#any time someone touched my neck/shoulder or tilted my chin when they kissed me i passed away

[lazylittledragon]

STOPPPP I JUST NTOCIED GALE'S HAND GENTLY RESTING ON CYRA'S BACK ON THE KISS PAGE I'M SO SICK RN

he is a GENTLEMAN

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [PLAYING WITH THEIR HAIR] ¡! ❞

WARNING: I love Hanzo, but i had to-, Ging cause he's a crime, Hisoka, its more hair related situations than actually playing with it, but the vibe is comfy and chill, some are on crack but enjoy :)

SUMMARY: You play with their hair (if they have any lol)

CHARACTERS: HxH guys × F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 7.191

AN: it was super fun, for some reason my inner gremlin shows up if i write hxh

Chrollo

Chrollo lets out a soft huff of air as you start playing with his hair. He's sitting up, leaning against the headboard of the bed, focused on the book in his lap. A smile appears on his face, but he doesn't look up from the page he is reading.

"You're playing with my hair," he answers with a hint of playfulness in his words. "No.", you try to suppress a smile, but it's giving you away as you play coy. Chrollo glances up from the book, giving you a curious look.

"Are you trying to annoy me?" He quirks an eyebrow, his smile widening. "Sometimes." you smile.  He shuts the book in his lap with a quiet thump, setting it to the side before turning to face you, his body moving closer to you with a fluid grace. "You're terrible at teasing me," he hums, wrapping an arm around you. "It's almost adorable," he murmurs. Chrollo pulls until you are sitting in his lap, your back against his chest. His arms wrap fully around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Can't even own up to it," he says, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. He takes a deep breath, the rise and fall of his chest against your back steady and even.

"What will I ever do with you?" "Can I keep playing with your hair?" "You'll do it regardless of what I say," he murmurs, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

His breath is warm against your skin as he speaks, his words brushing against your ear like a whisper. "Yes, you can," he relents after a moment. Chrollo hums in contentment as you start to run your fingers through his hair, his eyes closing at the feeling. He nuzzles his face against the side of your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses against your skin. "You know, you're very distracting," he mutters against your neck, his voice muffled by your skin.

He pauses, burying his face further into the crook of your neck, his breaths warm and fast. "Very distracting," he murmurs again.

Bonolenov

His whole body stiffens when you touch his head; soft flick or no, he flinches, as though it's the first time someone has ever laid their hand on him. His breath shakes, and an inhale comes sharp, almost painful. Yet, he doesn't move away from you at all. Bonolenov stares at you.

"Don't…" He whispers. At your laugh, Bonolenovs glare transforms into something more hesitant— as if unsure of what to do with his face in response to your laughter. "Don't tease me," He mumbles, eyes flickering from your face to the floor. "No teasing." "Sorry, sorry." You keep softly laughing as you rub his bald head again. (Wtf am I writing) Bonolenov shudders again at the feeling of your hand on his head. He leans into it, slowly, a flower seeking the sunlight.

"You do this on purpose," he mutters. Despite his protest, Bonolenov can't seem to look away from you, or stop you from touching him.  He shivers ever so slightly every time your hand moves over his head, and he still hasn't moved away. In fact, he's almost… pressing his head against your hand.

"Or is this a ritual from your tribe?"

Dalzollene

Dalzollene stirs slightly from the gentle motions of your touch, tilting his head up, almost as if seeking to lean against your hand. Dalzollene blinks slowly, eyes half-lidded. He makes a soft, sleepy sound, a low hum that is more of a content hum than anything. He's half-asleep, completely at ease and utterly lost in this moment. "You're overworking yourself." You whisper as you carefully take a seat on the desk he's resting on. Dalzollene's eyes flutter as he tries to focus in on you more clearly.

"I am simply doing as I should," he says, his words slightly slurred from sleep. He lifts a hand to rub his eyes, before he blinks up at you again. "I have to—" his words interrupt themselves with a yawn, "—work." "Neon is draining you." Dalzollene frowns at the mention of her name, but he can't find it in him to speak against you. He knows it's true, even if his job means he has to spend most of it within a few feet of her.

"It is… tiring," he admits, trying to be subtle about his slight disdain for the woman. Dalzollene's eyes shut again as you run your fingers through his hair, his body relaxing further. "This is… nice," he murmurs, the last word coming out more as a hum than a spoken word. "Your hands…" His head tilts into your touch.

Feitan

Your hands are in his hair and he would love nothing more than to melt into you. But his temper is getting the better of him, and he’s trying all he can not to show you just how good it feels.

“Stop that,” he mumbles, a bit testily. “Stop what?” You ask, as if you don’t know perfectly well what Feitan was referring to.

Your hands remain in his black locks, running your fingers through the smooth strands. He huffs and turns his head away, trying his best to ignore the way gooseflesh rises on his arms every time your fingers comb through his hair. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” He snaps back, but his voice lacks most of its usual sharpness. “You mean… playing with your hair?” You ask, feigning innocence.

Even now, as Feitan is glaring up at you like a petulant child, you continue to brush your hands through his hair. Feitans eyes flash, temper flaring like a candle in the wind. He glares up at you, teeth snapping in irritation.

"I told you to stop," he says, a hint of a warning in his voice. "Or are you really that intent on annoying me?"

Franklin

"I'm sorry for your loss..." you whisper as you run your hands through his short hair, trying to comfort him. Franklin can feel your fingers combing through his hair, gentle enough to leave an imprint on his soul. "Uvo-" He blinks, his brow furrowing as he remembers who you are mentioning. "You don’t need to apologize."

He lifts his head to look up at you, and his gaze softens. "You have nothing to apologize for." He leans his head back, moving closer to your hand like a cat craving attention.

"If I’m being completely honest," he admits, his voice almost as soft as a whisper, "I think Uvo deserved it." He grins, and his eyes crinkle in the corners. "Don't say that," you say softly, "he was your friend, you loved him." "He *was*." Franklin closes his eyes for a moment, then sighs as you continue to play with his hair. "He was a friend, and a partner." The words are almost a hiss, a whisper of a curse on his breath.

"And he lost that when he laid hands on you." Franklins eyes are open again, staring up at you. "I didn’t like him as much as you think I did." He says, his tone blunt.

"He was a good fighter, and a decent person, but…" He’s quiet for a moment, and his eyes lower as he looks at the floor. "He tried to touch you. How could I forgive something like that?"

Ging

For a moment, he is still like a statue, then his lips curled into an agitated snarl and he starts to pull away. “Enough!” He snaps, swatting your hand away. "Dammit old man lemme brush your hair-!" You snap back. “No! No, that’s—“

Gings words stop the moment he sees the expression on your face. He gulps the lump lodged in his throat down and his shoulders slump. “Fine,” he says, looking away from you. “You can brush it. Just— just make it quick…” While you work to untangle the mess that is Gings hair, the man grumbles and mutters to himself.

“I could’ve untangled it myself, you know,” he murmurs, his words a complaint more than a statement. “You didn’t need to do it for me.” "Stop pouting." "I am not pouting," Ging huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He glances sidelong at you, his expression a blend of annoyance and something else he doesn't want to admit.

"And for the record, I was perfectly capable of untangling it myself." "Uh-huh." With another grumble, Ging lets his head droop forward in defeat. He tries to steal a glance backwards at you through the tangled mess of dark hair before remembering that he's not supposed to look.

