but a loose pair of sweatpants. Strong, nicely hairy chest on full display.

And they call you and slut.

“Good morning.” He flashes you a bright smile. Of course he noticed you. He probably smelled you before he even heard you leave the bedroom.

“Sorry… I, uh, didn’t mean to intrude.” You mumble awkwardly.

“No, no. I was hoping you’d stop f’me. My boys treat you alright?” He eyes your shirt.

Being asked that a second time throws you off. Why the hell do they care so much? “They did.”

“Good. Good.” He smiles warmly. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

You scoff. “You? No offense but I’d rather take my chances with the nearest dumpster.”

“Contrary to popular belief, some of us remember how to cook.”

You glance at the half-dozen cart of eggs and perfectly fresh vegetables neatly arranged across the counter. “And you just happened to have human food on hand?”

He pauses. “…I may have had some delivered.”

John turns back to the stove, muttering something under his breath about ‘too smart for her own damn good.’

You pad over beside him to look down at the food, staring at the spread. You point at some red thing you don’t recognize. “What is that?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “The tomato?”

“Tomatoes are purple.” You poke it. “And more squishy.”

You meet his eye and for a brief moment, you think you see pity. Something sad swirling in the blue of his irises. He schools his face back to neutral before you can be sure you saw anything at all.

“Well, hopefully you trust an old codger like me to make you a half-decent omelette.”

You snort, leaning back on the kitchen island. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

You both lapse into silence. He does seem to know what he’s doing - carefully chopping the vegetables and carefully folding the omelette in the pan. Maybe he had a human wife at some point or something. Most likely. That’s not uncommon, especially back in the 21st century. Practically a trend. You tilt your head as you watch him move, brow furrowed. He’s so weird.

What could you have said to them to make them treat you like this? You’re almost afraid to know - that block of time so buried in the recesses of your mind there’s no hope of ever recovering it. That doesn’t mean you haven’t tried since that day, but you know we’ll enough that it never works. You don’t have a single guess as to what it could have been.

Maybe you didn’t say anything. Maybe they’re just weirdly tunnel visioned. Vamps do that often enough - hone in on a target of affection. For any reason from looking like a dead loved one or they just have an enticing scent. Except they’re not usually this… nice. Normally they’d just drain the object of their affection and be done with it. Not ask them to sleep over for the night and cook them breakfast in the morning.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when a plate is set in front of you. It looks… perfect. At least you assume that’s what a good omelette looks like. Nicely golden. It looks alien. Food from another world - another time. You glance up at John as he watches you expectantly. It won’t hurt to entertain him, you suppose. Even if it does end up being shit. You cut a small bite, tentatively bringing it to you your lips. You brace for something awful.

Except it’s incredible. Perfectly cooked and seasoned. You can’t help but let out a content little hum before practically scarfing it down. You haven’t had food like this in… ever, actually. Neither this fresh or well made.

“So you like it?” John smiles.

You nod happily with a mouth full of food before remembering where you are. Steeling yourself and slowing down, returning to the more reserved persona. “It’s good.”

John huffs out a laugh, turning his back to you to clean up. “I’ll drive you home when you’re finished.”

You pause mid bite. “Oh, no, I can take the train-“

“Do you really want t’walk all the way to the depot in those heels?” John cocks an brow, blue eyes dragging from your face, over your body and down your legs. There’s a slow burning intensity in the movement that sends a shiver down your spine.

You stare at him for a moment, uncertain of what to do. The last thing you need is to owe a vampire for anything. They’ll take your debts to the grave. It happened with your neighbor once - you learned early on to be wary of any offer made by one of them. Never make a deal with one of the devils.

“You won’t be indebted for it.” John chuckles as if he can read your damn mind. Maybe he can.

You chew your lip. It’s at least an hour walk to the metro station from here. You don’t want him to see where you live, though. It will ruin the illusion. Images flash through your mind of the craggily walls of your apartment building. The syringes that line the sidewalk. There’s that massive blood stain on the front steps they still haven’t cleaned up after five years.

But then you meet his eyes. They’re so sincere. So bright. Whatever that tug is in your chest that keeps giving into them pulls again. It’s unraveling you, making you insane. Surely that’s it, you’re finally going insane.

“Okay.” It comes out weaker than you’d like.

John grins a though you gave him the greatest gift in history. It makes your face hot - leaves you shifting awkwardly. You’re not used to that much emotion carved into their marble features. This coven is too expressive. It’s putting you on edge, leaving you with your guard up. Against what, though? What’s the point? Shouldn’t you be happy and play into their more excitable nature?

It’s too unfamiliar. Too otherworldly to see human emotion on their god like features.

A cool finger hooks under your chin, lifting your face to meet John’s gaze. “You think too much.”

You scoff and tear your face away from his hand. Thinking keeps you alive. The girls that don’t think don’t survive past their teens. You have to be smart to stay alive here. To even have a hope of keeping up with creatures who contain centuries of knowledge and experience. Who are so far ahead in the race the best you can do is limp along in the dust.

A valet pulls the car around. John changed into jeans and half zip sweater. You would die before admitting to the small bit of disappointment at him donning a shirt. You expect the black SUV from the night before to pull up. Instead, you’re met with a basic sedan. It’s still nice - obviously new. The seats are a soft, well cared for leather.

“So is this what you do? Invite prostitutes over for omlettes and tea and then drive them home?” You blurt as John starts the car. That itch to dissect their thought processes continues to plague the back of your mind.

“Tea?” He repeats, a brow raised.

“Simon made me tea last night.”

John laughs. “Kyle really did fuck your throat raw, then?”

You whirl on him, eyes wide.

“Don’t act so surprised. Johnny can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Said you took it beautifully.” John sighs. “Bit jealous I didn’t get to watch the show. A good cigar and whiskey in hand? The perfect night, I think. Might have to recreate it…”

That last bit sounds more for him than for you.

You shouldn’t blush. You’ve been doing this long enough that there’s no reason to blush anymore. You have no right to be flustered over something as simple as sex. It’s the way he says it, you think. The way desire drips from every syllable as though he’s never said anything more true in his immortal life.

You just hide behind a huff and look out the window. “You’re all very weird, you know that?”

“Are we, now?” John rests his elbow on the door and his head on his hand. He weaves through the chaotic city roads expertly.

“You’re too…” You wrinkle your nose, pausing. The word gets lost on your tongue.

“Human?”

“If you say so.”

John chuckles. “You’re just as weird, you know that?”

“I am not weird!” You snap indignantly.

“If you say so.”

You have to do a double take when he pulls up to your apartment. Is it really that fast by car? What was that, ten minutes? The train is a nearly twenty minute ride with two fifteen minute walks. The walk is nearly three hours - two if you take the back way.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, voice dropping to a low drawl. You shake your head to clear it, pulling your respirator out of your coat.

“Don’t you need a-“ You stop when you meet John’s deadpan expression. “Oh, right.”

“Appreciate the concern, love.” He chuckles. It’s a surprisingly warm sound.

You reach for the door, respirator in hand and at the ready. You pause when John lays a hand lightly on your shoulder. Turning back, your eyes meeting his. There’s that storm again. The one he looked at you with before. Something roiling underneath the surface.

“Fancy?”

“Yes?”

“Before you go.” John leans forward. “C’mere.”

You assume he wants a kiss. It wouldn’t surprise you - a little thank you for the ride. Frankly, you should have thought of it first. Instead, he ducks his head to the side at the last moment. His hand tangles gently but firmly in your hair to pull your head to the side, leaving your neck craned and exposed. You freeze. Fear takes over - your heart rate immediately spiking. Your hands fist his coat, pushing as hard as you can against the unmoving mountain that is his body.

“John-“ Your voice cracks. “Please don’t-“

“Need t’ make sure you’re safe…” He mumbles.

A fang catches your skin. You freeze.

It drags across your neck, down the arch of your artery. You suck in a hear breath, the skin not quite breaking under the touch. Before you can speak or begin pushing again or even try to get out of the car, he bites down. A yelp escapes you as his teeth slowly sink in - only through the top most layer of skin. Not enough to puncture the artery or even for his other teeth to bite into your skin.

Your whole body shakes. “What’re you-“

John shushes you as he pulls away, eyes locked on the cut he made on your neck. You can feel the wet blood beginning to drip down your neck. His hand stays in your hair, holding you in place. The blue of his irises seems somehow brighter, pupils so narrowed they don’t look to be more than pinpricks. After a few beats he seems satisfied, letting your hair go and sitting back in his seat.

“Just a precaution, love.”The vampire looks you over, eyes suddenly painfully soft again. “Take care of yourself.”

Your eyes flick between his. A cold, rushing fear pumps through your veins. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish before you finally come to your senses, taking the chance to dash out of the car and toward your apartment. Fight or flight pushing away any ability to ask what the fuck that was. By the time you turn around to check behind you, John is far down the street.

You rush to your bathroom mirror, tossing your respirator to the ground as soon as you’re in your front door. It’s not deep. He didn’t even lick up after himself - a thin trail of blood pooling around your clavicle before continuing down. It wasn’t about drinking. You hiss as your fingers lightly test the tender skin.

What the fuck?

He’s a vampire. At the end of the day that’s all he is. No facial expressions or ability to cook will undo that he’s a different creature entirely. Was that what this is about? Reminding you what they are? The power they have? You wouldn’t put it past one of them, the sick fucks. What kind of fool were you to think they’re at all different.

After a shower and finally changing into some pajamas (minus a certain vampire’s tshirt that he will not be getting back) you go to grab your lamp. It doesn’t take long to set up the UV light, just dragging it out of storage and setting up the shade above it so that the rays concentrate downward onto your skin. You slowly sink to the ground. Exhaustion clings to your bones. They feel brittle and heavy simultaneously.

You sigh, curling up under the warm light like a cat. You have to be smart about how long you stay under it - the damn thing runs up the electricity bill like nothing else. Plus, too long under it can cause serious skin damage. As much as you’d rather go without, you’ve seen what happens to those that do.

You half heartedly re-count out the envelope of money, still feeling overwhelmed at the sheer amount of it. At the whole situation at hand. You realize quickly enough that despite having the money to do almost anything you don’t actually… know what to do. Despite the plan being to save up and get out of the slums you never really planned for what to do once you were out of the slums.

The realization that you never truly believed you could do it, even unconsciously, is a little heartbreaking.

Do you keep working at the club? Hope that these clients like you enough to keep up with your new lifestyle? Pray that they enjoy fucking you for long enough to save up? Do you even want to see them after what John just did? Do you look for another job? There isn’t much you can get when the whole of your resume is stamped with WHORE in bright red letters.

With a low groan you slump back on the floor and throw your arm over your eyes. Everything is so fucked. You’re lost in it and it’s all fucked.

Normally, you would avoid information about the people that come in and out of your club. They’re looking for discretion, after all. A place to hide away from the dealings of life. A fantasy. If you were smart, you’d stick with that habit. Especially when it comes to the ones that literally compel you to forget their business.

John just lost the right to any discretion after that stunt in the car.

You open up your shitty laptop that requires five hail mary’s to start. It greets you with the top headlines of the day, all just as enjoyable as you’d expect.

UNKNOWN SUBSTANCE FOUND IN FOUR MORE JANE DOES

NEW DRUG CYTH TAKING THE UNDERGROUND MARKETS BY STORM

CORPSE FOUND WITH BLOOD LEAKING FROM PORES

You close them out, for your own sanity, and type John’s name into the search bar. A few things come up - some company called One-Four-One with the most nothing description about what kind of company they are. They “develop products and services” - aka they’re a shell for shady bullshit. They’re listed as the benefactor for some lower city charities and given responsibility for several mergers and buy-outs in the upper city. All the things you’d expect from a corporation.

It’s too clean, though. You’ve been living in the underbelly long enough to know what a front looks like. Not that you’re surprised. Every vampire corporation is a cover for a million other little inner workings you will never be privy to.

The only pictures of John are a few from press reports. His imposing figure standing behind some ugly podium with a logo hastily plastered across the front. He has a commanding air about him behind all those microphones - like a preacher or a politician. Fitting.

Johnny and Kyle have a far more risqué library. Images with models and other beautiful women. The kinds of things you’d expect from young, playboy vampires stretching over the past century at least, according to the archive dates. The boys aren’t the focus of the images - it’s all paparazzi for the women - but they’re in them nonetheless. How the hell did Johnny manage to squeeze into a pair of leather pants like that?

Simon doesn’t even seem to exist. A total ghost. No matter how deep you go you can’t find a trace of him. You manage to get all the way back to the 1990s in the archive and still come up with jack shit.

You’re left with more questions than answers and a distinct understanding that you shouldn’t ask any of them. You knew that already, though, and you have no plans to let John Price close enough to speak to you anytime soon.

You didn’t realize you fell asleep up until you wake, alarm blaring in your ear that it’s time to get up and go to work. It never ends. You still feel so fucking tired, body heavy and eyes stinging. A haze settles over your mind as you fall into your constant routine. Makeup, hair, dress, respirator on, walk, train, respirator off, walk.

Your locker in the back room fights you, forcing you to practically break it open. Just another thing to leave you feeling angry and useless.

“I heard they got Red.” The girl beside you whispers. She’s mousy, new. A gossiper. She even tried to talk to you, at least before she found out that you apparently steal clients.

The girl she’s speaking to side eyes her. “What do you mean got ‘er?”

“With that new drug - Cyth or whatever.”

“Cyth isn’t real. It’s just people making up shit to cover up what the vamps are doing. As if we don’t already know.”

“But what about-“ You don’t hear the rest of what she says, her voice drowning out as you leave the back room.

Time seems to crawl by at the club without the men. You hate it. Not just the slowness of the day but the fact that they’ve had that effect on you. That these creatures you barley know have invaded your thoughts. Wormed themselves into the nooks and crannies of your psyche. Marked you - however temporarily that may be.

The patrons avoid your eyes. You serve their drinks, and where they would normally make a salacious remark or grab onto you they just offer a huffy thanks and ignore you. The tips are garbage, even the other serving girls notice and begin to basically steal your tables. It has to be the bite.

Why, though? Plenty of serving girls have fresh bite marks and they aren’t getting reactions like that. You can count four on the main floor right now.

At least once the day is over, it’s over. You can go home and hide away. Be angry in peace. Maybe make a plan for what to do. Maybe you can leave the city you and your friends talked about as teens. Except they’re all dead now and you’re pretty sure there isn’t anything outside of the dome anymore. At least not anything you could get to.

The other girls don’t walk with you to the metro anymore. The streets are never truly empty in the main city. There’s no real day or night. It’s only the places humans inhabit that become abandoned during the “night.” As you exit the lower city station, the streets empty out. It’s just you, footsteps echoing off buildings. The smog in the air only makes it darker - even harder to navigate.

Until a second pair of footsteps appears, fast and growing louder by the second. Before you can even begin to run or check behind you a force slams into you, sending you tumbling down onto harsh concrete and into an alley.

You’re cornered. There’s nowhere to go. Before you can grapple for your garlic spray the vampire has your wrists in his hand, pulling you up to dangle in front of him. The backs of your hands and arms scrape against the rough brick of the building he’s pinned you too. It hurts, cutting deep into your skin under the pressure of his strength.