"How much longer is this going to take?... my neck is starting to ache..." "Till you fucking die." "That doesn't tell me anything," Ging mutters, his words clipped and quiet. The pain in his neck is starting to mount, but he's not quite sure how to ask you to be gentler. "Could you… try and be a bit… more… careful?" He winces, his shoulders involuntarily twitching as needles of pain shoot down his spine. "It… hurts…" "Manchild." "Women these day's, i tell ya."

Hanzo (you could totally play with his eyebrows tho, they look like lashes, what a queen honestly)

"Are you just bald or cant you grow hair at all?" You blurt out while you both cuddle. "Bald?" Hanzo flinches as you touch his head. There aren't words to describe the touch of your hand against his scalp. A shiver runs through his shoulders; he seems to be holding back, somehow. "Um, I…" He pauses, clearing his throat.

"I can grow it… if you wish." His voice is soft, like a child speaking up to their mother. "No." you laugh by the thought of him with hair. The look of relief that washes over Hanzo, you've never seen on anyone else. He sighs, shoulders relaxing into your touch.

"Good, I—" his voice cracks, almost as though he's holding back. "I'm not sure I want to grow it to be honest." "And I'm not sure you'd look good with it either." A surprised sound leaves him, almost like a breathless laugh. He shakes his head a little.

"I didn't think so either," he murmurs. "Not to mention! A good ninja never leaves behind traces!" he adds. He lets his eyes flutter shut for a moment, as if in thought. When he speaks again, his voice is low, a murmured admission. "I like it when you touch me." "Hmm?" You hum, "You do?" Hanzos breathing hitches, his chest rising quickly with each breath. “I…” his voice is breathless, a strangled whisper. “I do.”

He shivers again, and this time he doesn’t try to hold it back. He just closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

Hisoka

His head is tilted back slightly, leaning into your hand as you play with his hair. Like some touch-starved little dog, he can't help the low sound that slips out of his mouth.

"Ah," he gasps quietly as he looks up at you. And yet, the smirk at the corner of his lips betrays him. "OH-! You didn’t...." "... I didn't just what?" He asks, eyes full of mischief. "Moan like that you slut-!" That makes him laugh. A soft, sultry little chuckle that sends a shiver through his frame as he grins up at you. He's utterly shameless, and he knows it.  "And what if I did?" He coos, raising one eyebrow up at you. "Will you punish me, baby?" "Whore." A huff of air leaves his mouth, almost a sigh, but not quite.

"Maybe I am." He grins, not denying it. "And maybe I want you to do something about it." Hisokas breath is knocked out of his lungs as you pull his hair, and another soft, desperate sound slips out of his mouth. He can feel his body heating up, blood flushing under his skin as he lets out a little moan.

"Ahnn...!" He shivers, eyes squeezing shut as your hand is tangled in his locks. "That's it I'm done." You say with a straight face and leave. "Leaving me all hot and bothered?" He pouts. "How cruel."

It's a joke, of course— but he really is rather bothered.

Illumi

The gesture catches Illumi off guard, and he blinks in surprise. The feeling of your fingers in his hair is unlike anything he has known before. For a second, it's like the whole world has stopped in order for him to experience the sensation.

He has to resist the urge to lean into the touch. "Why are you touching my hair?" he asks. "Am I not allowed to?" Your hand stops in his hair, waiting for his answer. You never know what happens when you overstep the assassin's boundaries. Illumi almost stutters, but manages to respond in his usual even tone.

"You are allowed to do whatever you please," he murmurs. "It's just… I am unaccustomed to the sensation." "Did your mother never do your hair?"

"No." He doesn't look up as he says it, his eyes focused on the floor. "She didn't. I used to do my own hair from a very young age." "Not even maids?" “No.” The answer is short, sharp. Illumi takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay still as you continue to play with his hair.

“Mother said that my last priority should be my hair, my first is to make the family proud and train. Maids weren't allowed to either talk to me or touch me.”

"So that's why it's so long." You laugh, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood. "What does that have to do with the length of my hair?" "....Nevermind"

Kite

"You…" Kites voice has a tinge of awe in it that only comes out when you are together. It is late. The sky is a canvas of stars. He sits next to you, so close that he can feel your warmth. His eyes are closed. Your hands glide through his hair, untangling some of its knots with a gentle, soothing touch.

"You would…" A brief pause, as if he cannot bring himself to ask. "...stay here with me?"

"Looking at bugs for a whole month or longer? Yep, with you always." You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. A huff of laughter escapes him. As always, he is powerless against the light you bring to his mind, the warmth you give him when you are near. "A month…" he murmurs, repeating your words. The corner of his mouth quirks up in the smallest smile.

"You'd spend a month in a forest watching bugs with me?" "Romantic." His smile widens into an actual smirk. As he glances at you, Kite cannot help but think that you look the most beautiful when you are like this— lighthearted, carefree, at peace. He is entranced by the way you look in the moonlight. "Romantic, hm?" He shifts a little closer, until his knee is grazing yours. "...you’d think watching bugs with me is romantic."

"I can imagine better things, but I won't complain." Kite's smirk only grows. He is close enough now that his body is almost flush with yours. He reaches a hand up, resting it against your waist, tugging you just a little closer. His voice is low, deep, but there is an element of playfulness to his expression as he looks at you.

“You won’t complain?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow at you in a challenge, "That's a new one." "EY-!"

Knov

Knov doesn’t react when you reach for his hair, though his body jolts ever so faintly as you touch him, his eyes staring up at you the entire time. "Ew-!" you withdraw your hand.

His voice is very different when he replies to your exclamation, though, his voice taking on a hint of annoyance. “What?” He asks, brows furrowing. "The gel, it's ew." You scrunch up your nose. Knov's expression is a mixture of surprise and slight embarrassment. He looks like a puppy being told off for eating its owner’s shoes. “The gel isn’t supposed to be touched. It— it’s supposed to help control it.”

He reaches up and tries to pat his hair back down, which is only slightly successful, with a few black wisps falling back down to cover his forehead once again. “It isn’t supposed to… feel like that,” he says, still mumbling to himself, trying to fix his hair back into the pristine fashion it had been a moment previous. Then he looks up at you, eyes searching for approval.

“Better?” "When you wash it later, I wanna play with it." Knov's face turns a slight red color at your request. He’s still fiddling with his hair, trying to get it to behave. “You… want to play with it?” He repeats, like he can’t believe his ears. "Mhm!" His face heats up once more, the red flush spreading to his ears. “Ah…” His fingers stop trying to fix his hair, leaving it messy and unkempt. He looks a little disheveled, especially when compared to the perfect image he always has in public. “…sure.” He says, as if he can’t refuse anything you say.

Knuckle

"It's surprising how it stays up..." you mumble in slight amazement. His hair is surprisingly soft under your touch. He lets out a gasp at the motion, almost like a puppy who wasn’t expecting to be pet. "It.. it does that," he stutters out, face going pink. Knuckle is utterly flustered, but far from annoyed at the touch. "I… I don't know how it stays up."

"...you style it every morning tho." "Ah… I…" he falters, realizing that he's been found out.

"I use a little bit of hair gel," he admits, like he'd just confessed a terrible sin. Knuckle looks up at you through his eyelashes, face still flushed. "More like a whole container." Knuckle flushes a deeper shade of red. His mouth opens for a moment, wordless with protest, then he sighs and looks down at the floor.

"Fine," he mutters, his hands clenching into fists. "I may use a bit more than just "a little bit" of hair gel…but only because my hair keeps falling back down otherwise!" He adds, a slight defensive edge to his voice. "And if I'm not always perfectly presentable.. I-"  he falters, biting his tongue before he says, "I just…" He looks down, refusing to meet your eyes.