The thing hisses, ripping off the neck guard attached to your respirator. The whole thing goes clattering to the ground. You choke on the poison air, lungs immediately rejecting it.

You tip your eyes to the obstructed sky. Of course it would end this way. It’s the end for you all, isn’t it? Just another body in an alley. Another free apartment for people to fight over. Another headline for people to frown at on the train. You wonder if they would use your name or just leave you as another Jane Doe.

What do the real stars look like, anyway?

He takes a long inhale and freezes in place. You can barely make out wide, frenzied eyes. A hood blocks any of his other features. His breath hastens, chest heaving against yours. What the hell is he waiting for?

Suddenly he reels backward, hissing and spitting. Muttering words you don’t understand. It drops you so suddenly that you collapse to the ground. Unable to gain any footing, still coughing and choking.

“What-“ You’re not even sure why you want to ask it a question. Before you can at all the thing runs away down the alley. Your hand travels up to your neck.

The bite.

A coughing fit sends you doubling over and you blearing grope around the ground for your respirator. At least it didn’t get smashed, you sigh in relief - clipping it back around your face and neck.

Your hands shake and you turn, staring up at that massive skyscraper hanging above the city. It’s taunting you. You feel like you can almost see John staring down at you, toying with you. An anger flares in your body so hot you almost feel as thought you’ve caught fire. He wants to fuck with you? To make you feel weak? To try to lay some sort of claim?

Fine. You can play ball.

A/N: John “you don’t need to know what’s going on, love, just do what I say” Price and Miss “don’t fuck with my independence” Fancy

I don’t love this chapter but I gotta get plot moving and grooving.

[court-jobi]

The Bet (Hawks' Version)

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

Pairing: Hawks x reader (fem!reader)

Words: 7k //good grief//

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

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

Summary:

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

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

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

Read on Ao3

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

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

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

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

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

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

… That little show earned Keigo a text. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Woah! Is that new??" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nowhere pleasant. Not like here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hawks gave pause, sinking into your touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So are you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well! Truth it is, then." 

Hawks freed his chest with some honesty. 

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

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

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

"Are you serious??"

"Yes?”  Hawks answers, almost pained.

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

He swipes a palm down his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sooo, you're not mad?”

"No, I'm not mad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

"Being with you, like this..." 

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

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

You cringe at how firm yet desperate he sounds. 

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

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

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

"... Dissappoint you, I guess?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Comparisons?-”

You swallow your nerves and insecurity rarely voiced to others.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Baby, look at me."

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

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

You nod to agree.

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

A snort leaves you and he smirks to match.

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

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

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

"Deal." you agree.

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

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

"Uh-oh. That sounds serious." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

STARS ABOVE, SOMETHING ELSE YES.

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

"--Dealer's choice?"

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

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

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

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

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

You hum back, drawn out and comfortable.

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

A longer moan still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I wanna kiss you."

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

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

" I wanna.."

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

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

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

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

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

"I kinda like you up there~!"

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

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

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

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

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

Oh was he in for it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Harder."

"Hm-what?"

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

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

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

"FFFFuck, YES."

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

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

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

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

Slow torture.

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

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

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

"Ready for this?"

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

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

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

"Got all I want right here."

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

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

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

Hawks curses against your chest, breathing heavily. 

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

"Ohmygod yes,move…" 

No more teasing needed. 

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,Keigo– I, ah… AAH!--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hawks' pants pick up, almost feral again-- 

"Say that again."

“I’m– yours?”

“Again.”

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

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

"I'm yours, Keigo Takami."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah- wow~" Hawks sighs.

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

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

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

Hawks chuckles, back to stroking you.

"So.. ‘terms fulfilled’, love?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you too."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hawks’ laugh is near delirious- carefree. 

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

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

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

"What, that I fucked you too good?"

"Keigo."

"Crass, sorry,” Hawks pouts.

"You are not that sorry."

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

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

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

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

the art of breaking part one | part two

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare 

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it. 

Please read responsibly. 

I. in media res

     -the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

     -intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

     -fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

     -avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

     -broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

     -kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

[hihhasotherfixations]

I’m thinking about dragon hybrid Price as a dad to little dragon hybrid you.

This is more headcanon style than my usual and a little bit all over the place but I had to get it out because yes >:3

CW: none

Word Count: 1020

Price had always lived a solitary life. Dragon hybrids were relatively rare, and he didn’t exactly go out of his way to find a partner.

Purely by happenstance, he came across another. And almost out of obligation as well as it being mating season, they started a relationship. She quickly fell pregnant, but despite it all, it wasn’t meant to last.

Due to the more solitary nature of dragons, your mother left after you were born. Price didn’t blame her, the two hadn’t been incredibly close after all, only having gotten together during the mating season but not having an amazing connection beyond that. He was grateful she at least communicated her plan in advance so that he could prepare.

But when you were born, oh my. You were everything.

He took you home from the hospital alone, yet before he’d even gotten out of his car and into the house, he knew that a bond had formed that he could never sever.

Dragons were vain and prideful by nature. And for Price? His pride and vanity all poured into you. You were his. His creation, his child. He’d do anything for you, to keep you safe. And if necessary? He would protect you with the world as a shield.

The baby years are tough. Growing horns, wings and fangs is not pleasant. It can hurt and because of it, there are a lot of nights where you’re inconsolable, just crying in his arms as he tries to soothe you.

His wings folding around you seem to work best, creating a sort of cavern-like bubble where his warmth and heartbeat are the main sensations.

But even with that, the growing pains are sometimes too much and the poor captain had to lose sanity in favour of consoling you, rubbing ointment on your horns and massaging your tail and wings the best he could.

Yet the first time he sees your little tail wag when he walks into the baby room to feed you after waking you, all the sleepless nights are worth it.

You were starting to develop into a true dragon.

You stand in your box, holding onto the railing and bouncing excitedly on your feet. Your little horns poking through your unruly mop of hair while your wings are folded on your back.

“Hello, little lizard.” Price smiles, walking over to you. Immediately, you stick up your arms and he takes the hint, grabbing you under your armpits and lifting you up.

Holding you in his arms, he can feel you wiggle, trying to wag your tail - but you can’t.

Because now that your wings have finally started developing in earnest, he has needed to put preventative measures.

Where before your wings were papery and flexible, your tail stumpy and short, now both were getting some volume, the bones in them growing and lengthening - solidifying. And because of it, sleeping becomes dangerous.

In the past, many dragonlings have broken wings or tails by rolling around in their sleep, getting the limbs stuck under themselves and twisting too far.

Because of it, the wing-tail guard was invented. Used to pin said appendages against your body and cushioning them - allowing you to roll to your heart’s content while sleeping.

And now here you sat on his arm, the soft, black coloured cushioning moulded perfectly to fit your wings strapped to your back, your tail stuck between your legs, unable to wiggle or wag it.

“Come on, darling.” Price grinned, setting you down on the changing table and untying the straps, freeing your wings and tail back up.

And when your wings shift and move a little after he takes it off, oh how his heart jumps in excitement.

He’s been so eager, waiting for the day you finally open your wings for the first time.

For most dragonlings it happens around 1,5-2 years old. So you were right around that age.

He tries to encourage you by showing off his own wings. Anytime he has you on his lap, he spreads them wide, and you never fail to be completely mesmerised by it.

Seeing it, he tries to let you know you have your own, to encourage you to use them. He runs his hand down the muscles and bones of your wings, petting them down, getting you used to it by massaging the flesh and muscles, loosening them up.

It takes a lot of coaxing and weeks since you first tried, but finally, you manage to open up your wings and spread them.

And Price couldn’t be more proud.

Your wings are a carbon copy of his, except just a slight shade darker. And he knows that with a lot of training and upkeep, you’ll be just as strong a flier as he is.

Speaking of. Now that you’ve opened your wings for the first time? He can finally take you on your first flight.

Strapped to his chest with a harness, he gently stretches your wings out. It looks a little awkward, to have you dangling from his chest with your wings pancaked between your back and his front, but it’s important to get you used to flying, to using your wings.

The glee and pure joy that radiates off of you when you’re soaring in the clouds is unprecedented. You’re not scared, nervous or hesitant as he feared you might be, no. Instead, you’re kicking your feet, and screeching in delight. You keep tilting your head back to look at your dad and Price grins down at you, uncaring that your horns are stabbing into his sternum as his powerful wings flap, carrying the both of you through the sky.

The 141 know everything about you. Price can’t help himself. As stated before, dragons are proud creatures, and you are his pride.

He cannot help but share with the other most important people in his life.

And oh how they adore you too.

All in all, you are Price’s greatest treasure, and he can’t wait to see you grow up into your own, powerful dragon.

-

I would love to write more for this. If you want something elaborated or have your own idea and wanna see it written, please drop it in my ask box to give me an excuse to do so! ^^

[mithosis]

"Do you know what lies on the path before you? I do."

Meet Stig, my little blind norn seer with his flock of bird friends :) A Herald with a twist. Eventually a Wayfinder, separate from the Commander!

Sooooo I've already had this character for a while, (both in gw2 and out). I have a sylvari version of him — and he will still be existing and thriving as a separate character! However, I wanted to bring the original version of him to life as well. He always had Nordic themes, so making this version of him a norn was an obvious choice

Anyway, there is lore and a funny sketch under the cut for those who'd want to look at them!! (a huge chunk of text again, yeah, I'm sorry. It's featuring @lady-quen's Numen, though!! *wink wink*)

Maybe the weakest, skinniest little norn with nothing much behind his name, Stig was somewhat of an outcast from the moment he was born. Blind since birth, he was "blessed" by an elusive Cuckoo Spirit to help him on his life's journey, yet unable to shapeshift into their form or communicate with them, no matter how hard he tried. He was considered unworthy of norns' boastful lifestyle by some, and pitied for his misfortunes by others, although nobody could ever compare to how he looked upon himself for the happenstance of his birth. Was he "defective" in some way, not worth the effort to lift him up and let him live a life, try to reach for something more?

Still staying loyal to Cuckoo even without their support, Stig turned to Raven after being noticed by him for the cleverness with which the little norn tried to overcome the burdens of his own existence — there, at a young age, was discovered his gift of foresight, an explanation to all the weird sensory visions he would receive; some of them even looked as if he could actually see. Different kinds, both cryptic and mundane. Finally, something he could do and help others with, right? It was probably nice for a time, until enough commotions or unfortunate events were caused, maybe even blamed on him for doing his job wrong, causing Stig to be ever more cautious with sharing what he had gleaned.

Two ravens he rescued were his main company, aside from occasionally the kid of the famous Eir Stegalkin and his little brother with a strange affinity for ice magic. One day, however, the scenery changed into a strange landscape, an echo of the real world, as Stig stumbled through a wayward portal into the Mists. He had to survive there for a time all alone, not even his feathery friends to accompany him, communing with Spirits — then anyone, who'd listen — and desperately trying to get back home. A subtle whisper in his head grew louder the more time he spent essentially meditating, a voice of a person, until it formed and presented itself as none other than Asgeir Dragonrender. With his, rather frustrated at first, help, the little norn managed to get back to the world of the living, though not before getting injured on the way home — a weird, potent surge of lightning struck him. He awoke back home already tended to.

Other norn don't believe him at first when he claims Asgeir was the one to help and guide him — it takes a bit of convincing, talking with the legendary hero's echo and showing Stig's newfound strengths. He can channel the power of the Mists through their connection now, something only havrouns of the Spirits of the Wild can typically do. This earns him the respect of his peers — after all, he is aided by Dragonrender himself. People around him wonder: this must mean he could be the one to crack the Tooth, the Norn of Prophecy, right? Someone Stig never even dared to believe he could be.

However, it was never meant to be. After all the extra training and tireless nights of adapting the chosen combat style to his needs, the one to challange the Tooth wasn't him — instead, it was the hot-headed son of Eir, his friend Braham, who's been adventuring with the famous Pact Commander away from Hoelbrak. One arrow was fired — and as the icy exterior of the trophy crumbled, so did Stig's hopes of proving himself worthy to these people. He became an outcast again. At least his birds and Asgeir were still with him. It didn't matter that Braham supposedly failed his mission to kill the Ice Dragon afterwards: the damage was already done.

Then everything started to go downhill once Kralkatorrik was slain. Unexplainable mysteries, strange fog, disappearances. His friend becoming more and more distant and physically cold until one day he was gone as well. One of the only people who showed Stig what kindness looked like, aside from his mother. It was distressing, scary, none of his visions showing him the way — so he had to find his own, once again. This was the decision that led him to join the Commander and Braham in their venture to the Far Shiverpeaks, and discover the true nature of the little elementalist he called a friend — a scion and champion of Jormag, Numen, who's been the mysterious Cuckoo "Spirit" this whole time.

The team has to confront this dragon on the surface of a cold, frozen Lake Doric — and Asgeir recognizes it. Every norn knows the story of the legendary slayer of Frostfang — Dragonrender killed Jormag's greatest champion in one blow with the help of the Spirits. It was a clear victory, the thing falling off a cliff from the sheer force of the blow, mortally wounded. So how could the very same creature stand before him once again?

The question was answered when the dragon showed the large scar on their neck; they didn't quite remember the fight, but the old wound spoke for itself. A surprise for everyone involved — the greatest kill of Asgeir turned out to be a failure. Remains of the beast were confused with those of Claws of Jormag. And maybe a fact worst of all for the echo of a fallen hero — the frigid monster he was sure he had slain turned out to be one of the very Spirits that helped guide his people to the new home.

(Cue the funny sketch I promised)

Even after that, the team managed to save Numen and end the terror of both Dragons of Fire and Ice.

Eventually, Stig would become Numen's Champion, wanting to be there for them like the dragon was for him. Maybe he had finally found a place he was meant to be in, beside this creature of ice — lonely, yet so full of love for the world. Asgeir wasn't too amused, but what is one more voice in Stig's head, right?

This would mean he'd continue to help the Commander further down the line, and maybe even meet the elusive wizards in their glittering towers — who might have a hand in him meeting Asgeir in the first place.

Woah, if you got to this part, thank you for reading!! I love you <3

[yeoja-dream]

Found/Fated/Forever

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: BTS OT7 x Reader Genre: Fantasy, eventual smut, porn with plot, slow burn, hurt/comfort Characters: Supernatural!BTS, Vampire!Jungkook, Supernatural!Reader Content Warning: Y/N in danger Word Count: 3,100

“You want to WHAT?” You asked him, eyes wide, 

“Lower your voice! Someone next to you is gonna hear you yelling like that and call the bouncer.” He hissed. 

“Well I’m thinking that might be the right idea considering what the hell you just proposed to me.” you hissed back. 

“It’s not that crazy!” He insisted. “I step out of line, you blast me with radiant damage as hard as you can and if you don’t outright kill me, you’ll take the wind out of my sails plenty long enough to get far away from me.” 

You regarded him for a moment. “You JUST got through saying you had SIX mates. I know having two or three is rare, but you expect me to believe that you might have a SEVENTH mate and it might be me? We were vibing just now but I don’t know if we were vibing that hard.” 

“I also told you it's the same with each of my mates, something tells me I need to be somewhere, and by a crazy coincidence, we meet.” He adds. “I will know right away!” 

“Ugh!” You sighed, exasperated, resting your head in your hands. “You know 3 hours ago I walked into this club single, happy, looking to get drunk and have an easy fuck to forget a shitty day, and I’m walking out having saved a woman from a demon rapist, pissed off or turned on that demon rapist, and now I have a marriage proposal from the aether.”

“I can help with some of those issues, I think? You lost me there for a second I’m not going to lie to you.” 

You didn’t reply. 

“Look, I don’t want to pressure you. We had a great conversation over a strange and scary happenstance, and if you would rather go our separate ways as strangers having never learned the truth, then I respect that choice. Or the cheap fuck, if that option is still on the table.” 

You smacked him for the later remark. You sat, contemplative, and as if sensing you needed space, Jungkook excused himself for a cigarette, leaving you alone with your watered-down whiskey and your thoughts. 

I mean what are the chances right? He takes a little nibble, he spits it out, I take him back to mine, and we test out that vampiric stamina. It’s basically impossible that 1 person has 7 soul mates! You reasoned. On the other hand the one in a million, no billion, no TRILLION chances that you are this guy’s 7th sister wife what does that mean? Do I join his commune? They probably have a commune. Am I bonded to his other wives? Are they also vampires? I don’t think I have enough blood to go around. You rub your temples, frustration rising higher and higher in your body. I could also not choose. You reminded yourself. I could go home, forget this man, forget this night, and have everything go back to normal. 

Interrupting your thought process, David approached you. “You look mighty stressed.” 

“Yes!” You just about yelled at him. “Sorry, yes.” You said in a calmer tone. 

“Bar’s chill for the minute, what's up?”

You obviously couldn’t tell him the truth, but what if you were vague? Vague was okay. “I was confronted with a life-altering choice, and I don’t know what to do.” 

“Well, how do you usually make choices?” He asked, leaning back on the bar and crossing his arms. 

“I don’t. I find that fate has a way of making decisions for me.” 

“Well…” He shrugged, digging in his apron pocket. He slid forward a shiny, silver coin on the table. “You can have fate choose for you again.” 

You looked at him, then the coin. It’s my best bet. You thought to yourself, sliding the coin off the bar and into your hand, feeling the weight of it. May this lead me to the path of my destiny you willed into the coin before giving it a toss. 

The coin landed, and you understood what it was you had to do. 

~~~~

You met Jungkook on the street, just as he put a cigarette out on the cold pavement. 

“Hello,” he regarded you warmly. 

“I’ve decided.” You tell him. “Strings of fate and all that horse shite. I will blast the shit out of you if you take more than I tell you.” 

“You have my honor and my word.” He replied, punctuated with a dramatic bow. 

“Remember, blasting! And not the fun kind!” You warned him again, finger pointed sternly. 

“I would be disappointed in you if you gave me anything less.” 

“Anywhere really. I mean somewhere a little private. Like I said I just need a sip and I will know.” 

“Is my house okay? I mean you said you’d fuck me so I’d figure it was alright.” You asked, feeling shy suddenly. 

“Oh yeah, that’s fine!” Jungkook said. “I mean I was joking about the fuck thing I mean I just said it because you said it!”

You looked at him with a strange expression. 

“Not that I wouldn’t! You are extremely attractive! If you wanted to I would definitely be down don’t get me wrong I just-” He cut himself off. “I am making this so much worse for myself, aren’t I?”

“Very much so.” You said as you opened your umbrella and stepped out from under the awning. “Shut up and let’s go before I change my mind. The Uber will be here in a minute.” 

~~~~~

You lived in a one-bedroom place in a modest part of town, inside an apartment block that never seemed to be quiet, with the exception of this moment. Jungkook sat politely at your small kitchen table, you stood and leaned against a kitchen counter, the silence hanging between the two of you only interrupted by the sound of the rain hammering at the window, and the kettle steadily coming to a boil. You regarded him again for a moment, before turning to your cabinets and pulling out two mismatched mugs. 

“The tea will be done in a minute.” You said, ripping open the tea bags, setting one in each cup. A few more minutes of silence passed before Jungkook stood suddenly.

“I’ve never done this before,” He blurted. 

You take a moment to process what it is he could mean by that. He’s mated so he’s certainly not a virgin, seems to be over a hundred so it’s not his first time drinking blood you thought, before your mind wanders further. I did not just invite this man into my home to kill me. Tell me I did not invite this man into my home to murder me. God DAMN it, I fell for his stupid necklace and that incubus is probably waiting for his signal nearby.

“I suggest you explain yourself quickly and clearly, because it is sounding to me like what you’ve never done is have your ass blasted as hard as I am about to.” You said, turning around slowly, eyes locked on him. No funny business dude.

“I wasn’t completely truthful with you before. A lie by omission I guess which doesn’t trip up the necklace but I am going to stop rambling because you seem really justifiably mad.” He said putting his hands up. You took a step closer, energy beginning to crackle at your palms. 

“Every single time I met my mates, I was called to meet them by happenstance. That is true. But every single time they knew, or guessed we might be mates before I did. So I have never personally tested the whole “someone else’s blood or energy should be poison to me” theory.” 

“So you have no idea if this is even going to work!?” You yelled at him, palms crackling further. “So I’ve just invited you into my home so you can what, make a snack out of me?”  

“I know it works!” Jungkook countered, taking a step back as if almost cowering. 

“How?!” You demanded, lowering your magic a bit. You weren’t going to kill him, not yet anyway. 

“30 years ago!” Jungkook blurted nervously. “One of my hyungs, we got into a huge fight and he ran away for a few months. He subsists on energy, and when he tried to take from people that he wasn’t mated to, it poisoned him. Badley. He was starving and as close to death when we finally found him.” 

You look at his necklace and wait. No glow. So he was telling the truth. You lowered your guard completely. 

“Jesus Christ dude you can’t phrase it that way! I thought you were going to say “I’ve never done this before, never murdered!” and then jumped me with that incubus freak.” 

“No, you are right about that and I am really sorry.” He took a step back toward you, sitting back at the table. 

“If you know it works,” You began, pouring the now boiling water into each prepared mug. “You didn’t have to tell me you’d never tried it personally.” You said, placing each up on the table and joining him at the opposite seat. “It has no bearing on the outcome for you, so why did you feel the need to tell me?”

“Ah well,” he began, stirring a scoop of sugar into his tea idly. “I’m a stranger, asking you to make a big leap of faith that sure, benefits you, but also benefits me. I couldn’t sit right with knowing you didn’t have every piece of information I could offer you.”

“I… appreciate that.” You remarked, dumping 3 ice cubes into your tea. “I don’t like to wait for it to cool,” you admitted, somewhat sheepishly. 

“No, I don’t get the impression you do like to wait for much,” Jungkook replied, offering his cup to cheers with yours. You clink mugs and drink your tea in comfortable silence.  

~~~~~

“So how is this done usually?” You asked him, standing face to face in your combined living room and bedroom area. 

“Truthfully?” He asked you.

“Truthfully.” You confirmed. 

“My kind typically have been the stalk you, grab you and lure you into a dark alleyway and drain you of all your blood or charm you with magic and charisma and lure you to a place where we do the same thing, sort of people.” 

“I am confirming that that is not what we are trying to accomplish?” You half-jokingly asked. 

“That is not what we are trying to accomplish.” He confirmed. “I want you to be comfortable. However, wherever would be the most comfortable for you is where I want to do it.” 

“Um, okay.” You looked around. “I guess for me that would be my bed, that isn’t weird right?” 

“Not at all,” He confirmed, allowing you to lead the way. 

“But-” You stopped halfway before getting onto your bed. “It’s just my duvet is white, maybe I should put down a towel? In case things get messy.” 

He scoffed at that. “I am not such a pedestrian, I reckon I have been drinking blood since you were born.” 

“Are you sure about that?” You looked him up and down. Vampires didn’t age, sure, but surely he couldn’t be THAT much older than you, right? 

“If I get so much as a drop on your duvet, I will replace it with any duvet of your choice.” He said, placing his hand on his heart. 

“It doesn’t mean that much when you place your hand over an undead heart.” You said knocking his hand off his own chest. “But you’re not glowing, so I will take your word for it.” You said, sitting down. “Come, sit.” You invited him with a pat on the bed. He obliged. 

“Hey,” You began, after letting a few beats of silence pass. “Do you think we could just lay side by side for a few minutes?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He said, following your lead and sliding himself up the bed, laying comfortably on one side, you on the other. 

A long silence hung in the air. “I fuck strangers and this is somehow the most intimate I’ve been with one ever.” You remarked sarcastically. Jungkook chuckled lightly in response, 

“Me too.” 

More silence hung, heavy in the room. You laid back, eyes boring holes into the ceiling. He too laid, unmoving, this is all on your terms he was communicating. You shut your eyes. 

“What does it feel like?” You whisper. 

“The bite, or the connection?” 

“Both” 

“The bite hurts for a second, but it goes away pretty fast. Vampire venom has powerful numbing properties. Some people even feel peace or euphoria, it's supposed to keep you from running from us once we have you.” He paused before continuing. “The connection is, overwhelming, in a word. Everything in your body turns up to 11, you become very magically charged, emotionally charged, physically charged and, uh, sexually…” He cleared his throat. “Charged.” He finished. 

You sat in silence, digesting that information. You roll over on your side, facing him, he mirrors you. 

You spent a few more minutes, studying his face in earnest. At this proximity, there was a boyishness quality you didn’t notice from far away. It was cute, even, bunny-like, and as you stared at him, you searched your mind, your heart, your soul, desperately looking for recognition, the easy way out, one last chance to avoid the leap of faith. 

“What if I am mated to you?” You whisper

“We will figure it out.”

“How?”  

“Do you trust me?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Before we begin, I told you before you might lose some of your sense once we begin. Where is a line too far? Where should I stop you? Where should I stop me?” 

“The troubled, sarcastic, sad part of me knows I can’t trust anyone.” You said, raising your hand to cup his cheek. “But something deep inside of me is telling me that you are truly good people. And for once, I am not going to push this one away.” You whispered, voice wavering. “Just, don’t hurt me, okay?”

He didn’t reply, but he held your gaze. 

“Jungkook?” You ask softly. 

“Hm?” 

“Would you kiss me please?” 

He then scooted closer to you and mirroring the motion you did before, he raised a hand, cupped your face gently, and placed a single, lingering kiss on your lips. He pulled away slightly, but a centimeter, I’m ready, but only when you are, he communicated to you. You closed the gap this time, I’m ready.

The kiss started off slow, chaste, even as two bodies, two energies tentatively explored the other in the more intimate environment. Jungkook was a good kisser, you decided, firm, but not too pushy. He allowed you to set the pace, the intensity, but what you gave he took readily. You parted your lips to him, and he took them greedily, using his free hand to hook around your back and drag you across the bed and completely flush with his body. You found your arm folded into his chest, the building intensity causing you to grip the fabric. You kissed greedily now, hungrily, like lovers long since reunited. It felt good, it felt right, you also decided. Kissing him was like the gentle respect and deep intimacy shared between two people who had loved each other for a long, long time. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt it, and you wanted more. 

Your arms were at a disadvantage, pinned against his muscular chest, but you used the position to pull yourself closer and closer still. You needed more of him. You wanted more of him. 

“Jungkook…” you whispered against his lips, a plea. 

“I know, God I want you too.” He whispered back his arm like an iron bar across your lower back holding you in place. “But we have to do this first, sex makes everything so messy and confusing.” He broke away from your lips, kissing up your jaw bone stopping at your ear. “I’m gonna do it now, okay?” He whispered. 

“Okay.” You confirmed. You found yourself then, in a swift move on your back with him straddled across your waist. From this angle, his baggy pants tented visibly over his crotch, the sight of which alone wound your core up so tight, you wondered if you’d cum immediately when he slips it in. He didn’t give you long to appreciate the view, as he leaned over you, face to face, and continued to kiss you. Your tongues didn’t battle but danced in harmony, and as you felt your hips rise to grind against the hardness so close to where you needed it, he broke away from your lips again, panting, he again peppered kisses up your jawline, but then down your neck this time gently sucking and licking on his way down, leaving you breathless. He settled on the spot but gave the skin special attention, the sensation of which had you sighing and running your fingers through his hair. 

When he was finally satisfied, he wasted no further time and sank his teeth in, the sensation of which made you yelp in pain. He didn’t lie about the pain. After a brief pause, you felt the sensation of him drinking you in. He swallowed once, came up for a breath, and in that moment, from head to toe, it was like you had both been struck by lightning. 

Overwhelming wasn’t the right word for it. Euphoric. Pure energy crackled and popped at your skin, literal sparks flying off at the points your skin connected. It was painful, you thought, but everything felt so amazing it faded into the background. Joy, pure joy radiated through your body. In fact, you can’t recall a time when you had ever felt this light-hearted and happy.

In the same moment, as euphoria washed over you, Jungkook’s demeanor changed and with a visceral, animalistic grunt, he dove back in sucking at your neck. The sensation was divine. 

“More, more” You found yourself begging again and again. He was like an immovable object in his current positioning, but you allowed yourself the luxury with your now-free hands to slip under his baggy shirt, relishing in the corded muscle of his back and biceps. 

The more he drank, the closer it seemed you got to the edge of something great. As something darker and harder to control overcame Jungkook, he didn’t notice when your enthusiastic pleas for more turned into incoherent babbling, and only when he had his fill, and the dark that consumed him receded, did he finally realize that you had fallen silent for quite some time. 

He pulled away from your neck and examined your body in horror. Limp, and unmistakably ashen. You looked like a corpse. 

“Y/N,” He said, panic in his voice, shaking your shoulder. “Y/N!” he said louder now, yelling and shaking you as violently as he dared. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I told you guys one after the other! Like I said in the last post, I'm working on intertwined, that update might go up today or tomorrow, depending on what I'm feeling, I only promised this post! I also mentioned before that I will update the tags once I reveal which bts member is what/ what Y/N is but try to guess below! You might be right~

[sitp-recs]

15 Christmassy fics to read (or reread) this month

This rec list is for @annakendricks who sent an ask about Christmas reads and also dedicated to @lettersbyelise for supporting this idea 💜 Despite the winter blues, December will always lighten up my mood with the holiday spirit. This month has been pretty hectic for me but I can’t wait to get some time off and indulge my fave Christmassy rereads. Come and join me if you like! Here you’ll find a little bit of everything: soft and contemplative, smutty, crack-y, movie AU, holiday romance and even Gen fic, which is not my usual fare but fit the theme perfectly. Pick your flavour and Happy Holidays!

🎄A Christmas Happenstance by Only_1_Truth (E, 5.5k)

The Hogwarts School for the Gifted and Supernatural had classes year-round, but the dormitories emptied out regularly on holidays as if the students were suddenly becoming allergic to the walls. Both humans and non-humans mingled freely in the surrounding town of Hogsmeade. Draco Malfoy, however, isn't feeling in the mood after a rather spectacular break-up.

🎄A Charitable Christmas by Alisanne (E, 5.6k)

Hermione’s plans to raise money for war orphans do not meet with Harry’s approval. Fortunately, Draco steps in to help him come up with a much more enjoyable strategy.

🎄A Hippogriff for Christmas by @xanthippe74 (G, 6.4k)

Draco is desperately trying to fulfill four-year-old Scorpius’ dearest wish for Christmas: a visit with a real Hippogriff. Harry is desperately trying to be left alone, safely tucked away from the attention of the wizarding world as Hogwarts’ Keeper of the Keys and Grounds.

🎄Surviving the Horde by FleetofShippyShips (T, 7k)

Draco has managed to avoid Christmas at the Burrow for ten years, but not this year.

🎄Tidings of Comfort by @blamebrampton (G, 10k)

When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. Luckily for Draco Malfoy, London has places where the tired can rest and recover.

🎄Love, Actually, is All Around by @punk-rock-yuppie (T, 10k)

It's Christmastime, and Harry has just started as the new Minister of Magic. It just so happens that Draco works in his office as well, a holdover from Kingsley's tenure. Naturally, love is in the air.

🎄break the bad luck in my life by seaworn (E, 12k)

Draco and Harry are both brooding on Christmas Eve.

🎄All Roads Lead Home by @dracogotgame (G, 15k)

Draco is strong-armed into spending the first Christmas after the War with the Weasleys. And Harry Potter.

🎄Love All Lovely by @shealwaysreads (T, 19k)

Draco comes home for Christmas, and discovers that sharing is the best way of celebrating old traditions, and new ones too.

🎄Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w and @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 22k)

'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July / Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why / There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more / Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore / Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss / And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

🎄I'll Floo Home for Christmas by jadepresley (T, 39k)

The Ministry Christmas party is the biggest event of the year and Harry absolutely does not want to plan it, and he certainly, one hundred percent, does not have a crush on Draco Malfoy.

🎄The Romantic Prawn Who Loved Christmas by @bixgirl1 (E, 39k)

When Draco, forced into sharing a room with Potter for the year, finds out that Potter has a sleepwalking problem, he expects the odd conversations and the weird games of chess. What comes as a complete shock are Potter's other activities...And why he seems so intent on having Draco join him.

🎄December Never Felt So Wrong by @maesterchill (E, 50k)

'Twas the month before Christmas and sixteen year old Draco Malfoy had never felt worse. His attempts to kill Dumbledore were failing and, as usual, Harry Fucking Potter was a constant thorn in his side. All that suddenly changed when Draco woke up 15 years in the future and discovered that not only was he allegedly shagging Harry Fucking Potter, he also had thinning hair and a five year old son, and no fucking clue how he got there.

🎄A Room Up There (And You In It) by @the-starryknight (T, 59k)

When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit.

🎄All Must Draw Near by Saras_Girl (M, 61k)

Harry doesn't have time for rumours; he has a shop to run. Which is just as well, really.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

do you have any fics where Kurt and Blaine meet at like a highschool or college party and then go from there

Hi - I had fun putting this list together, seems I've read a lot of great party fics. Hope they are what you are looking for. (happy to have more recommendations!) ~Jen

NYADA Hallowe'en party by @snarkyhag

Klainetober 2024 prompt: Kurt and Blaine are at NYADA costume party.

Are they meeting for the first time? Is someone having a really good or really bad night? Are they wearing a couple's costume? Does a real live ghost show up?