Finally, he looks back up at you and admits, "I can't look anything but perfect when I'm next to you. Not even a single hair can be out of place." "Awww baby." Knuckle blushes at the pet name, but doesn’t protest when you begin playing with his hair. He even leans into your touch, craving your closeness as if it was the only thing that would make him whole.

Kortopi

"It's so tangled..." you mumble as you brush his hair, the small male sitting between your legs. Kortopis eyes flutter shut, breath hitching as you brush through his long hair. He tries his best to keep still, a slight shiver rolling through his body. He's never been a fan of people touching him so intimately. With you it's a different story tho.

He'll hold still as long as you like. “Please be gentle. I don’t… I’m not used to this.” He whispers the words, eyes still closed.

The feeling of your fingers stroking through his hair and across his scalp is almost dizzying. Each brush of your touch sends a shiver down his spine, his breaths leaving his parted lips in soft gasps. "Am I too rough? I'm sorry." You quickly apologize. “No, no.” Kortopi is quick to shake his head at that, a hand lifting to reach hesitantly for your leg.

“It’s just… it’s a lot.” He mumbles, eyes fluttering open. He looks up at you, cheeks reddening a bit. “It feels nice. Keep going.” He can’t explain the feeling he gets from you just playing with his hair— the way that the slightest brush of your fingers makes his stomach clench and his heart flutter.

No one has been this gentle with him before. No one ever bothered to look at him with any form of compassion in their gaze.

He leans into your touch, his grip on your leg tightening when you scratch ever so slightly across his scalp. "I don't wanna overwhelm you." “It’s okay,” he says quietly, almost breathless. The feeling of your fingers against his hair, your touch against his skin, it almost makes him dizzy. He reaches his hand up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist as he guides your hand back down, silently asking you to keep going. He closes his eyes again, leaning against your leg.

Kurapika

A shiver passes over Kurapika, but he does not look up from the pages of his book. "You're playing with my hair," he notes, a simple observation. "I am," you say as your fingers slide through the strands. You twist a few around your fingers and pull slightly. He tries to keep his focus on his book, but the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his hair is quite distracting. You feel more than see the effort Kurapika makes to keep his attention on the words in his book, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

"You're making it difficult to read," He says, but he makes no move to pull away from you. "That's the point," you reply, a light chuckle in your voice. Kurapika grumbles and makes an attempt at turning the page, only for one of your hands to tug on his hair again.

This time, he makes a soft noise and sets his book down, closing his eyes and sighing. "Why do you do this to me?" His voice sounds almost mournful, but there is a sense of joy in his words. It is almost as if he were grateful for the situation he has found himself in.

His hair is tousled from your ministrations, messy and disheveled. It is a sight that is both attractive and adorable. "Because I like to see you this way," you reply, still lightly pulling on his hair. The action makes Kurapika shiver. He turns to look up at you, a mixture of defeat and happiness in his eyes at the same time.

"This way?" He repeats, voice wavering faintly, "Disheveled? Frantic? Utterly distracted?" You nod. "It reminds me how cute you are." Kurapika lets out a huff, his cheeks growing a little warmer.  He tries to school his features into a frown, but he can't help the corners of his lips from twitching upwards.

Leorio

The touch of your fingers through his unruly black locks soothes Leorios mind. He leans into your touch, the tension seeping from his muscles, and his eyes flutter shut. He lets out a low, almost inaudible sigh, a mixture of exhaustion and relief. He's silent for a long moment, simply enjoying the gentle ministrations your fingers give to the hair around his face.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and quiet, as if not to disrupt the peace that's settled over the two of you. "You are too good to me," he whispers, his eyes still closed. He slowly reaches up to take your hand. He pulls it from his head and instead places a firm, lingering kiss upon your knuckles.

His thumb caresses your skin, the pad of it tracing little patterns against the back of your hand.  "You've been so stressed lately so i-" "You are much too generous to me," Leorio mutters into your skin. His grip on your hand is tight, as if he's worried you'll pull away.

His eyes flick open, and he looks up to meet your gaze. "You do not have to be this kind to me. Yet you are. You are too kind, my God," he repeats, the words quiet and reverent. He lifts himself up, resting on his elbow as he looks down at you. He brings your hand to his chest, holding it just over his heart. His free hand reaches to cup your face, his touch gentle yet firm.

He brings his face down to your ear, and the sound of his next words are as soft as a whisper. "Why do you have to do this to me? Why do you have to be so damn good?"

Menthuthuyoupi

You stare up at the big guy, "can I try something?" Menthuthuyoupi blinks, then gives a firm nod.

No matter what you say or ask for, he will do it without question or complaint. He has been yours since the first moment he laid eyes on you. "Can i play with your hair?" "My hair?"

Menthuthuyoupis voice is quiet, bewildered. Never in his long weeks of life has anyone asked to touch his hair before. "You… you can." He tries to keep himself still, but his body is tensed up. It takes all of his willpower to keep from leaning into your touch.

"Does it… is it good?" He can't help but ask. "Does it feel strange?" Yes. Yes, it is. "Yes," he says bluntly. "Didn't even know i had hair." "What?!" A small huff of irritation. Menthuthuyoupi shakes his head. "Now I know have hair." His hand reaches up to touch at one of the red locks, wrapping it around his finger and giving it a small, harsh little tug.

"I've just never…" he continues, pausing as if he isn't sure how to say what he means. "I've never been taking care of it." "Figured, it's greasey as hell."

Meruem

His eyes snap up to your face as you drum your fingers against his skull. He frowns for a moment— the barest twitch of his lips down.

He doesn't quite register what you are doing, just that your fingers are against his skin. Meruem is silent for a single heartbeat, and then he tilts his head into you, leaning into the touch. That touch makes Meruem pause, tilting his head back to give you a look, one corner of his lip lifting in an almost smirk.

"And what makes you think you can do such a thing to me?" Meruem asks. His voice has a hint of challenge to it, like he's testing you. "I just can." You smirk, knocking on his head. Meruem's smirk grows, and he lets out a soft laugh. There's no sarcasm in his voice, just a hint of amused disbelief.

"And that makes you think you're above me?" He asks, the challenge growing with his smile.

"Above the great king? Everything of course." Another laugh. Meruem shakes his head, letting out a breath as though he can't believe what he's hearing. He's not bothered or annoyed— far from it. Amusement is written all over his face as he looks up at you with a wide, wolfish grin. "You think you're that powerful, do you?" He muses, still with that hint of challenge in his voice. "My love for you is." That makes Meruem pause, looking up at you for a moment. That hint of challenge turns to surprise, and then that surprise fades into a soft, warm look. His smirk is gone as quickly as it came, replaced with a small smile.

"Is what?" He asks, voice much softer. "Love? The strange pulling in ones heart? What we talked about?" "What we talked about, yes." "I doubt your pulling compares to mine."

Morel

"Ey old man! Come here!" "Eh? Old man?" He sputters as if the very notion offends him."I am not that old," Morel protests. "How old do you believe I am?"

"100?" "One hundred?" Morel stares at you incredulously. His eyes narrow. His shoulders tense up. For a short moment, it looks as if he’s holding back a snort.

"You think I am a hundred years old?" "You have white hair." You run your fingers through his hair as he sits down. "That does not mean I am old," Morel saya. "It just... means my hair is white. It always was." He falls silent, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. "You wouldn’t ask others with white hair their age, would you?" "I was just joking." The admission seems to soothe his wounded ego a little bit. "You could have used a more believable number,” he mutters, but there’s hardly any heat in the words.