~~~~~

Running Interference by @rockitmans

Kurt and Blaine don't want to get set up on a blind date. But when their friends get involved, what they want doesn't really matter.

~~~~~

Gorgeous by @thelegendofjenna

Kurt meets a very drunk Blaine at a college party, and they end up back in Kurt's apartment.

~~~~~

Happenstance by @thatgleekychick

When Kurt's ex-boyfriend shows up at a party to show off the person he left him for, Kurt is certain the universe is out to get him. But then he sees a cute guy standing across the room by himself, munching on a plate of pretzels, and gets an idea. AU.

~~~~~

If the Fates Allow by dahlstrom Part 1 of the Holidays' Verse

Blaine tried not to dwell on the handsome stranger he’d met — and kissed, oh god, it had been so nice — a few days earlier. Sure, he’d had beautiful eyes and a melodious voice and his hands had been really soft, but he was gone, and that was that. There were eight million people in New York City, and Blaine didn’t even know the guy’s name, let alone how to find him.

(Part 2: I Couldn't Crack the Love Code, Dear )

~~~~~

The Party Favor by @caramelcoffeeaddict Coffeeaddict80

After Blaine’s brother ditches him at a party where he doesn’t know anyone, he’s approached by Kurt who has a big favor to ask.

~~~~~

Party Gone Wrong (yet so right) by @caramelcoffeeaddict Coffeeaddict80

The party that Sebastian dragged Blaine to was awful, but the cute boy he met there wasn’t

~~~~~

Pour le Plaisir by @hazelandglasz

Anonymous asked: omg "We hooked up randomly at a party once and it turns out you’re friends with my brother AU" would be hilarious for klaine :')

~~~~~

Bang Bang by @afterthenovels

Kurt has a very loud birthday party. Blaine is the police officer who gets the noise complaint. It doesn’t go so well, until it does.

~~~~

Clinging to this hating game by notarelationship (just practising)

Based on this prompt from the Klaine-prompt-a-fic blog on tumblr:

Kurt and Blaine couldn't stand each other in high school, maybe one was a jock/cheerleader and the other a nerd/glee clubber. Or they were bitter rivals for competition solos if they were both in glee club. Now they both live in NY and their friends set them up on a blind date, not knowing they went to the same high school.

~~~~~

Let me be the one by @annepi-blog

“Oh no, Mercedes. No way.” Mercedes wants Kurt to go to a 90s and 2000s college party with her. He is persuaded by the argument that he can plan an exciting outfit. At the party, he meets his crush, who has also made an exciting fashion decision.

Inspired by the outfit Darren Criss was wearing at Jumperwall 90's - 00's Concert in February 2023.

~~~~~

Did we meet before? by @little-escapist

Written for a prompt by mynonah on tumblr, the prompt is the title.

~~~~~

Underneath it all by @heartsmadeofbooks

Blaine first meets the mysterious Kurt Hummel at his brother's engagement party, and he's immediately struck by the quiet, handsome stranger. He doesn't expect their paths to cross again, but when life gives an unexpected turn, Kurt might be the only one with the power to help him save everything he cares about.

~~~~~

Zip tease By izwordsoup @special-bc-ur-part-of-it

A college party where everyone is a little drunker than they should be, an open fly, and a dare.

~~~~~

Trick or Treatby grlnxtdr29

Kurt Hummel HATES Halloween, for good reason. But he allows Brittany to talk him into going to a Halloween Party with New Directions and The Cheerios. After the jocks play a cruel trick on him, he drives off in tears, and nearly runs over a mysterious boy in the road. Is this another Trick?

~~~~~ Raspberries and Crème by @quizasvivamos

Kurt and Blaine have never met. But they both want the D. Everything that can go wrong in smut all wrapped up in a one shot.

[allwormdiet]

Arc 1: Gestation, Concluding Thoughts

Two days in the life of Taylor Hebert, with a bonus one night in the life of Danny Hebert. Let's break it down.

Right now, initial feelings are really positive. I like this arc, I get why people are in on this in such a hardcore fashion, like it's making sense to me as I'm reading it. The characterization is really strong, the A to B plot is cool, and the first fight scene was a fucking banger to open up with.

And like, shit, I get why Taylor is throwing herself into cape life, right? Civilian life is already such fucking misery for her, utterly alone and the only person who's theoretically in her corner is sympathetic but just as helpless as she is. Yeah sure, mortal peril, but if she had nothing to do I feel like the bullying would've killed her eventually. Death versus Lung is at least marginally more noble than death by Emma. And isn't that fucking bleak.

Looking ahead a little bit towards Arc 2 and I'm immensely curious how long it'll take Taylor to do cape stuff again. I feel like I'd need a solid month to process the whole "near death experience" thing and then spend time sweating over whether I even put the mask on ever again. Meanwhile I wouldn't be surprised if Taylor went back out in like a week, because she's a hardcore maniac.

It's also very interesting looking at this and considering the exact sequence of events that went through these chapters. If the bullies didn't wreck Taylor's notebook, or if Taylor took a different message away from its destruction, there might be one or more dead Undersiders right now, and to a lesser extent Armsmaster wouldn't both get credit for a major capture and also owe this rookie hero a favor. Both of those things are going to matter a lot, and it's, I dunno, some people would call that contrived but real life is so full of weird coincidence and happenstance I can buy this no problem.

...Honestly now I get why so many AUs that diverge before this point still include the Lung fight and the Undersiders and Armsmaster meetings, like yeah at that point it's contrivance but I'm not going to sweat an author too hard because they don't want to figure out how fucking dramatic the butterfly effect (hah, butterfly) would be on the rest of the story. Like yeah it's contrived, but that's a lot of work they'd have to do otherwise.

That aside, I'm gonna get back on topic and meditate on my current gripes. 1.3 was a legitimate low point in this arc with the description of the Docks and its residents and their circumstances, and the total clusterfuck of the Azn Bad Boys, which. By the by this is the last time I'm going to say the full name of that gang, ABB is shorter and is less embarrassing for everybody involved. Wall-to-wall racism, classism, and an utter lack of sympathy for the lesser-thans. Like we're talking about crack whores in the year of our lord 2011, or, they were written about in 2011 and I'm hollering about it on the internet in 2024. When this kind of thing comes back up (when, not if, I'm not that optimistic) I just hope I can work around it, like eating everything but the bruise on an apple.

To close this out, I'm thinking about the people in Taylor's life. Emma, a former friend turned bully, and her cronies Madison and Sophia. Pretty shallow characterization at this point, just that they're cruel to the point of hospitalizing their victim. Danny Hebert is supportive, but has all the strength of a sponge when it comes to holding up against the pressures that weigh on Taylor, and he knows it but he's not doing anything differently. The Undersiders, criminals who mistake Taylor for a criminal, but identify her correctly as a comrade and potential friend, who realize she was fighting for them and went to fight for her. Armsmaster, who offers her very genuine and very sought-after praise as an authority figure, and then leans on that authority to get what he wants out of a freshly traumatized and exhausted teenager.

Is it any wonder that Taylor takes the path that she does? Would anyone have it in them to be surprised if they could see all of this from a bird's eye view?

I wonder if Armsmaster ever thinks back about this night, lying awake in bed. If he ever wonders what he could or should have done differently, or if he couldn't have done anything to divert course.

I was talking to my girlfriend about something related to this the other night, actually. If it's worse in a tragedy for there to have been a chance to avert it all, or if it's worse for the end to be inevitable. Looking at Taylor, looking at Brockton Bay, looking at Earth Bet? I dunno. If someone had acted early, with knowledge and intention sufficient to actually provide aid, maybe it would've been enough, but hell. Maybe not. I don’t know which possibility is more damning.

...I get melancholy when it's late, but I don't think it'd be right to delete all that; it's how I'm feeling about the novel, and that's what this blog is for, so even if it's a bit dramatic it'd be self-defeating to pretend I didn't say it.

Arc 2... probably starts tomorrow, assuming nothing comes up. Glad to say I'm looking forward to it.

[the-hopeless-haze]

Glorious Happenings of Happenstance

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: mild smut

Summary: You get Aaron to accompany you to a wedding. It's the only night you have together, so you might as well make the most of it. Right? (as requested by Aaron deficiency anon)

-------

You hate your brother.

You don’t, really, you just dislike him right now, dragging your whole family to Boston for a wedding a week before you were supposed to be starting your new job. It was always like that with you two, push and pull, a constant game of tug and war of who was going to outdo the other one. You got the prestigious job but he was getting married. Young - like all the army rats. Dumb. Stupid. It wouldn’t last. But whatever. The hotel is nice, and you managed to escape your future sister-in-law’s bachelorette plans to get a drink at the bar by yourself. Never mind the fact she couldn’t legally drink and neither could your brother. Stupid. Very stupid.

But your parents made it known your input was unwanted and uncalled for so you kept your mouth shut. Maybe you could just be inebriated this whole weekend. God forbid someone tries to talk him out of one of the worst mistakes of his life.

You order a mojito because you’ve been sweltering in the humidity of the Boston summer, but then… you think maybe you won’t need to be drunk on liquor as you see a tall man with jet-black hair sit down on your right, leaving a few empty seats between the two of you. He looks authoritative; like people listen when he speaks; like he could command a room without so much as whispering. He’s too old for you, but fuck it, if your parents had nothing to say about your brother getting married the second he turned eighteen, they can’t say shit about who you end up with.

But still. You’re not staying in Massachusetts, and from the looks of him, you doubt he is either. He must be here on business, still dressed in black dress slacks and a suit jacket in the heat, never mind that it’s almost 10 pm. Although, who knows? Lots of suit types around, although not necessarily in hotel bars.

He orders something strong on the rocks, sipping slowly at the amber liquid. You eye his hand on the glass... and god. It dwarfs it, making it look tiny wrapped in his long fingers.

You bite your lip and turn away, sipping cautiously at your own drink. You weren’t thinking about meeting anyone here, anyway. You sweat off most of your makeup this morning driving to the hotel and your hair was a frizzy mess, soaking up all the moisture from the air it could get. You needed a shower. You just wanted a few drinks alone before turning in for the night. Right?

You’d never had a one-night stand yourself. You didn’t know how those worked, and you thought emotional entanglements before starting as an FBI agent, however brief they were… wouldn’t exactly be a good start to your career. You didn’t want to be missing him, waiting for calls that never came.

Jesus. You need to get a grip. You haven’t said a word to this man. You don’t even know his name.

Scanning him over again, you drink in his dark hair and eyes, thick eyebrows, sharp jawline, and broad shoulders. You’re not being exactly subtle in checking him out as you start to feel the effects of the alcohol loosening you up a little.

So you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are that he catches you.

Aaron noticed you when he walked into the bar, but he deduced that you were tired and wanted to be left alone. A woman alone in a hotel bar that clearly wasn’t here on work, clad in a sundress… you were here to deal with something. Fight with a lover, family member, or friend - someone you were on vacation with. You didn’t want company. And neither did he, really. But now that your eyes met, he feels like you look so familiar, and yet he can’t quite figure out why. You give a small, shy smile and you slide down the few bar stools and tell him your name.

“I’m Aaron,” he responds, using his first instead of his last name to introduce himself. A rarity. You’ve got to be twenty years his junior. Nothing can come of this, he tells himself, trying to ignore the thin strap of your dress that was falling off your shoulder.

“You here for the wedding?” you ask, hopeful that maybe he was some long-distance relative of your brother’s fiancée, that you would somehow be able to run into him again. Celebrate the inevitable divorce.

“Wedding? No,” he answers, eyebrows raising a little in surprise.

Damn it. Couldn’t be so lucky.

“Who’s getting married?” he asks.

“My brother,” you answer.

“Shouldn’t you know who’s in the wedding party, then?” he asks, giving you a small smile, just wide enough to see the hints of dimples on his cheeks.

God. You were half in love with him already.

“I don’t know her side,” you answer, smiling back.

“They haven’t been together long?”

“Nope. Guess.”

“How long? I don’t know. Six months.”

“You think that’s short? Try four,” you say. “He’s going into the army. Straight out of high school. And no, she’s not pregnant.”

“You don’t sound like you approve,” he observes.

“Would you?”

“I don’t know. Stranger things have worked out.”

“I’ve never seen high school sweethearts stay together. And if they do… they’re usually not happy.”

“You’re barely out of high school yourself.”

“I’m 25!”