"For your information, I’m not a hundred. I’m not even close to that old." He huffs, rising to his feet and dusting off the dirt from his clothes. "Not that it matters either way,” he adds, giving you a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye. "I don’t suppose my age matters to you, my love," Morel says, the reverent title slipping easily from his tongue.

“I could be a hundred or thousand, immortal or not, and still,” he stops suddenly, eyes fixed on your face as the words die on his tongue. For a moment, he swallows, as if suddenly unable to find the words. “I would still be yours...and i know you like em older anyways.” "Ey-!"

Neferpitou

"No one? Ever?" You asked in disbelief. Neferpitou leans ever so slightly into your touch, enjoying the soft feeling of your fingers against their hair. No one else has ever done this.

"No," they murmur, "never like this. No one ever touched me like this." "What a shame...it's pretty." The corners of Neferpitous mouth twitch, something like pride swelling in their chest at your compliment. Your simple words mean everything to them. Praise from you is more valuable than all the riches in the whole universe.

"You flatter me," they say quietly, although there's no attempt to deny it. Not only is their hair pretty, but so are they, and they know it— but they also know only you can tell them that. "Hmm, maybe." your lips crack a smile. Neferpitou stares up at you, eyes burning like fireworks. They're not blind— they know you're teasing them. Your smugness is something they adore. All of your expressions are so unique, from the look on your face when you're fighting a battle, to the curve of your lips when you smile, all the way to how your eyes crinkle at the corners when you laugh. Humans are interesting. You especially.

They know exactly what you mean, even if they're not willing to admit it. Neferpitous expression is mischievous, their tone bordering on dangerous. They won't admit it out loud, but they do love playing with fire. Especially when it comes to you. You're a feisty little inferior species.

"Don't smirk, my human," they murmur, leaning closer until they're a mere breath away from you. "We both know I'm more than just pretty."

Netero (me and my eyebrow or bald jokes in this post are wild)

You can't help but feel slightly upset, "Damn...why'd you cut it?" A soft sigh escapes him as you ask why he cut his hair.

“It would've gotten in the way, and it became difficult to manage,” he murmurs in response, his eyes still closed as he drinks in the feeling of you touching him. “Plus… it will grow back,” he says. For a few moments, Netero remains still, enjoying the feeling of your fingers in his hair, until he opens his eyes and looks upward at you.

“Are you really that fond of it long?” He asks,  in his voice, as if he’s worried he disappointed you by cutting his hair in the first place. "You could've at least cut your eyebrows." You add with a smirk. Netero rolls his eyes dramatically, but even the small action isn’t enough to disguise the soft, flustered look on his face. “You know I can’t do that,” he says, but there’s mirth behind his words. “Unless you want me to run around with no eyebrows at all.”

"That would be a sight." You imagine. “I’d look absolutely ridiculous,” he says, but the way he’s grinning gives him away. "And you think you looked better before, old man?" Netero shoots an unimpressed look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he knows you’re only teasing him. “You’d rather I looked like a caveman?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge. "You already d-" Netero cuts you with an indignant scoff at your comment and, for a moment, looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he stops, a small smile twisting his lips.

“Oh, quiet,” he says, his tone holding no bite. “I may be older than rocks, but I’m allowed to care about how I look.”

Nobunaga

"Washing is an option, yk?" "I know that," he mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. He shivers slightly under your palm, his body as sensitive to your touch as a rose to sunlight. "I've been busy," he clarifies as you play with his hair, trying to come up with a good reason to escape your chiding. "I don't have time to bathe, is all."  He lets out a sigh, leaning into your touch like a kitten against a hand.

"And it's not that bad," he says, though his voice falters slightly— he knows he's lying. "Yeah sure." You smirk. "I've been sweating!" Nobunaga protests, as if that will solve everything.

"That's not my fault." He mutters, but when you tug lightly on his hair, he shivers again. "Relax." You calm him down. "I can't relax," he hisses, his eyes snapping open to glare up at you. "Not when you're—" He cuts himself off, his gaze suddenly shifting away as his cheeks flush. "I'll wash it for you later, okay?" taking care of a mess like this men is actually fun activities in your book. Especially when you can see him flustered. It takes a moment for his brain to process your words.

Nobunaga blinks, lifting his head from your hand to stare up at you, his mouth falling open.

"You—" a beat, "—you'll wash my hair?" You can practically see the smoke coming from his head. Nobunaga blinks, once, his mouth slowly falling open again as he processes what you'd said. His throat works silently as he grapples with the situation.

"You…" the word comes out faint, almost a whisper, as he tries to grasp what you're offering. "You'd… wash my hair?" he finally manages to get out, his face already starting to tint pink. "Yes?" "I—" he starts, hesitating as he tries to form a sentence, his thoughts flying to every possible meaning and implication of your words. Finally, after a moment of silence, his face completely flushed red, he manages to utter a response.

"I'd like that," he whispers, voice barely more than a sigh, though his words speak volumes as to how badly he wants you to do this.

Pariston

"It's so smooth?" It sounded more like a question than a statement. With all the products he uses you were almost sure his hair was like hay. He leans into your fingers, closing his eyes, a satisfied hum escaping his lips.

"Of course it is," he mumbles back, pride and arrogance dripping from every word. "After all," he continues. "I keep it that way for you. Gotta look good for my girl." His head tilts into your hand, seeking more of your touch. You can't help but roll your eyes at him. "What?" Pariston asks, his eyes opening. He lifts his head just to look at you, a single eyebrow raised.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, I'm being sincere," he says, tone a mix of amusement and mock-offence. "Since when." "Oh, always." He says, sitting up a little straighter. He leans back on one of his hands and grins. "You just don't notice because you never pay attention to me," he retorts. "I think..." He speaks slowly, fingers dancing over the top your other hand. "I think you're just cruel to me. That's what it is," he says decisively.

"You have no idea," he continues, his tone going from teasing to serious for a moment, "how much I adore you, and yet you treat me so callously." He fake pouts, a frown on his face, but you can see his eyes are dancing with mischief. "It's very insensitive of you." He admonishes you, his fingers moving over your skin.

"You should feel very guilty for treating the person who loves you more than anything like this," he admonishes, though there is a hint of a smile on his lips.

"And the person that finances your very being."

Phinks

"No," Phinks insists, pulling a little away from you. He scowls, crossing his arms at his chest. "Just… No." He won't let you ruffle his golden locks. "Why?" You whine slightly. "I don't want you to ruin it," he protests, running his fingers over his hair. He glares at you as his perfectly styled locks get mussed. "It takes hours to make it look good." Phinks frowns, his hair tousled from your touch. He combs his fingers through the messy blonde strands, trying in vain to return them to some semblance of order.

"I don't understand why you always have to touch my hair," he complains. "You're just like a child, always grasping at what the world has to offer without regard to the consequences," he says, still combing through his hair and trying to keep it away from you. "You have the impulse control of a three-year-old."

"But you love me." You smile innocently. Phinks can't help but soften a little at your words. He lets out a huff, his shoulders slumping as he gives up on his hair. He can never resist you.

"Yes, I love you," he admits, running a hand through his hair one last time. "Now, don't ruin my hair or I'll punish you." He doesn't sound all that threatening. In fact, you can imagine a hint of a smile flickering at his lips as he glares at you.

"If you make me look awful, there will be consequences," he says, though you suspect he's more likely to give you a kiss than actually punish you. He lets out a quiet sigh, running his hand through his tousled hair one final time before admitting defeat. He's fighting a losing battle— his hair is messy and sticking up at all sorts of ungraceful angles, and he's only going to undo any progress he makes by touching it. With a huff, he gives up, looking back at you.