“Proving my point,” he says, smiling again. “I married my high school sweetheart.”

“I don’t see a wedding ring on your finger,” you point out.

“No. You don’t,” he sighs, taking a swig of his whiskey.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately apologize, hating yourself for your lack of filter. “I shouldn’t have—“

“It’s okay,” he cuts off your apology. “I invited the observation. We… we wanted different things.”

“Isn’t that the way shit always ends?”

Aaron nods, swallowing down the rest of his drink. “What about you? Are you against all marriages or just the shotgun ones?”

“Mostly just those, but I don’t know. I really don’t see the benefit at all,” you shrug.

“Right. So jaded in your old age,” he quips.

You giggle, shaking your head. “I’ll buy the next round?” you offer tentatively.

“I believe it’s the other way around,” he says, flagging down the bartender before you could and adding your next drink to his tab.

You try and fail to ignore the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. “There’s always tax breaks.”

“What?” you ask, caught off guard by his out-of-context statement.

“Filing as married. Tax breaks,” Aaron clarifies.

“Yeah. Health insurance, too. Or, you know, not having to live in the barracks.”

“The joys of marriage.”

You roll your eyes. “How romantic. Spare me. Please.”

“No one’s tying you down, hmm?”

“No,” you say, but you give him a lilting smile, one you hope dares him to try.

“Fair enough.”

“What brings you out here, then, if it’s not to be my plus one to this sham of a wedding?”

“Work,” he replies. “Giving a conference at a college nearby.”

“You don’t have time to come in between?”

You don’t know why you’re inviting him. You don’t want him to meet your family, not like this, anyway. You don’t want to lead him on. It’s the alcohol, maybe, loosening your lips.

“I think your parents would kill me,” Aaron says firmly.

“Right. If they don’t care what my brother does, they shouldn’t care what I do. Bringing you to the wedding would be marginally less stupid than actually getting married.”

He sighs your name, shaking his head. “I can’t in good conscience agree to that.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll never see you again after this.”

“So?” you shrug.

“I don’t intend on starting something I can’t finish,” he says lowly, and you wonder… is that flirting? Is that what he’s doing?

“Fair enough,” you concede. “A little bit too much pressure for something that’s destined to go nowhere.”

“You’re not from here, either?”

“I’m moving for my job,” you tell him.

“Which is?”

You laugh and shake your head. “If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

“Naturally,” he says, smiling against the glass as he lifts it to his mouth. “CIA?”

“You’re serious,” you say, incredulous. “You actually believe I’m joining the CIA?”

“You’ve got a talent for holding a conversation without saying anything,” he points out.

“Takes one to know one,” you shoot back, realizing all you really learned about him was his first name and that he was married and now divorced.

He shrugs. “Good quality to have if for whatever reason you need to go undercover. Also, good quality to have when you’re in possession of vital, secret information. Something to think about.”

“You want to refer me?”

“Smooth,” he grins. “Nice deflection.”

“I’m most certainly not joining the CIA, Aaron, but if that’s what you’d like to follow you around in your fantasies of me, be my guest,” you smile back.

“Fantasies?”

“Since nothing can come of this. All we’re left with, right?”

“It’s a conversation in a bar. Those end two ways. Three, actually.”

“Which are?”

“The people involved in the conversation get a room. Or they leave and never speak again. Or… provided one is a CIA agent and on a covert operation, she may in fact kill the man involved.”

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but laugh anyway. Maybe it’s the alcohol loosening him up a bit, you don’t know, but you get the feeling he’s not often like this.

“I’m beginning to think you’re paranoid, now. What do they want you for?”

“Some light treason, probably,” he snarks.

You’re not drunk enough that the beginning of his earlier remark escapes you, though. “I take it a room isn’t in the cards for us?”

Looking at you apologetically, he whispers your name before shaking his head. “It’s not fair to either of us. Some people can live their lives like that… but I can’t. If that’s what you’re looking for, I’m sorry. I’m not the man you need tonight.”

Oh, but he is.

You hang your head, blushing. “I’m not… I don’t usually do this, either. I just figured…”

“It’s not because I don’t find you attractive,” he reassures you. “I just…can’t lead you on when I know it can’t last.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” you say, nodding. “There is a fourth way this can end, though.”

“Yeah? I’m all ears.”

“I see you tomorrow,” you grin, downing the rest of your drink. “You’ll still be around.”

And with that, you stand up, kiss his cheek, and you walk out of that bar. And you don’t look back to see his reaction no matter how much you want to.

You know he’s bad news. You know he won’t show up. You know he’s absolutely right, and an attractive man like that must have been through a series of one-night stands after his wife left or he left her and realized they just left him hollow. Didn’t fill the void she left.

He didn’t want you to add to that chapter in his life. And you can’t blame him. You’d be a toxic end to that book if there ever was one.

————-

So when you see Aaron through the windows, who lost the suit jacket, finally, hanging outside of the wedding reception, you think you’re going insane. Hallucinating. Having an out-of-body experience or something.

He was too old to be playing games. Why was he here, hanging on the outskirts like this? It’s not like he was trying to get your attention. You were having a conversation with your cousin who was praying she caught the bouquet, and when you eyed him, you told her that you need some air.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” you say, stepping out of the stuffy reception hall into the cooler night air. “Or out. Not enough balls to actually crash it?”

“I… well. I suppose I’ve been caught,” he says sheepishly, and if the lighting out here wasn’t so bad you’d swear you saw him blushing. “You look beautiful.”

Maybe you do look good, or at least better than the bar last night. You settled on a maroon one-shouldered dress that clung to your curves, paired it with black-heeled sandals and you managed to get your hands on waterproof mascara and eyeliner to beat the humidity.

“Why are you here?”

“It was the fourth option.”

“We’ve reached an impasse, though.”

“We’re down to three options, again,” Aaron nods. “I realized it was prolonging the inevitable.”

“It’s two, Aaron. Room or no room,” you say, a little tense. “There’s no inevitable. There’s just now. You showed up. You showed up now.”

He scoffs, stepping a little closer to you. “You don’t even believe that. All you think about is the future. You think your brother and his wife are destined to divorce so they shouldn’t get married. Why should we start something when we know it’s going to end? That’s what this whole week was predicated on for you. Inevitability. And trying to avoid it and get others to avoid it as well. It’s your whole anti-marriage stance. Why should anyone start what they can’t finish? Right? Why bother with any of it? Why come on to me at all? One day someone is going to leave, by choice or by circumstance.”

“You showed up,” you say again. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Aaron. You don’t know shit about me. You said so yourself last night.”

“No. I don’t know your last name or your favorite color or what your major in college was. But I know that you’re afraid.”

“Everyone’s afraid,” you shoot back. “You showed up. Why?”

“I… I wanted to see you again. It’s different now. It’s not a conversation in a bar anymore. It’s two people outside of a wedding.”

“Why see me again? Wasn’t the point of not starting to avoid hurting? Isn’t that what we’re all afraid of? Pain? We spend our whole lives trying to outrun it. You don’t like one night stands because they hurt. Because they leave you empty. Because they make you wonder and worry about the what-ifs and the consequences.”

Aaron shakes his head. “It’s not just about that. I thought about this. About us. If we only have the night… I want to do it right. I want to spend it with you.”

“Not in me?” you quip, smirking.

He says your name in a warning tone. “Don’t.”

“Fine,” you laugh. “I take it you’ll actually crash now?”

“Yes,” he nods, looking at you intensely. “I hope you can dance.”

“Dancing’s a dangerous game,” you tease. “Could quickly lead to other things.”

“Not in a room full of your family.”

“You’re a little tapped, huh?” you ask, grinning.

“Tapped?”

“Fucked in the head.”

He shrugs. “We have one night. I want it. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it, Aaron,” you say, and lead him back through the glass doors of the hall. “You’ll quickly find I’m just as fucked.”

“I think I already knew that,” he chuckles lowly, taking your hand in his.

What kind of man agrees to this? You’ve had boyfriends you’ve had to fight with to meet your family in the first place, and here’s this man, all set to attend a full-blown wedding with your entire extended family. Maybe you didn’t care if it was long-distance at the end of tonight. He seems like a keeper.

Your brother eyes you from where he stands at the altar. You smile and shake your head, ushering Aaron into the back row with you. You didn’t exactly feel like you needed front-row seats for this.

His future wife, Crystal, she’s pretty, with olive skin, kind brown eyes, and curly black hair, but you’re still just taken aback by how young they are, how your brother will be selling his body and soul for the military in weeks and she’s coming along for the ride. Young love. You remember your first, the neighbor next door, a little older than you. Like everyone with their first love, you swore you’d marry him one day.

But you didn’t.

And you were better off.

Vows spoken. Rings traded. You almost tear up a little, given your recent fight with your mother about this, her saying she was glad at least one of her kids was getting married, that maybe she did have the hope of grandchildren someday. And it’s not fair, not really, to put that kind of pressure on you. You were career-oriented. You were never going to be the kind of woman who easily submit, who did what a man said, who took his last name and gave up the one you used for decades. You were never going to be a woman like Crystal, even when you were younger, and would do just about anything for male validation. Something in your brain was wired to be contradictory when someone tried to box you in.

How can you speak meaningful vows with someone you barely knew? You hear your brother spout something about love and eternal happiness, in sickness and in health, and it’s so easy to promise that when all you’ve seen is their good days.

You don’t have a traumatic background. You just know people leave. And you have always tried to never let yourself be in a vulnerable position. Even here, Aaron is the one who’s got less of a leg to stand on. Sure, his being here was going to lead to some awkward conversations with your relatives, but they were your relatives. He was the one out of place.

Your aunt turns around after the ceremony ends to say something to you, but she stops short upon catching Aaron’s eyes. So it begins.

“Who’s this?” she asks.

“My hooker for the night,” you tell her, deadpan, staring at your nails like you’re uninterested, and it’s so hard not to break out into a smile when you see Aaron blushing in your peripheral, sputtering and trying to come up with an excuse as to why he is sitting next to you other than being a sex worker.

You take it he’s never been with a woman like you before.

And at first, you disliked the odds stacked against you, but now you’re realizing how much fun you can have with this. There’s no need to hide your true colors because you’re both leaving at the end of the night anyway. You can be as unhinged as you want. No reason to play it up, make it out like you’re someone you’re not just so he might ask you out again… because this is it. Lowkey. No pressure.

“Don’t worry, honey, she’s always been like that,” your aunt reassures him, patting his shoulder gently. “Although if you really are a hooker, I’ll take your business card. You’re good-looking and you’ll be a plus one? A dream.”

“I assure you, I’m not a hooker, ma’am,” Aaron denies quickly, stoically.

“That’s what they all say,” you quip back. “Remember how much I’m paying you.”

If looks could kill, you’d be bleeding from a thousand stab wounds right now. But you were having fun, more fun than you’d had with a man in a long time.

“You’re not cute,” he whispers in your ear when your aunt turns back around.

“You wouldn’t be sitting here right now if you thought that,” you retort, starting to feel a little hot under your dress at his lips so close to your skin. “Besides, you should be gloating right now. You’re so attractive that my aunt thinks women would pay you to have sex with them.”

“Right. I’m sorry. I should be jumping for joy at that,” he says sarcastically.

“Exactly,” you nod, smirking at him, taking his snark seriously. “Relax. One night, right? Even if you make a complete ass out of yourself, this is it.”

“Yeah.”

“When’s the last time you had a good time, Aaron?” you ask suddenly. “No strings attached, good time? Because fine. I don’t know your last name or your major in college or your favorite color either. But if I’m afraid, you’re miserable. You need to let loose. You came here for a reason. I can at least give you that.”

“I just don’t want—“

“Them to think you’re a hooker? Please. First of all, I’m the most frugal bitch alive. They know I didn’t actually pay you to be here or to dick me down later. No one will believe that. And again, Aaron, what the fuck do you care what they believe? They’re never going to see you again. And we’re at a sham of a wedding to top it all off. So… live a little. Have a good time. Tell me some stupid jokes. Dance with me. Have a couple of drinks. And let it go. Whatever baggage you have does not exist in this room if whatever fears I have aren’t supposed to either.”

“You make a good case,” he mutters.

“I know I do,” you grin, pressing your lips to kiss right behind the ear you were whispering in, marveling at how quickly his skin flushes red at your touch.

Both of you stop talking for a moment as the first dance starts, and the couples slowly start to head to the dance floor. “Lover” by Taylor Swift, Crystal’s choice, you guess; and you can’t help but think it’s a funny one. A love song, sure, but almost a cop-out of marriage if there ever was one. “I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover”… but not my husband. Backing away from the thought of forever commitment. I want all your summers but not your last name or your ring on my finger. Nothing to symbolize it, tie me to it.

“Can I have this dance?” Aaron asks you, and you wonder if he’s secretly a masochist. Maybe he likes to be teased and kept on edge.

You nod, though, and let him lead you out into the dance floor to join the other couples.

“Keeping enough room for Jesus?” you tease, looking down at the space between your bodies.

Scoffing, he pulls you closer by the waist, so there are millimeters of space between your bodies now, and you feel your face heat up as his hands stay on the small of your back. “Happy?”

“Happier,” you concede. “How do you know how to dance?”

“I was married before,” he reminds you. “It doesn’t seem like you know how, though.”

“Hmm?” you question, glaring at him.

“Your hands go on my shoulders. Or around my neck.”

“I knew that,” you mutter, placing your hands on his shoulders tentatively, catching his dark brown eyes with yours, shuddering at the intensity he was looking at you with. Taylor Swift continues to croon her undying love and you stare at this man, at this moment in your lifetime, fading away as you’re holding him close, swaying slowly to the music.

Love at first sight doesn’t exist. You rationalized that all away ages ago. Lust, sure. Lust is common, ordinary, every day.

But you know what lust looks like. It’s predatory looks from men across a dusky bar room or it’s wide-eyes, pupils-dilated, unbridled passion, kiss-bruised lips. But you weren’t getting any of that from the way he was looking at you.

And you know you’re going to see those eyes in your dreams, eyes you can glean pain from, eyes trying to reach the depths of your soul to see where you buried your hurt to rest too. Understand you, not the things you tell people when you make small talk like your college major or your favorite color but the things you tell people when they want to get to know you like your stance on God or presidential candidates or… marriage.

You don’t know where the hesitancy came from, all of a sudden, but it’s the intensity of his eyes and the heat radiating from his body and the lights are lower and the song is ending and you’re inching your face toward his and you’re not sure who touched their lips to whose first but his mouth is on yours now, and his eyes finally close. You watch them flutter close, long eyelashes brushing against yours as he lets himself envelop you without a word. You’ve never been kissed like this, so feather-light and without a hint of urgency, like he’s taking his time, like he’ll take the entire wedding reception to explore every square centimeter of your mouth with his own. Being you, though, you don’t have the patience for that, and you bring your hands from his shoulders to clasp around the back of his neck and you get the intensity you crave, parting his lips with your tongue, closing your eyes too, feeling his soft black hair brushing against the sides of your wrists and your bodies are pressed so close and you could get lost here, couldn’t you? - but then you feel someone tap your shoulder, and you break away from him with a squeal.

“Who is this that you’re sucking face with? I’ve never seen him before,” your mother says as you turn around.

“Ask Aunt Linda,” you laugh, trying to regain your composure. “I was enjoying myself.”