"You're going to be the death of me one of these days, you know that?"

Pokkle

Every time you even think of coming near his hair, he looks up at you like a frightened doe. "I'll bite your hand, you know," he adds, though it is a very empty threat. "Why not? Shy?" You tease. "I–It's a mess." Pokkle protests, lifting a hand up and attempting to tame some of the messy locks of messy hair. He quickly gets frustrated however, huffing as it just flies right back in his face. "Besides… You'll mess it up…" "Can I at least brush it? Make it better?" Pokkle bites the inside of his cheek, looking down as if contemplating.

He remains like that for a few moments, thinking it over. He can't deny he wants you to touch his hair. That much is obvious. He's simply very stubborn, and won't say it.

He mumbles something under his breath that sounds vaguely like a reluctant yes. He turns around, presenting his back to you. His hair hangs messily over his shoulders.

His spine is ramrod straight, almost painfully so, and he’s clearly trying not to look over his shoulder at you. He's expecting his hair to be pulled, not brushed. He stays completely silent once you begin to brush his hair. He is still as stone, like a statue, but you can almost hear the sound of his mind racing even when you touch the brush to his hair.

He doesn’t look at you the entire time. In fact, he appears to be trying so desperately not to look at you that it’s like he’s fighting a losing battle with himself.

"Good?" Pokkle is quiet for a few seconds. He seems to have to collect himself, closing his eyes in an attempt to process what's just happened.

Finally, he nods, answering your question in a single word. "Good."

Razor

Razor doesn't question your request for a moment. If you want to, he will allow it. His head dips down, allowing you better access.

"You may. It's yours." "...its so short." you mumble. "I never let it grow." Razor responds, then lets out a quiet little hum as you play with the strands of his hair. It is indeed short, just barely long enough to play with. His neck twists a little, tilting to the side as you ruffle his hair. Razor is surprisingly pliant at your ministrations.

"You like to play with it, I take it?" He asks, a touch of amusement in his tone. "Meh, it's alright." Razor lets out a quiet scoff, the corner of his lips twitching.

"Only 'alright'," he mutters, but there's a hint of a smile in his words. "Just say you like it." He leans closer to you, head tilting down to look at you. "I know you like it," he teases, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You love to play with this short hair. Admit it."

"Hmm,...no." Razor snorts. "Why not?" He murmurs, leaning in a little more, so his head is resting against your leg. "It's short and soft. I can tell you like it, don't lie." Razor lets out another quiet scoff, though it is not meant as rude. He is too comfortable to care how he sounds. "Your hand is still in my hair," he whispers, tilting his head a little more to give you better access.

"Admit it, you like it." He smirks.

Shaiapouf

Shaiapoufs head is leaned against you, his eyes closed as your fingers run through his golden locks. He shudders at your touch, a low hum of satisfaction rumbling in his chest like a distant storm. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he finally opens his eyes and speaks.

"What are you doing?" He asks, voice heavy with exhaustion and contentment. "Hmm, nothing." Shaiapouf raises an eyebrow, glancing up at you from his place beside you. He smiles a little mischievously as he leans into your touch. "Just playing with my hair for no reason, then?" He teases. Even through the weariness in his voice, there's a hint of mirth there, like he wants to see how you'll respond. "Yeah." "Liar,"

He laughs, reaching up and grabbing your wrist, moving you hand back to his hair. He gently guides your fingers through his locks once again, his eyes closing, a soft sigh falling from his lips. "You just want an excuse to touch me, don't you?" Shaiapouf rolls over, laying himself against your side, head resting on your shoulder, his body pressed against you like a shadow.

He slings an arm around your middle, pulling himself close. "Gods, you're warm." He mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Shaiapouf hums contentedly as he cuddles against you, feeling the heat of your body seeping into his skin. He pulls you closer, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly.

"You're soft," he murmurs, his breath warm and ticklish against your cheek. "So soft..."

Shalnark

The feeling of you sitting in his lap makes Shalnark hyper aware of you. He tries to stay focused on the computer screen, he really does, but it’s hard to when you’re playing with his hair.  “What are you doing…?” He asks, swallowing thickly as his eyes dart from the computer to your hand in his hair. "Playing, like you." You mumble, keep playing. He lets out a slight huff, but there’s no annoyance in it.

“Are you trying to make it difficult for me to concentrate?” He asks, giving you a light smirk. “Not that I would want you to stop,” he adds as an afterthought, his voice growing softer.

Despite his words, Shalnark still continues to try and focus on the computer screen rather than on how it feels when your fingers glide through his hair. After a few moments, it becomes too distracting. Shalnark lets out a small huff, his fingers resting on the keyboard, unmoving. He turns his head a bit to look at you. A light flush has dusted his cheeks; his gaze almost seems a bit petulant, but there’s no real annoyance in it.

“You are doing this on purpose.” "Noooo." Shalnark gives you an unconvinced look.

“Liar.” He mumbles, tilting his head back a bit. The bare expanse of his neck shines in the cold light of the computer screen. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft sigh as he feels your fingers running through his hair again.

“I know you’re too smart to do this unintentionally.”  Despite his words, he can’t hide the way he relaxes with your hand on him.

Shoot

Shoots eyes slip shut as you touch his hair. It's been a long time since he's felt the gentle caress of your fingers against his scalp. You would think this would be enough to soothe him, but his chest still rises and falls quickly, his breaths uneven and choppy in his chest.

"Thank you," he stutters, trying to control his breathing. "Your touch feels like paradise," he whispers, almost so quiet you can't hear it.

"Missed it?" You laugh as you keep braiding his hair. He nods, feeling the gentle tug of your fingers on his hair. Shoot opens his eyes and looks up at you, his gaze unfocused. His head is foggy and hazy, his mind slipping away as you continue to braid his hair. "Yes," he admits, voice quiet.

"Yes, I missed it." "So...the mission?" Shoots expression darkens a little when you mention the mission. The mere mention of those words turns his mind to memories he would rather forget. "It was complicated," he confesses, watching your fingers move through his hair. "The mission…"

He pauses, his eyes growing a little distant. "...It did not go as well as planned." "...oh." "It was…" He falters. Something in Shoot shifts, a change in the air; as if the very atmosphere around him has grown darker. His mind drifts back to the mission, replaying the events of the past few days.

"There were... issues," he states, trying to keep his voice steady. "Obstacles. Setbacks. It was not the success we were hoping for."

Uvogin

Uvogin ducks his head to avoid the brush once again, a quiet scoff leaving him.

"I can brush it myself," he mutters, and reaches up. His hair is tangled and messy after spending most of the day without his hair being brushed — but he doesn't like having others run their hands through his hair for him. He can do it himself.  "Do you even know what a brush is?" you ask as a joke. Uvogin narrows his eyes at the words, a quiet huff leaving him.

"Of course I know what a brush is," he says, and snatches the hairbrush from you, holding it with an almost possessive grip. "I'm not an animal." Uvogin mutters something to himself— probably something about you being annoying— but he sits down and starts to run the brush through his long locks.

He looks like he is struggling. A lot. But he won't ask for your help. His pride won't allow it. "I can he-" "No."It's a short, quick answer. Uvogin immediately shuts down any offer you may have had before you can even finish speaking. He's stubborn, and he doesn't want to ask for your help— even though he very clearly needs it.