“Clearly,” she says, giving you a tight-lipped smile. “Is this some kind of protest?”

“No, his name is Aaron. Aaron, this is my mother,” you say.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he says, reaching out his hand for her to shake, smiling with his dimples in a way you’re sure made his ex-in-laws fall in love with him.

She reciprocates, but she shakes her head at the same time. “I’d prefer to have met you before you were wearing my daughter’s lipstick.”

“We can’t always get what we want,” you grin at your mother. “I think it suits him, anyway.”

“Of course you do,” she says. “Why didn’t you mention you were bringing a date?”

You shrug. “Just kind of happened. Like. You know. The wedding.”

“Oh. So this is a protest. I apologize, Aaron, for you being a part of her juvenile scheme.”

“It’s really not a bother. She’s a pleasure to be around,” he grins.

Your mother laughs. “You two really did just meet, huh? You have no idea.”

“Not very nice, Mom. Don’t scare him away. Maybe I can make this a joint wedding.”

“Hell would freeze over before you get married, darling,” she says, squeezing your shoulder. “Well. Have a good time. But please keep your hands off each other. We’ve got both sets of your grandparents here and we don’t need to be sending anyone into cardiac arrest.”

“Right, Mom,” you say, rolling your eyes as she walks away.

“I see where you get all of it from,” Aaron chuckles softly.

“I see you’re a major kiss-ass even if you’re never going to see my mom again,” you retort, stepping closer to him again.

“No harm in being polite.”

“That wasn’t just polite. That was being a kiss-ass. And you still have lipstick all over your mouth.”

Then you feel his mouth on you again, soft, thorough, warm. “Did I get it?” he asks, still smiling at you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggle, then use the advantage you have to hold his face there and pepper kisses across his face, leaving red marks in the shape of you across his skin before he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, kissing your mouth again, letting you take the lead again, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping onto your shoulders like your sand slipping through his fingers.

Because you are.

“I’m going to need to clean this off before I have to meet your father,” Aaron says, laughing. “I’ll be right back.”

Aaron doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing, and he feels like he can’t recognize the man looking at him in the mirror, red lipstick smeared across his face, a seemingly permanent blush on his cheeks blending in with it. The cold water helps cool him down some, but then he thinks about you again, all smirks and quick remarks and the way you read him like a book… and he’s on fire again.

There’s no point in asking you where you’re moving. Even if it’s somewhere feasible to travel, his life and work schedule isn’t something he’d want to burden another woman with.

One night. No expectations except for a good time. That he could do, even if it was for a borderline child wedding not unlike the one he had over a decade ago.

Walking back out he sees you, eyes intense and smile lines formed at their corners as you talked to your brother, glass of champagne in your hand. “Oh, this is Aaron,” you tell him, your hand on Aaron’s back as he reaches you.

“Congratulations,” Aaron says, nodding at him.

“Thanks, man. Where the hell did you come from, though?”

“That’s my secret,” you say, grinning. “You don’t get to know.”

“Is this one going to last?”

“Doubt it,” you shrug. “Is yours?”

“Stop it,” he says, glaring at you. “I know you think I’m making a mistake. It’s already done. I don’t want to hear it anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” you say.

“At least I can keep a relationship longer than four months.”

“It hasn’t really been that much longer,” you counter.

“Well, I proposed instead of ending it.”

“Okay,” you sigh, leaning in for a side hug. “I don’t want to argue either. Go be with Crystal.”

Your brother nods, taking the hint the conversation was over, and Aaron takes the opportunity to sit down with you at one of the tables. “Is this common for you?”

“What? Taking men I don’t know to weddings? Far as I know you’re only one lucky enough,” you say tersely.

“I meant… relationships.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I try men on like I try on clothes. I’m a slut. Is that what you’re trying to get at?”

“No, not at all.”

You shake your head, sipping at the champagne and making a face at it, laughing at the acrid taste and handing it to him. “You can have that.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Aaron says calmly, taking the glass from you, and drinking from it slowly. “There’s nothing wrong with this. It’s good champagne.”

“It tastes like ass,” you laugh, then frown. “You didn’t offend me. Yeah. I’ve had issues with relationships. No secret there. A normal, sane girl wouldn’t have asked you to come here, no offense.”

“A normal, sane man wouldn’t have said yes,” he replies, smiling, squeezing your hand that rested on the table. “Relationship issues are normal. No one in this room or in this city or on this planet has it figured out.”

“Did anyone try to stop you from getting married?” you ask him.

“Her mother wasn’t happy,” he recalls. “My parents figured I would figure it out. We were together through most of high school.”

“But you don’t know at that age.”

“No,” he agrees. “You don’t. Either they’ll be lucky and grow together or they’ll be unlucky and grow apart. But you don’t know unless you try.”

“The odds are—"

“They know that. I knew that. I still wanted to try anyway.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Sometimes,” Aaron admits. “Sometimes I do. I gave her a lot of years, and some of them weren’t good. A lot of them weren’t good, actually, a lot of strain and arguing and worrying about who she was seeing while I was away. But… I don’t know. You live and you learn.”

“Sometimes you do know,” you say sadly.

“Sometimes you try anyway,” he responds, bringing your hand to his lips.

You blink back tears and nod. One night. You can cry later.

Thankfully, the song changes to Cotton Eyed Joe; something ridiculous and impossible to stay down in the dumps for. Aaron glares at you but concedes when you give him a pleading look and you’re able to get him out on the floor to teach him this dance. He looks insane, what you can only imagine as a normally uptight, repressed man learning choreography from you for a novelty song.

Breathless and laughing he kisses you. Again. Again. Again. You don’t care about your mother’s warning and you’re glad he doesn’t either. You get the feeling he’s not one to embrace PDA like this either, but it’s one night for his mouth to be on yours, and the impression he leaves on your parents isn’t going to matter in a couple of hours anyway.

You think you’ll get whiplash from this setlist, the way it switches from upbeat to hopelessly sentimental, but Aaron rolls with the switches, pulling you back to him, swaying you gently to ‘Fade into You’. Resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around him, you breathe him in. The woodsy scent of his cologne. The slight musk of his sweat. You feel his mouth press a long kiss against the top of your head.

And that’s how it ends, bringing you into a long hug at the trunk of your car the next morning, everything you own behind you. Both of you leaving this city. Heading home. You don’t talk about it. You don’t mention to him that you’d like to see him again. You don’t say anything.

“I’m sorry it had to end this way,” he says quietly, looking up at the sky, the clouds moving quickly overhead, threatening rain.

“Aaron, don’t,” you mutter. “We knew.”

“I know.”

Who do you get mad at for this? When it’s no one’s fault? God? Fate? The universe?

——------

Who do you thank for this? God? Fate? The Universe?

You walk into your new workplace, the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, Gideon, who you interviewed with last week leads you through the building, giving you your badge, gun, and security clearance. It must be counterfeit. No one is this lucky.

Aaron realized why you looked so familiar the second your name was mentioned. He’d seen your file, read it through thoroughly, and noticed your photograph paper-clipped to it, but he was on a plane for a case and then just as quickly he was on a plane to Boston for the conference. Gideon was the only one present for the interview. Gideon was the one to hire you. Gideon was the one to walk you through the building to his desk to introduce himself to you.

You don’t even blink. “Guess it’s a good thing you were polite to my mother, sir,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake.

Never mind the fact he already kissed you and the entire length of his body was pressed against yours.

“You two know each other?” Gideon asks, looking between the two of you.

“You could say that,” Aaron answers, but he’s only looking at you. There must be a glitch. Maybe Boston was a dream. No. You remember it, too.

“Not the CIA. Close enough, I suppose,” you grin.

“Sure,” he says softly... because he doesn’t know what to say. When he pulled your resume and your background check again he knew to expect you to walk through these doors at 9 am. A couple of hours still wasn’t enough time to prepare. You… were blindsided though.

“What aren’t you telling me, Hotch?” Gideon asks. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“No, not at all,” he says, but he’s still only looking at you. “Can I talk with you? In my office?”

You nod, following him, closing the door behind you, and leaning against it. “Don’t you think you should introduce me to the rest of the team?”

“Why didn’t you mention this?” he asks, standing in front of his desk.

“Why didn’t you? You had a million times to mention you worked for the FBI.”

“When I said CIA…”

“I thought you were being funny. I thought you were a traveling lecturer for like, science or something. I don’t know. The FBI, Aaron?”

“I could say the same for you. Jesus,” he whispers, stepping a little closer to you.

“It’s kind of funny we were out a whole night and it never came up,” you say, grinning.

“Jesus,” he mutters again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So what happens now?”

“I don’t know. We work, like adults, and we move on.”

“I don’t know, Aaron. I think someone doesn’t want us to move on,” you shrug. “I can’t sit in here all day. You have to introduce me to the rest of the team before they think I am fucking you.”

He glares at you. “These comments won’t be permitted with the rest of the team present.”

“Jesus. I know when to shut my mouth, Aaron. In private, they’re permissible though, right?”

“I truly don’t know how I’m going to work with you,” he says, trying not to laugh.

“Guess you must be glad you didn’t fuck me before,” you say. “Would’ve been really awkward.”

“Agent… drop it. I do have to introduce you to them. Let’s go.”

But your back is pressed against the door and you know it’s a risk to tease your fucking boss on your first day, but you can’t help yourself because he’s not just your boss, he’s Aaron. The man who held your heels and walked you back to your hotel room, who kissed you outside the door but wouldn’t let you take him inside with you, even though you felt how much he wanted you, too.

You don’t move.

“I need you to move from the door, Agent.”

“I’m ‘Agent’ now? How clinical. We’re still in private, Aaron.”

“If this is how you’re going to play it, I will have you fired.”

“Right,” you say. “Don’t think so.”

“Try me.”

“Is that a threat, Aaron?”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters. But he’s only looking at your mouth.

“Just kiss me,” you say. “I know you want to. Probably been thinking about it all morning since you realized—"

You’re cut off by his mouth against yours. “Are you wearing lipstick?” he asks against your lips.

“No,” you answer, pulling him closer, tongue against tongue, hips against hips.

“That’s all you’re getting, Agent,” he says. “I expect you to be nothing but professional. That means no teasing, no mention of Boston, no mention that we know each other even if they ask. Noncommittal answers only.”

“Aaron, 'noncommittal' is my middle name,” you grin. “It’s you I’m more worried about. I seem especially talented at weakening that seemingly strong resolve.”

“It’s Hotch in front of the team. Go,” he nods at the door.

——————

“You did a good job with her,” Aaron says to you on the plane. “Liz. The victim.”

You smile, thanking him. “Used to work in a children’s psych hospital when I was doing my undergrad. Lots of child trauma there. Learned how to get to the root of their stories.”

“You’ll be a good addition.”

“You didn’t think so before?”

“I thought you were going to make me lose my mind,” he admits, looking around to make sure no one else was listening. Thankfully, it was an overnight flight. Everyone was asleep, save you two.

“I still might.”

Aaron nods, grinning, dimples on full display. “That you may.”

“What’s going to happen between us?”

“Nothing should.”

“I didn’t ask you what should. I asked you what is.”

“What do you want?”

You laugh. “I mean, Aaron, I’m the last girl to believe in fate, but that was a pretty big coincidence to ignore. And you keep kissing me whenever we’re alone.”

“You keep getting me alone,” he mutters, taking your hand and threading your fingers through his.

“Yeah, it’s my fault you can’t keep your hands or your mouth off me.”

“Shh,” he scolds.

“It’s true,” you say. “Anyway. You know what I want. I want you.”

“I want you, too,” he admits. “But this is a precarious situation and I’m not risking my career just for sex.”

“Aaron. We aren’t going to get any bigger signs from the universe that we need to try this. I’m open to it. We can try this. For real.”

“You believe that? It was fate?”

You laugh. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Crazy coincidence, if nothing else.”

Aaron looks around suspiciously, kissing your mouth gently when he confirms no one is watching.

Which is nothing how he kisses you later in your new apartment, searing hot against your skin as his fingers circle your clit softly, leaving you to whimper against his mouth. You’re jet-lagged and overly full from breakfast when you landed but you’re wide awake and needy when it comes to him now.

“Aaron,” you whine. “Need you. Now.”

“You have me, honey,” he teases, leaning forward to lay you down on the bed, using the angle to fuck his fingers into you relentlessly. “Better?”

“Fuck,” you say, nodding.

“So wet for me, honey,” he coos at you. “Such a good girl.”

You know you’re embarrassingly close from his ministrations with his hands, so quick to get there from being so worked up since Boston, having to go a whole week hiding this secret, sneaking off into side rooms just to press his mouth and body against yours.

You still don’t expect it to rip through you like that until you’re left shaking and moaning his name. You don’t expect his cock to fill you even better, up to the hilt. You don’t expect him to flip you over so you’re on top, able to watch him blush and whimper from your teasing, telling him he’s fucking up into you so good.

You definitely don’t expect him to suggest round two and go down on you.

Then again. You didn’t expect the man you took to your brother‘s wedding on happenstance to be your fucking boss. That you’re fucking now. Apparently.

“How long do you think we can hide this from a room full of profilers, Aaron?”

“Shut up,” he says, laughing, kissing you, hair all mussed up, making him look deliciously freshly fucked. “You’re good at holding on and holding out.”

“You’re not.”

“Only when it comes to you, honey,” he says, pulling you into him.

“They’ll figure it out because of something you did,” you wager.

“I shouldn’t take that bet,” he says. “But I will.”

And sure enough. When you nearly got shot, and of course Aaron ran to your side, checking you for wounds, kissing the top of your head when he realized you were safe and okay…

Morgan was watching. And it spread through the team like wildfire. Naturally.

“How long?”

“Since Boston,” you answer.

“Wait…” Gideon chimes in.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Aaron says.

------

taglist: @mrs-ssa-hotch​

[sergeantgoggles]

Would you be willing to do a 💙 drunken kiss / tipsy for Cody/Tech????

Dearest Anon, do I know you? Because drunk kisses in bars/night clubs are my favorite trope.

.

Not often does the opportunity come up to go drinking on Coruscant with Commander Cody, so when the boys of Clone Force 99 found themselves in that exact position, they certainly weren’t going to turn it down. Honestly, it was only happenstance that brought them there. They had been commissioned by Commander Fox to run a covert operation under the radar. Now that it was completed, and they weren’t due back on Kamino for another two rotations, they decided to celebrate another successful mission. Mission number 79 to be exact. Ironic, since that was the name of the clone bar that they’d ended up at.

Of course, the clones there weren’t entirely receptive of them. They were “The Bad Batch” after all, defective, but effective, as Wrecker liked to say. As it were, Tech rather liked Commander Cody’s definition, “defective clones with desirable mutations.” It made him feel like, in some strange capacity, that he was desired by the Marshal Commander.

It was no secret among his squad that he’d developed something of a crush on Cody over the years. According to him, however, it was only logical that he admired him as a strong, forthright soldier with good morals and strategy. He’d never treated them any differently, and Tech could appreciate a man that didn’t mind getting a little dirty. In fact, he’d heard Cody complain once that as the Marshal Commander, he didn’t get to see a a lot of action on the battlefield, and he was always itching for some excitement. It was information that Tech stored away for no obvious reason.