It's a sight to behold, the brush sticking in his hair and him struggling to brush it through. You walk up and hug his back. Uvogin stiffens at your sudden embrace, but he doesn't try to push you away. He continues to struggle with the brush, until he finally— begrudgingly— lowers his hands.

"Fine," he says, and it's clear it pains him to admit defeat. "You can do it."

Wing

Wing practically melts under your touch. His head rests against you like a pillow, and he hums in contentment as you play with his hair. He is warm, his chest rising and falling in a deep, even rhythm. "Tough day?" A heavy sigh escapes Wing. He nods, just a fraction, his face pressed into your chest.

"Yes." His voice is quiet, almost as if he doesn’t want to speak too loudly, in case it breaks this perfect moment. He pauses, hesitating, his eyes closing as he listens to your heartbeat.

"You make it better," he confesses, the words whispered into your skin like a secret. His breath is gentle, a soft sigh falling from his lips as he relishes being this close to you. After a few moments, he shifts, wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug, and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

"Being with you is my favorite part of the day," he admits quietly, breathing deeply of your scent. "Then I'm glad..." Wing nods his head, nuzzling into your chest a little more. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely loud enough for even you to hear. His body is flush with yours, his chest pressed against you. Every breath he takes, every rise and fall of his rib cage, you can feel against your own skin. Wings arms gently tighten around you, his grip almost desperate, like he’d die if he was torn away from you. "Love you too..." Wings hold on you tightens when you return the sentiment. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck and lets out a shaky breath.

“Say it again,” he whispers, a hint of pleading in his tone. The words are uttered as a near demand.

Forgot to answer it like an idiot omfg

[mymegrokosmos]

you stepped out of your friend's arms, surprised when mingyu's friend also pulled you into a hug. you hadn't met him before but it was a party and if gyu trusted this person then you could allow a quick moment of physical affection. you pat mingyu's arm and promise you'll see him later this week before leaving them to get drinks.

it takes you a moment to find seungcheol, watching you from where he sits beside soonyoung and seungkwan. they're deeply immersed in another argument, something about the jeans hoshi just received for his birthday and seungkwan having picked them out. you expect to see your boyfriend's tired smile, but instead, he sits with his elbows on his knees, red cup hanging loosely from one hand as he notes down on his other thumb.

his eyes are hard and angry, and he leans back when you approach. pause to watch the way he throws back the rest of his drink in one long gulp, adams apple bobbing as he swallows. he doesn't say anything, but his arm slides around your waist as you take a seat on his lap, pulling you close.

"cheol."

he hums softly in response, but you see the way his jaw tightens just a little.

you sigh. "cheollie, please look at me."

he does as you ask, head turning to meet your eyes. you reach over to rest a hand on his cheek, thumb brushing over the line of his jaw. it feels tight but relaxes a little at your touch as he leans into you.

"I love you."

you watch the way any jealousy and anger melt from his expression at your words. the way his eyebrows unknit and the hint of a pout immediately disappears. you press a kiss to the corner of his lips, and the hand on your waist tightens, squeezing your side for a second. he drops his now empty cup on the coffee table in favour of resting his other hand on your thigh.

"only you, okay?"

seungcheol smiles at you. "only me." he nods. "not gyu's pretty friend."

you laugh and let your head move to rest against his shoulder. "was he pretty? I didn't notice."

your boyfriend quirks one eyebrow at you in challenge. he doesn't believe you for a second. you decide to see how far you can push it.

"no?"

you shake your head. "the only man I'm looking at is you babe."

seungcheol rolls his eyes, shaking his head even as the hand on your thigh squeezes once. he likes your answer even though it's cheesy.

"simp."

you just smile at him. "loser."

he pouts. "hey!"

you laugh, arm sliding around his neck as you nuzzle closer into him. "but you're my loser."

he sighs. "I guess I can live with that. but I'm going to need kisses to make up for it."

"oh, bribery you say?"

he nods.

"I think I can make that happen."

you lean in to kiss him properly this time, not noticing mingyu and friend on their way back from the kitchen. he cups your chin to angle your face a little as he deepens the kiss. you just smile against his lips, mumbling I love you's between kisses. you can feel the way he lights up at the reassurance.

"and these two love birds are coups hyung and y/n. you met her earlier."

mingyu's tired tone brings you out of your little bubble. you pull back from your boyfriend with a sigh.

"gyu, if your timing was any worse, I might actually let jeonghan suffocate you in your sleep next time you sleep over."

the tall man just blinks at you. "like he hasn't tried it at least three times. I'm still here. for now. anyway, are you two done sucking face for the night? I'd like to enjoy my beer."

cheol sighs, forehead resting against your shoulder as he tries to talk himself down from cursing your mutual friend. you reach down to run a hand through his fading peach coloured hair. it's getting long enough to really play with now and he hums at your touch.

"you could just stop staring."

mingyu shrugs, dropping into a seat on the couch opposite you. his friend follows, much quieter now. you tilt your head slightly. okay, so maybe he is pretty. but that's for someone else to appreciate.

you nudge seungcheol, tapping at the hand on your thigh. "cheollie stop contemplating gyu's murder and say hello to... sorry what was your name again?"

"seokmin."

you nod, smiling at your sulking boyfriend as he glances up at you. "baby say hello to seokmin, you can talk to hannie and shua about potential crimes later."

he sighs but puts on a smile, keeping his arm secure around you as he leans across the coffee table to shake seokmin's hand. mingyu just gives you a look that asks what's up with him. you shrug and he sips his beer, offering you a sip.

usually, you wouldn't hesitate to reach over and snag the cup. sharing drinks with cheol's and your friends wasn't uncommon. tonight, though, with the weight of seungcheol's hand on one hip, you just shake your head. mingyu frowns but doesn't question it. he'll ask you about this later you're sure.

"speaking of, we should go see if shua still needs that ride home later."

you slide out of cheol's grasp, turning to take his hand as he gets up. he has other plans, arm coming around your shoulders as he pulls you into him.

"we'll catch up later, yeah?"

gyu nods. "text me when you get home please."

you promise him you will, waving as cheol shuffles you off upstairs. you smile, reaching up to hold the hand draped over your shoulder.

"so, seokmin huh?"

your other arm slides around seungcheol's waist, hand sliding into the back pocket of his jeans as he looks at you.

"don't tease me right now, baby. it's mean."

you lean into his side, pressing up on your toes to kiss his cheek. "you know I love you."

"I do." he kisses your forehead. "but give me a few days to get used to the idea of another kid we have to adopt."

you laugh. "you act like gyu just brought home a stray."

he blinks at you. "how did we end up with wonwoo and vernon again?"

you sigh. "okay, okay. but gyu is your son, you raised him this way."

he just smiles. "and yet, he's your favourite too."

you shake your head. "I don't have favourites cheollie. I love all of our children equally."

he just bumps your hip with his. "liar."

"okay so maybe I have favourites plural."

he nods. "that's more like it. now come on, we'd better rescue shua from truth or drink before your brother ends up sleeping in our spare bedroom until Sunday."

you blink as that sinks in. "nope, that can be hannie's problem." you follow as he pushes open a door to reveal a games room where a bunch of your friends and acquaintances sit circled around on the floor. "I am not taking responsibility for their idiocy tonight."

"hong jisoo I know you're in here."

joshua's head pops up from jeonghan's lap and you sigh. he seems tipsy but not as flushed as you were expecting.

"we're heading out soon, are you coming or no?"

both men stumble to standing, supporting each other as they say their goodbyes to their other friends. you sigh and turn to glance up at your boyfriend.