When Cody caught sight of them from his seat at the bar, he kindly waved them over and immediately ordered them a round of shots. Wrecker wasn’t for drinking, always complaining that it made his head hurt (and despite Tech telling him repeatedly that he would feel better if he drank water in between shots, Wrecker continued to drink like a man dying of thirst, and then wondered why he needed two hypos and a medpatch the next morning). Hunter and Crosshair were glad to take it easy and fell into lively conversation with the Commander, well, as lively of a conversationalist as Crosshair was, at any rate. Cody was one of the only Regs that he tolerated, maybe even liked.

Tech, on the other hand, though he accepted the drink, was happy to simply listen to the three of them go back and forth, accepting drinks as he was given them. Before long, he was pleasantly fuzzy, and he couldn’t help the smile that kept creeping onto his face every time Cody spoke. Cody’s voice was like velvet, soft and elegant, belonging to only the most royal of beings. He didn’t bother to correct the strange comparison, blaming it on the slight inebriation. Besides, it was true. Cody was handsome and wise. He should have been a prince instead of a soldier of the Republic. After all, Cody was the closest to being a complete carbon copy of Jango Fett with a 92 percent compatibility. That alone had earned him the title of Marshal Commander of the Third Systems Army, never mind how battle savvy, intelligent, and compassionate he was.

Tech had been known to zone out here and there when working on a project that required a lot of thought and attention to detail, but it was rare for him to get lost in his own head while they were out. So, when Crosshair had poked his goggles and Hunter started snickering behind a gloved hand at his expense, he flushed deeply and frowned. Cody was also chuckling, though he couldn’t discern whether that was necessarily a good thing or not. One thing was for certain, the heat of embarrassment crawled up his neck and made his stomach flutter. He would later blame it on the number of shots he’d had, six, if his count was still accurate.

“What’s wrong?” Crosshair teased. “Tooka caught your tongue?”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Tech defended, but he giggled immediately after, not helping his case.

Crosshair smirked, then leaned into Tech’s space to whisper in his ear. “You’ve been gawking at Cody all night. Do something about it.”

Tech tried to look indignant, but the edges of his vision were fuzzy, and the alcohol was sitting heavy on his tongue as he glared. “Nah uh.”

Hunter laughed harder, leaning against Cody’s shoulder, who was also trying to hide an amused smile. “Sounds like you have your work cut out for you, Commander.”

Cody chuckled with a shrug. His eyes raked over Tech’s body, looking at him up and down, and Tech felt himself shiver despite the heat. “Crosshair…what did I miss?”

His brother took some pity on him and patted his shoulder apologetically. “You really don’t realize what you’re doing half of the time, do you?”

Tech’s eyes widened. “What—”

“You talk to yourself,” Crosshair said as though that wasn’t a common occurrence, ���…and you just told Commander Cody you think he’s a perfect specimen.”

Tech needed to leave. Right now. He tried to stand, and he managed, but his weight distribution was entirely off, and his equilibrium sent him tumbling off the stool and right into Commander Cody’s chest. Strong arms caught him easily, and as he tried to right himself, caught a whiff of the cologne Cody was wearing tonight. It was musky, a little floral, and maybe something akin to what a day filled with Sunshine was smelled like. He giggled again, his wit slowly leaving him as the alcohol caught up with him, and he thought that distantly he heard Hunter and Crosshair sneaking off, but he couldn’t hear or feel anything beside the light of Cody’s smile being cast upon him.

“Easy, trooper,” Cody said with an authority that went right through Tech.

“S-Sorry,” Tech apologized, but the giggles just didn’t seem to stop. Being this close to Cody should have had him panicking, but the alcohol was doing wonders for his nerves, or rather, they were absolutely giving him a false sense of hope that anything would come of his little crush. He’d expected Cody to right him and let him go, but his hands were firmly on his hips, keeping him close, nearly flush to the line of his body, and Tech bit his lip coyly.

“Something on your mind?” Cody purred, or, Tech thought he purred. It sounded like a purr.

“I think…I would like to kiss you,” Tech admitted forwardly, emboldened by booze.

Cody laughed outright that time, but there was no hint of resentment or disgust. Rather, Cody took Tech’s chin in his fingers and drew him closer. “So, if I kissed you…like this…”

Their lips brushed, soft, tender, not at all what Tech expected from a drunken kiss. It was over before Tech could blink. That should have been enough. Commander Cody kissed him, publicly, in front of hundreds of other clones. He should take this one victory and say that it was sufficient and run as far away as possible to process what the hell had just happened.

“I am drunk, not a blushing virgin,” Tech stated boldly. “Kiss me like you mean it, Commander.”

Above all else, Tech hoped that he wouldn’t wake up in the morning with a court marshal with his name on it for sexually harassing a Commander. He tried to gauge Cody’s reaction as his eyes darkened, and his smile turned into something more predatory.

“Like this?”

Cody didn’t wait for Tech to be ready. He slotted their lips together, guiding him into open mouthed kisses, clacking teeth, dragging his tongue along Tech’s, and tasting him. Tech melted in his arms, slowly wrapping his arms around his neck, and drawing him deeper. A few others whispered in shock, but they certainly drew attention when people started whistling and telling them to get a room. Perhaps, in the morning, Tech would care about such a lewd and public display, but right now, pleasantly tipsy, and more intoxicated from Cody’s lips than the alcohol at this point, he couldn’t care less what a few Regs thought of him.

When Cody finally let him breathe, he kept Tech close, keeping him steady and grounded despite the rush pulsing through his veins. Cody was incredible, and if possible, even more beautiful with kiss-flushed cheeks and panting for breath.

“I…would say that was more than sufficient,” Tech answered quietly.

His reply earned him another heart-warming smile, and Cody kissed his cheek. “Let’s take this somewhere a little more private. No pressure, whatever happens, happens…but I think we both know where we want this to go.”

Tech grinned and bit his lip coyly. “I will follow your lead, Commander.”

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

ryan's fics masterlist

This is a list of all of my published buddie fics for the 9-1-1 fandom (will be updated as needed).

a ghost in my lungs, a ghost in my mouth | 84K | Explicit | Read on AO3

Buck is soaked to the bone. Skin puffy. Neck and chest lacerated by the cruel touch of lightning, as if it’s still contained within him and not eager to let him go. His curls are matted. Eyes charged but also vacant, like he is looking through two planes of reality and can’t focus.

Awful. Beautiful.

Eddie wants him to go away. Eddie wants him to stay. Eddie wants to shout at him until he wakes up. Eddie wants to forget this horrifying, pale version of his best friend, the man he loves. Eddie wants to touch him, make him real and whole.

Buck takes a single step forward and Eddie’s breath collapses in his chest.

He thinks Maddie is saying something, his name maybe, but it’s so muffled and distorted, and it doesn’t matter, not when Buck with his sad sad eyes is opening his mouth and saying, “I’m trying.”

or, in the aftermath of the lightning strike eddie is haunted by buck's ghost

death wish love | 15K | Explicit | Read on AO3

Eddie opening the door, casual and filled with a type of swagger Buck didn’t understand. Pantsless. Thighs on display. Flushed and sweaty in his thin button up.

Buck isn’t sure why the memory of that image makes his throat go tight. It didn’t faze him all that much at the time because he had other things on his mind and was sad enough that a true act of divinity probably wouldn’t have gotten a reaction out of him. But now–

Well, now Buck looks at Eddie. Bare legs and a hint of his thighs. That dark mark on the back of his right leg peeking out from the hem of his shorts. Hair mussed and a little damp, curling behind his ears.

The image of the Eddie in front of him now and the Eddie in front of him last night flicker back and forth on top of each other like some kind of montage or old movie reel.

And Buck feels…pink. Caught. Stomach all fizzy and turning.

or, after getting dumped by tommy and going to eddie's, buck wakes up the next morning only to be pummeled by his hangover and his attraction to eddie

sweet sunbursts of flesh pink magic | 5K | Mature/Explicit | Read on AO3

Buck’s magic has always been a bit volatile. Jittery. Fluctuating. A touch reckless. Messy and bright and loud.

Maddie says that a person’s magic is supposed to match the person themselves, that the form it takes isn’t happenstance or random, that it’s a reflection of your purest self, an extension of your soul that you can manipulate.

Safe to say, Buck’s never cared for that assessment.

or, buck has magic and eddie gets doused with sex pollen

still the bone remembers, still it wants | 148K | Explicit | Read on AO3

The thing is, wanting has always been easy.

The thing is, wanting has always been so hard.

or, eddie goes to therapy and learns how to want. buck helps.

i'm here with the door wide open | 24K | Teen & Up | Read on AO3

Eddie eats and showers and puts on clothes. He goes to work, does his job, acts as fine as he can around his friends, attends therapy twice a week, and goes back home.

Day after day after day.

And it’s so fucking quiet.

or, eddie copes with the absence of chris but also the presence of buck

except everything | 26K | Explicit | Read on AO3

Like most things with Eddie are, the regular sex is good. Fun. A fucking delight to be honest.

Buck may be a bit lovesick and forced to hide needy whines like he is some dog trying not to be too cumbersome so his owner lets him stay, but he’s also more relaxed than he’s ever been, no matter the tension of his heavy love that only grows and grows and grows.

It’s fine.

Eddie bends Buck over the kitchen table and fucks him until he’s screaming, and it’s fine. Buck rides Eddie until he’s a babbling mess and his fingernails cut into Buck’s hip bones leaving marks Buck will trace later with a wretched wistfulness, and it’s fine. Eddie kisses Buck sweetly, finely, softly, as if that alone is enough, and it’s fine. Buck fingers Eddie until he comes all over himself, the sensation of his heartbeat basically in the palm of Buck’s hand, and it’s fine.

It’s all so very fine. Buck is fine.

or, buck and eddie become friends with benefits, get high, and confess their love in the stupidest and most endearing way possible.

the mouth is the thing that craves | 11K | Explicit | Read on AO3

Buck’s free hand comes up to Eddie’s face, fingertips brushing over Eddie’s mouth which is hanging open. Eddie isn’t sure when it started doing that but it is and his tongue twitches involuntarily when Buck slips the tips of his first three fingers past the row of Eddie’s bottom teeth.

“Oh,” Buck murmurs, like he’s confirmed something to himself. “Yeah. Okay.”

There’s no room in Eddie for anything that’s not grateful or warm or good, his heart spreading out wide in his chest, full and fat and working overtime as Buck smiles to himself, all small and lopsided and boyishly charming, and says, “You need something in your mouth, sweetheart? Need to hold me close, don’t you?”

or, eddie loves buck and he really loves buck's cock

you fill my head with you | 22K | Mature | Read on AO3

And then everything winded down, their friends decided to turn in and head home. Him and Eddie were the last to leave, and he–

He stumbled out of the bar right beside Eddie. He–Oh god, he threw himself all over Eddie. He flirted. He–he told Eddie that–

Buck’s hand stills, the toothbrush lying on his tongue with dead weight, uncomfortable and somewhat annoying, but Buck can’t even think about that because he fucking told Eddie that he dreams about them kissing.

What the fuck?

What the actual, horrible, unholy fuck?

Buck has to leave.

He needs to find a deep, dark hole to climb inside. Bury himself so that he can never come out.

He can never see Eddie again for as long as he lives and that’s such a terrifying, heartbreaking, impossible thought, but that’s the way it has to be.

He told Eddie he dreams about them kissing.

or, a night of drinking leads to buck confessing his feelings to eddie and they are both very stupid about it

baby, it's okay if we both end up afraid | 28K | Mature | Read on AO3

Buck hadn’t forgotten how cold the ocean is.

He hadn’t forgotten the bite of it or how the crest of a wave can feel like the edge of a knife or how the water stings and cuts and carves and settles in the bottom of your lungs and the pit of your stomach like a handful of broken glass.

But he had forgotten the water’s weight.

He had forgotten how heavy it is as it clings to you and refuses to let go, something he supposes he has in common with this powerful, almost undefeatable force of nature. Letting go has never been something he is good at, in any capacity, in any situation, always clinging clinging clinging like his very life depends on how well he can hold on to all the things that want him to release them.

OR

buck and bobby battle their past traumas in the middle of a shipwreck. eddie pines in the aftermath. and somehow, for all of them, love endures and overcomes.

it walks with my legs (to fall at your feet) | 61K | Explicit | Read on AO3

Haunts usually only appear after being dead for a while. It’s not immediate. So it’s rare for him to see them like this. It’s even rarer for him to see one when Eddie is with him, like somehow the ghosts know to stay away when they are together.

Five years and this girl is only the third haunt he has witnessed when Eddie is nearby.

Five years and this girl is the first they talk about.

“She’s trying to talk,” Buck finishes for Eddie, hesitantly and oh so carefully, afraid of spooking Eddie, afraid of spooking himself, afraid of spooking the girl trying so hard to tell them something.

Eddie looks her over the way he does a patient, clinical and concerned, trying to find what will help him diagnose and care for those who are hurting.

A faint wisp of pride tumbles around in Buck’s chest.

A stronger gust of love hooks into his ribs.

“They don’t do that,” Eddie says after a moment.

“No.”

OR

a buddie summer sons au where buck and eddie get caught up in something bigger than themselves and awaken a power that haunts them for the rest of their lives; however, the unspoken truths and love between them haunts them more than any ghost ever could

blue eyes and bare walls | 45K | Explicit | Read on AO3

“We are not going to paint our bedroom eggplant, Buck.” The words are flat as they come out of his mouth, pressed together beneath the weight of his exasperation and disgust at the shade of purple Buck is excitedly holding in his hands.

Buck sighs and frowns then shakes the tiny card covered in shades of purple in Eddie’s face, as if doing so would suddenly convince him that eggplant is actually a wonderful color and Eddie definitely wants it to cover the four walls of the bedroom they share.

That horrendous eggplant color is at the very top of the card with a few lighter shades below it, all hues that Buck instantly gravitated to when they made their way to the paint section of the hardware store, eyes blazing bright with that particular interest of his that makes him look so goddamn devastatingly gorgeous and indicates that he’s about to embark on a long-winded ramble.

“Eddie,” Buck whines, his lower lip jutting out in a pout as a well-practiced sheen covers his crystal blue eyes.

OR

Buck and Eddie are newlyweds and looking to paint their new bedroom. What ensues is the butting of heads, some arguing of both the fun and not fun variety, and desperate paint-filled sex on the floor

to you I'm just a man (to me you're all i am) | 287K | Explicit | Read on AO3

Buck is fucking tired of living with his parents.

He’s nearly thirty years old for Christ’s sake, and he is sick to death of being at their beck and call, of having to bend to their every whim, of being constantly scrutinized while also being constantly ignored. For his entire life he has been buried beneath their thumbs, his weak, aching, fragile body pushed further and further into the ground until dry soil and broken twigs flood his mouth, left to rot with the mark of their fingerprints burned so deeply into him that there’s no way of removing them.

OR

Buck is the son of the president of the United States and is finally moving out of the White House. His new home comes with new neighbors, Eddie and Christopher Diaz, who quickly become the center of Buck's world.

But despite being out from under his parent's thumb, Buck's life is messy and complicated and ruled by the fact that he is the First Son which means he is always under the watchful eyes of his bodyguards. None of that stops him from pursuing a life with the Diaz boys, but there are many complications, some of which he isn't even aware of. Yet.

today i live for a drop of you | 38.9K | Explicit | Read on AO3

Eddie has such a pretty cock.

That’s the only thing Buck can think of as he kneels at Eddie's feet. It’s flushed, almost purple in color, straining, and dripping. And it’s all for Buck.

Buck licks his lips and looks up at Eddie, who is leaning against the kitchen counter, hands braced behind him, his head thrown back and his chest heaving.

Jesus, Buck hasn’t even touched him yet and he’s already panting and desperate.

OR

Five times Buck dreams about sucking Eddie's cock and the one time he actually gets to do it

red life might stream again | 158K | Explicit | Read on AO3

The continent of Edrus is split into five countries, one for each species. Kyran belongs to the fae, Midrahi belongs to the humans, Vahlan belongs to the shapeshifters, Raelia belongs to the sari, and Dwerva belongs to the daemons. For centuries the five species have lived separately and somewhat peacefully. No one is allowed into a country that is not their home country, with the exception of members of the Order and traders chosen by each ruling government.

One tragic event brings together unlikely allies Eddie, fae soldier from Kyran, and Buck, human prince and future king of Midrahi. Together, along with their friends, they must uncover a dark secret about their world that has been hidden for too long, fight to keep one another alive, and work against an evil empire that has been hiding in the shadows ready to enslave any who don't bend to its will.

In the midst of crumbling kingdoms and dark masters, Eddie and Buck find something extraordinary together, but will they survive long enough to build something that lasts or will it all come crashing down around them?

there's always been a rainbow hanging over your head | 8.7K | General | Read on AO3

Eddie is going to come out to Buck.

The words I’m gay are going to cross his lips, enter the scant space between them, and fill the air with truth and possibility and freedom.

Once he can actually manage to say them that is.

OR

Eddie comes out to Buck, receives a quirky mug, and gets together with the love of his life. In that order.

we live and breathe words | 9K | Explicit | Read on AO3

Buck blinks and reads over it again. And again. And again. And again. Hot, fizzy starlight bursts inside his chest, shining across every crack and crevice as he reads it over and over. The poem is–it’s beautiful. The words plunge into his heart, engulfing it in soft blooming vines that reach into every broken part and pull them together.

Eddie wrote this.

Eddie wrote this.

OR

Buck finds Eddie's poetry, discovers Eddie is in love with him, and decides to do something about it.

slowly getting sober from the taste of your skin | 7.5K | Explicit | Read on AO3

“I–yeah. Yes. I want everything.” He’s not exactly sure what Buck is alluding to, but Eddie will take whatever Buck is willing to give. More of Buck can only be everything good and pleasurable and right in the world.

Buck pulls away from Eddie’s neck and turns his head. “Did you hear that? Sounds like he wants both of us.”

Confusion swirls through Eddie, dampening the tiny starbursts popping through his blood. He turns to follow Buck’s gaze and his breath catches in his throat.

Leaning against the doorframe, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, is–Buck.

OR

Eddie has a threesome with regular Buck and evil!Buck

when the violence causes silence | 17.5K | Explicit | Read on AO3

Watching Buck get hit by pure crackling energy, watching him fall and dangle above the ground–motionless, lifeless–it makes everything go silent. Eddie thinks he screams, but he doesn’t hear it; he feels Buck’s name rip out of his throat, splintering across his tongue, the shards of each syllable cutting cutting cutting until all he can taste is the echo of Buck’s name alongside his own blood.

OR

Buck gets struck by lightning and Eddie mourns. When Buck wakes up, Eddie takes him home and tells him what Buck means to him.

addicted to the softness of your touch | 694 | Teen and Up | Read on AO3

For the tumblr promt "your lips are really warm"

forever tastes like you and me | 1K | Teen and Up | Read on AO3

For the tumblr prompt "would you like to go on a date?" "i could do a date."

even when i'm lost, with you i'm found | 947 | Teen and Up | Read on AO3

For the tumblr prompt "I never thought driving around could be romantic"

and i could be good, i know that i should | 4.3K | Explicit | Read on AO3

Eddie is putting a little product in his hair, knowing that Buck loves it when it’s slightly messy, when he hears his boyfriend walk through the front door. Buck had gotten ready at Maddie and Chim’s place, stating he had a very special outfit planned and needed her help with it. Eddie’s been a little anxious about it, unable to imagine what Buck has in mind but eager to find out.

OR

Buck wears a skirt and Eddie has feelings about it

[fourstarsoutofnine]

May I request some Hyrule fluff where he accidentally confessed to someone in the chain about his raging crush on the reader and then that someone told the reader? Hyrule's all sad abt it and wants to disappear bc he thinks "what business would they want with a loser like me?" so reader has to reassure him that's not the case at all

A/n:if there’s one thing I’m an advocate for, it’s making Rulie feel better about himself. Y’all know my favs are Rulie, four and legend🩷I wrote this in one go while taking breaks to slap box my cat, he kept biting me.

Warnings:only the abuse of italics used for emphasis. When you’re reading, read the italicized words like you’re stressing it. Y’all know that tho ofc. Also, this ain’t proofread

Reassurance.

Hyrule x Reader

The traveler is an incredible person all around. Kind, fun, adventurous, thoughtful—and don’t even get me started on what an incredible hero he is… but he doesn’t see it that way. Imposter syndrome is one heck of a mindset, and boy is it something he’s got.. imposter syndrome is something that makes you downplay your abilities and accomplishments, and if you ever asked the traveler if he lived up to the hero name, or his friends’ heroic abilities—or even the spirit of courage he’d tell you he didn’t. He’d negate the idea and change the subject before you even had the chance to refute him on it. Such was the exact reason he hadn’t confessed to a soul his feelings for you—especially not to you. You were incredible in his eyes, a sight to behold and an even bigger honor to be friends with. Although, he figured next to someone like the captain, the champion or even the smith he figured he couldn’t compete. In his mind he wasn’t even in the competition, let alone a contender in this race. He was just a traveler, someone who’s heroics were that of a happenstance. Right place right time kind of thing. Though, this longing and hearing for you was making him sick, keeping it to himself, he felt like a grocery bag with too many heavy items in it—ready to break and spill out all the contents. The contents, of course, being the way he thought of you, the dreams he had at night of laying by you watching the stars and making up your own constellations, whispering and giggling at what one another said. He’d kill and die for you, if only for a fraction of your time in return. He had to tell someone.

And oh, poor unsuspecting Sky. Sweet thing, he only wanted to help.

“Sky can i talk to you?” The traveler asked as he walked up to the hero, who was whittling down some wood to make into a little figurine for the ever bored sailor, who’d spent far too long at camp without something to do(the vet was going to strangle him had someone not suggested the boy go out and find a lake to play in while sky made a toy for him).

Sky looked up with a soft smile and baby blues the traveler was sure you’d prefer to his own dark brown eyes; they didn’t shine like sky’s did. “Sure! What’s up?” He sat down his project(which would be much to the vet’s dismay when the sailor returned and it wasn’t finished) to give the traveler his full attention.

“I have a confession to make. It’s nothing bad but-…..actually yes it is.” He started, already feeling defeated as his shoulders slumped, not wanting to admit it but also wanting to get it off his chest at the very same time. “I’m afraid I’ve caught feelings for y/n—which normally wouldn’t be a problem—only, they’re y/n, and I’m unfortunately nobody they’d like..”

“Are you kidding??? Of course they like you!!! They’d be thrilled to know!!!” Sky got up and the traveler panicked.

“Sky, where are you going—“

“To tell y/n! It’s nonsense you think they won’t like you! Like I said they’ll be thrilled!”

“Sky, no, please that—please don’t…” he stopped following the young man, looking like a sad wet cat with how defeated he felt. He was sure this was the end of your friendship. Farore, strike him down now. It’s over for him. He could’ve swore he saw the events of his life flash before his eyes as he watched Sky make his way over to you. He said something the traveler couldn’t hear, but he assumed it was the song of his death March. His eulogy. ‘There lies Link, our dear sweet traveler, who despite everything he went through, who saved his Hyrule from true doom and despair, despite the efforts of everything that tried to stop him from doing so, died of a broken heart—‘

In his lamenting, you had made your way over to him with soft eyes and the saddest smile. “—Link.” Your voice broke through his thoughts and you were glad it had finally not fallen on deaf ears. His eyes widened when he noticed you standing in front of him and he suddenly felt his breakfast pushing at the top of his throat, wanting to escape the twisting and turning of the nervous butterflies the rushed the home it had made in his stomach.

“Hi.” You said exasperatedly in a laugh. “What’s this about you saying you’re ‘nobody I’d like’? Of course I like you?”

“But why?” He finally broke. “Why would you? I’m not—I’m not a real hero—and I’m not strong like the rancher or skilled and talented like the smith or suave like the captain and Hylia knows I can’t cook like the champion, and—“

You put a hand on his cheek and kissed him. His words died in his throat and he melted, every bit of tension, every single thought—it all melted away the moment your lips touched his. You pulled away with a smile, wiping away the tear caught on the edge of his eyelashes.

“You don’t have to be. Link I don’t care if you’re not strong or skilled and talented or suave or can cook—I wouldn’t care if you were. I wouldn’t even care if you weren’t a hero—because that’s not why I like you. Din—I love you, Link. I love you because you’re sweet, and thoughtful, and caring and you put yourself before others—granted it’s sometimes—heck, oftentimes to your own detriment but regardless! You’re amazing, and I love you…”

The traveler couldn’t speak. He was at a total loss for words.

“…Link..?”

“…thank you…” he pulled you into a tight hug and you smiled sadly, hugging him back.

“Of course…” you said and let him take his time and break away on his own. Once he did, you smiled sadly again as you watched him wipe his tears.

“So-…are-… are we…”

“Yes. We are.” You said definitively and smiled when he lit up. He pulled you in again and gave you a kiss that was broken shortly after when the veteran yelled at the sailor for following him around and asking him questions about his magical items. You then looked over to see sky, frantically whittling down the toy that was meant to be finished by the time the boy returned to camp.

“..whoops.” The traveler laughed nervously. “..we’re gonna not tell the vet I pulled sky away from his work… he’s not the best to be around when he’s mad…” he said and you covered your mouth to keep you from laughing. Though, even if the vet did come to drag your boyfriend away and tell him off, the both of you were sure it wouldn’t ruin your day. Not after the moment you two shared.

[togrowoldinv]

Ballad of Secrecy

Part 1: Peachy Keen

1950’s Actress!Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

AU Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a renowned actress, but everyone wonders why she will never settle down. You meet her upon happenstance and both of your lives begin to change.

Note: Yay a Nat series! I have five parts planned out, but I’m not sure when I’ll posting each one. I hope y’all enjoy this first one! Let me know what you think!

Ballad of Secrecy Masterlist, Main Masterlist

There are many words that can be used to describe Natasha Romanoff. Beautiful, confident, wealthy, golden, high-class, the list goes on. But the best way to describe her right now, as you see her across the bar, is lonely.

You feel a sort of magnet drawing you toward her. But of course, you know who she is, and you would never just approach a movie star. Most definitely not one of her status. So, you simply sit and wonder what it would be like to go up and talk to her.

Your wondering is interrupted by your friend Wanda.

“Hey there,” Wanda says as she sits in the seat next to you.

“Hey Wands,” you reply, leaning over to give her a hug. You haven’t seen her in a while. She has been traveling to try and get some new roles. “How has the search been?”

“Ah, well I have come up pretty dry,” Wanda says. “But Vis keeps telling me that it’s okay for me to keep trying.”

“And he is okay being with the kids at home?”

“He says he is. I’m not so sure,” she explains. You sip your drink as your only response. Wanda chuckles a little and orders a drink of her own. “What about you? How is the writing going?”

“It’s not,” you reply. She gives you a sympathetic look, but you shake your head. “It’s okay. Just a silly dream.”

“I don’t agree,” Wanda says. You shrug. She takes a look around the bar and that’s when she sees her. She whips her head back around to you. “Is that Natasha Romanoff?”

“I believe so,” you say casually, as if you haven’t been thinking about her all night.

“We have to go talk to her,” Wanda says.

“Oh, heavens no,” you say.

“Why? She could help me, y/n! I am going over there with or without you.”

Wanda stands up from her seat and the next thing you know she is talking to the woman. You can’t quite hear what they are saying, but when they look your way, you decide to move closer. Taking a deep breath, you move to the seat beside Wanda.

“This is my friend, y/n,” Wanda introduces you.

“Pleasure to meet you, y/n. I’m Natasha,” the woman says. Her voice is raspier in person, it’s addicting.

“Hello,” you say shyly. You figure she’s probably used to people acting this way when they meet her. But you don’t feel as though you’re starstruck, but rather her beauty is just so alluring that you can’t formulate words.

Wanda continues to talk to her as you listen on. Natasha isn’t impatient with her, nor does she turn her away when Wanda asks her about the newest movie she’s filming. In fact, she seems to tell her more details than she has to. You didn’t expect the star to be so kind.

About thirty minutes later, Wanda excuses herself to the restroom. She leaves you alone with Natasha and your heart races.

“So, y/n, what do you do?” Natasha asks you. You’re surprised she remembers your name.

“I’m a writer,” you say. She smiles at that. “Well, on the side. I haven’t exactly made any living with that yet.”

“I see,” Natasha remarks. “But clearly you see yourself in that career since you told me, a stranger, that is what you do.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, it’s becoming easier to talk to the woman. She moves to the seat next to you. Spoke too soon.

“Tell me, do you write poems?” She asks, there’s a certain glint in her eye as her mouth forms into a smirk.

“I- yes I do,” you answer, feeling heat rush up your neck. “But mostly I write stories.”

“Stories,” she says the word as she ponders the meaning. “Like love stories?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

Natasha accepts the answer. She leans in closer to you and her hand comes to your thigh. The proximity in a public area feels dangerous.

“Maybe you could write one of those love stories into a movie,” she says.

“Do you like acting in love stories?”

Natasha thinks it over. “Sometimes. Although I do find my love interests quite boring, don’t you?”

“Well, I-”

“It’s the same white men every time. I wish someone would write something better, you know. Something with substance.”

“Oh, I must admit movies are more Wanda’s thing,” you say. “I only watch with her usually.”

“Right,” Natasha remarks. You swear her eyes glance to your lips before she moves back into her seat properly.

Wanda returns from the restroom at about that time. If she notices that Natasha has moved next to you, she doesn’t say anything.

“I should really be going,” Natasha says, sipping down the rest of her drink. “It was great to meet you both.”

“Great to meet you as well,” Wanda says, her smile not quite meeting her eyes.

Natasha looks at you and decides that she wants to see you again. She has no real power to do what she’s about to do.

“Wanda, can you be on set tomorrow morning? Say 5am?” She asks the girl.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I can, yes,” Wanda replies in disbelief.

“Alright, I will see you there. And y/n, please come with her,” Natasha says. She doesn’t give you time to ask why, but she shoots you a wink before she floats out of the bar.

You and Wanda both sit there in awe.

“What just happened?” You wonder aloud.

“I think I just got my big break,” Wanda says. “I have to go tell my family!” She hugs your neck before she disappears out of the bar.

You remain there at the bar analyzing what just happened. Was Natasha Romanoff flirting with you or was it all in your head?