"they're gone aren't they?"

he nods. "looks like we're hosting brunch again tomorrow."

you kissed his hand. "okay, help me get them to the car and I'll cook."

"deal."

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"PUT THAT DOWN, TOUGH GIRL" (1)

The hunter had met her in prison. They shared a cell. For some reason they were put together in the same cell, breaking the rules of the complex: not to mix men with women.

Sergei didn't know why, until one day early the guards opened the door to his cell and dragged her out. At that moment the girl's eyes lit up in a deep green tone. Then everything clicked. They had been locked together because BOTH had the same abilities.

Without thinking twice, Sergei launched himself at the guards, using all his strength to tear them to pieces. She stared at him for a few moments, before following him. The alarms of the place began to sound loudly, reporting that some prisoners were escaping.

They escaped from there, and after talking to her, she agreed to stay with him. She needed someone to teach her to control her powers.

And who would do it better than someone who had the same abilities? She promised him that she would only stay as long as it took him to learn to control them. In the end she never left his side.

Life with Sergei was quiet most of the time, except when they had to kill a couple of poachers and end some animal trafficking ring.

In their free time they both hunted together.

The Hunter and the Viper, that's what they called them

During the first days of his training, Sergei explained to her how he had obtained his "abilities" so to speak. He told her how his bastard father had left him at the mercy of a lion that almost killed him. He told her about the moments afterward, the constant feeling that he was going to die. Thanks to Calypso and his grandmother's potion, he didn't.

Nora's story was quite similar, only instead of with a lion, it was with a viper, hence her nickname. Like Kraven, she had a highly developed sense of smell, sight, and hearing, the only difference being that she could throw poison and he couldn't.

That's why the darts they made to use as weapons were made with their poison. Depending on the dose, they could kill you or make you feel very bad without actually dying. They used both, especially the former.

So, that's how she ended up there, in the Hunter's "house", so to speak, in the middle of Russia.

She approached the wall where she had the weapons and held a crossbow in her hands. She felt his powerful presence behind her, but she didn't turn around.

"Put that down, krutaya devchonka," she called to him.

A shiver ran down his spine. He knew perfectly well how much it affected him that she spoke in her native language, since his voice was hoarser, guttural, masculine, and fucking sexy. She felt him approach her, pressed his chest against her back and gently took the bow from her hands, leaving it in its place.

-It's a prototype - he murmured in her ear - it's not ready yet - he said, beginning to leave soft kisses on her neck - but you are, right?

She tilted her head to give him better access to her neck, while he inhaled her scent, like a dog sniffing its owner. His hands anchored themselves on her waist, pushing her back possessively, the outline of his cock guessed under his pants.

A gasp escaped Nora's lips, making the hunter smile. She could feel the gesture on her skin. Sergei's curly hair tickled her, as did his scruffy beard.

-Sergei… -he whispered, resting his head against her shoulder- please…

-Patience prekrasnyy –he murmured against her ear- always so eager and hungry for me –he praised, starting to slowly remove her shirt- You want my cock, don't you? –he asked, she nodded firmly, unable to concentrate on anything other than his presence behind her and his hoarse voice in her ear- show me where you want it

Nora took his hand and placed it on her lower belly without a moment's hesitation. A growl came from Sergei's lips, who rested his chin on her shoulder for a few moments.

-Here –he whispered, feeling that if he didn't touch her he would explode at any moment- please, I need you –he begged- it hurts…

-I know, darling –he murmured- How about we remedy it uh? I'll help you relieve your pain

Let me know if you want part 2 😉

NOTES:

prekrasnyy means gorgeous on Russian

krutaya devchonk means tough girl

[luveline]

Miguel requests you say? 🤭 how about grumpy lovesick Miguel giving spider girl a hickey cause no one’s gonna notice right? only for someone to notice lol he’d be teased relentlessly.

thank you for your request!! —miguel gives spidergirl!reader a hickey. fem!reader, 1.5k

Miguel runs his entire life based on the assumption that there's not enough time. The multiverse is caving in on itself and he's probably the only one who can stop it —he doesn't have time to be kissing you in a dark hallway on the way to the control room. 

He doesn't have time and he shouldn't be doing this here, but you looked at him like he hung the moon for making some stupid joke, and you're always lovely, sweeping around him without worry to ask how he's feeling today, to touch his arm and really mean it. Did you get any sleep? 

He's not thinking as his hand closes down on your shoulder to pull you forward, not thinking as he chases you back into an alcove, not thinking as the seam of your lips parts under the pressure of his kissing, as you sigh into it, as your hands go limp where they're pressed to his neck. 

Miguel used to be better with words. He kisses you until you can't breathe, taking and taking and taking, your touch and especially your open-mouthed kisses a balm. And as you catch your breath, your hand rubbing affectionately at the back of his neck, he tilts your chin up with a no-nonsense thumb and noses at the column of your throat. He's trying to be quick and forgetting to be nice, nipping little welts like a line of longing from your jawline to your collar, hand hooked in your suit and holding it down for a better angle. 

He thinks, if he were to let the suit spring back into place, no one would see what he wants to do. 

"Can I?" he asks, hand full of your face, your head weighed heavily to one side. 

You're breathless. "I'd let you do anything you want to me," you say honestly. 

He attempts to ruin your right there in the hall. The hand that isn't holding your face squeezes at your waist unabashedly, pulling you as close as he can get as he works his teeth against the delicate skin of your neck. Open-mouthed, Miguel plasters damp crescents up to your pulse, where he stays, where he bites. You shudder at the feeling. Your happy sigh eggs him on. 

He's feeling pretty smug about the whole thing when he finally arrives ten minutes late to the command centre. The platform starts to rise under his feet, Lyla on his shoulder, Margo at the helm. You sit on the edge and swing your feet, hand drifting to your freshly bruised neck and prodding gently. He wonders if you've ever had a hickey before, and concludes you likely haven't; you've no room for subtlety. 

The smugness fades. You don't have a subtle bone in your body, actually, and he didn't ask you to hide it. He's not sure he wants to —you don't want to be his secret, and though it humanises him too much for his liking in the eyes of some of the other Spiders to have evident feelings for you, he doesn't want you to feel that way. You probably think the hickey is a 'freaky' badge of honour, the way you function. You'd sounded oh so happy to get it, and you'd kissed him when he pulled away like you were saying thank you. 

You definitely have some misconceptions Miguel needs to set straight, and he will. Just not in front of Lyla. He's only now started setting boundaries with the AI, like, try not to watch what I'm doing all the time, and, please don't pop into existence to make snarky commentary at my lame attempts at romance. It sort of kills the mood.

The day moves forward smoothly. Miguel might actually get away with it. You ease back fully onto the platform with your back to all of them, a book in your lap, humming at odd times until you forget to hum. Lyla runs calculations. Margo runs the teleportation room. Nobody notices anything unusual, not the mess of his hair from your squeezing fingers nor the rumpled neck of your suit. 

Legs crossed, you lay back and stretch your arms up toward him. He notices your movement from the corner of his eye and turns to give you a reassuring smile. He'd say he needs to find you a job, but there are enough spiders doing enough jobs. You have a training course tomorrow for strike force, but today, you're good to lounge about on the floor and send him lazy winks. 

Peter B. Parker arrives, and of course he brings trouble. 

"Hey, Spider," he calls, nodding at you, then Margo, and then Miguel. "Spider, Spider. Hi, Lyla." 

"What do you want?" Miguel asks tiredly. 

"Lyla asked me to come," he says. 

"For what?" Miguel asks Lyla. 

"Peter's useful. You need two team captains today in case the canon events on Earth-898 and 1264 converge at the same time and there are anomalies. I don't see why I have to tell you this." 

Miguel groans and he and his AI descend into an argument. You wave at Peter from the platform as it begins to descend toward him, fingers spread and swaying like sea grass. 

"Hi, Peter," you say, "where's Mayday? I'm owed a baby hold, you promised." 

"I did, I did promise!" Peter says. He squints at you. "I think I made one of the Spider-Girls that looks like you hold her, actually. That would explain why she was so confused. Woah, what happened?" 

Three heads turn at Peter's surprise. You stand up and hop the small distance from the platform to the floor as it stops moving, confused. "What?" 

"You have a bruise the size of Hawaii!" Peter's eyebrows jump his forehead. "I thought you were looking after her?" he asks Miguel. 

"He is," you say, less confused now. 

"What bruise?" Lyla asks. 

"It's not appropriate," Miguel says. "Margo's here." 

"Margo," Lyla says pleadingly. 

Margo sighs at the acute and abject unseriousness of her colleagues and logs out. As soon as she's gone, Lyla whizzes from Miguel's shoulder to yours, and while the hologram can't move aside your suit's high neck, she doesn't really need to. The dark colour of your hickey peeks out regardless. 

"Jesus, Miguel," Lyla says, "what's wrong with you?" 

Peter looks a funny mixture of embarrassed to have brought it up and pleased. "I mean, good for you guys." 

Miguel's surprised when you —tries to make him dance in public, lackadaisical, carefree you— pull the neck of your suit up and bat your hand. Lyla zips away from your fingers. 

"Please, stop," you say, laughing uncomfortably. 

Miguel hadn't considered how you might feel if you were discovered. He winces and steps off of the platform to get his arm around your shoulder. "Peter," he says, feeling wildly over protective, "you can do my tasks, since you're here. Lyla will help. It's my lunch break." 

"You don't have a lunch break." 

"I barely said anything!" Peter protests. 

Despite a batch of grumbling complaints, Peter climbs onto the platform, dragging a chair to Miguel's crop of orange screens. 

You let Miguel guide you to the hall, an apology on the tip of his tongue. You're a few steps deep when you drop the sad-sack act and spin out of his arm, turning to face him. A devious smile curls the corners of your lips up. "That was good, right?" 

"You're not upset?" he asks, eyebrows set into their usual frown.

"Nah. You wanted to get out of there, right? Your cheeks went pink." 

"They did not." 

"They did! Like when you kiss me, they went all pink, you can practically see how warm you were." You make a heart with your hands and press it to your chest. "Saved you, handsome." 

He looks up at the ceiling. Of course you know him well enough to know he wasn't keen on being teased. Of course you're not embarrassed at being marked up and discovered. You love his attention, you love all the boyfriend‐like stuff he does, kisses and hugs and hickeys, the whole job lot. He doesn't need to worry. 

"Thank you," he says. It's sweet of you to rescue him. You're a sweet woman. 

"You're welcome. Maybe next time, if you're going to get shy, you could give me one where people won't see." 

"Stop," he warns without heat. 

You laugh and twine your hand with his, yanking him down the hall. To the cafeteria, he guesses. He wouldn't know. He's never been there. Miguel really doesn't have a lunch break. 

[lilacliquors]

kinktober day eighteen: biting / marking

pairing: homelander x reader

word count: 568

notes: happy day eighteen! this was another free for all, and today's prompt is always a possessive one. and who better to choose than homelander? hope you all enjoy <3

there was no denying you were nervous as you entered the conference room on the top floor of vought tower. you’d been called in urgently, and it could only mean one thing:

the homelander needed you specifically.

these days, that was never a good sign. a lot of the time, if someone was wanted by homelander by name, they didn’t come back, and their job was up on indeed within hours. and the mere thought of never being heard from again terrified you.

the doors slid shut behind you, and you swallowed thickly. homelander was standing by the windows, his back to you with his hands clasped. you were too scared to even open your mouth, but you didn’t have to worry about that for two long.

“so glad you came when called,” he said, his voice echoing through the room. he turned around to face you, and he was … he was smiling. but it wasn’t a warm, friendly smile. no, it was humorless, it didn’t reach his eyes, and something about it sent a chill down your spine. he beckoned you closer, and with shaky legs, you walked over, and made an involuntary sound as he set a gloved hand on your shoulder.

“it’s so good to see you again,” he said, that same smile on his lips.

“i - see me again?” you asked despite yourself. you didn’t recall seeing him around lately, or when he could have seen you. but there wasn’t much time to think about it as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, which definitely startled you.

“of course, silly. haven’t been able to get you off of my mind since,” he said, his eyes roaming your face, and then your body. 

you felt your face heat up, and your heart began to pound in your chest. if the homelander had taken interest in you, a mere vought employee, it mean that you were safe, as long as you played along.

“i’m … i’m touched, really,” you said, smiling nervously.

“i’m sure you are. you should only know how long i’ve been waiting to get my hands on you,” he said, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. his kiss was crushing, and passionate in a strange way. you had barely any time to react, and then he pulled away, attaching his lips to your neck and kissing his way down.

your head was spinning, and your breath hitched as you felt his teeth nip at your skin. you felt his grip tighten around you, his gloved fingers digging into yours sides. he began to suck at your skin, leaving behind a hickey, and then another, and another. your skin was soon littered with them, and your head was spinning. he held you upright, keeping your body pressed firmly against his, and his fingers gently trailed over your marked skin.

“now that looks beautiful,” he whispered, his head tilting slightly.

“i … thank you?” you muttered, still in a bit of a daze. you heard him chuckle, and he gently tilted your head up, his finger tucked under your chin.

“you’re welcome. now, go on, back to work. show everyone who you belong to,” he said, letting you go and walking out, leaving you on your own in the conference room, still confused as to what had happened.

show everyone who you belong to …

fuck.

[beybaldes]

no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft

Roy Kent × Fem!Reader

word count: 9.8k

summary: jamie tartt once told you Roy needed someone to show him it was okay to be soft; Roy has found that person in you

content warning: spoilers for the plot of 'the couple next door' by Shari Lapena, tooth rotting fluff with the whole Kent bloodline and the Richmond boys, neither reader nor Roy has parents because I said so, allusions to smut but basically non written.

masterlist

a/n: this is technically a part 2 to my fic ‘it was simple, it was sweetness, it was good to know’ but can 100% be read as a standalone fic!! Thank you for all the love on the first part I acc can’t believe the amount of love and support it received 🥲🥲

"Hey, hot stuff." Your hands came to rest against Roy's shoulders, squeezing, then moving slowly across his collar bones and down his chest, coming to rest connected just above his heart. A featherlight kiss was pressed to the shell of his ear, and then another behind his ear, followed by a trail of quick kisses down his neck until your face was buried in the crook of it. "How's your book?"

"Fucking great." Roy answered back, voice low and mellow, maintaining the peaceful atmosphere in your living room.

Ever since you'd moved in together a year and a half ago, your entire house had become a sanctuary for the two of you. Roy's new position as manager made it so that even though you worked together, you saw much less of each other during the workday - mainly because it wasn't at his leisure to go in and out of your office all day any more. Even if you did spend every minute of every day around each other, you knew you could never get sick of Roy; you'd become quite the experts at communicating how you were feeling and what you were thinking, especially since every time he tried to keep you out, you would figure it out anyway.

"I mean, I've had my theories throughout about who did it, but I'd never have guessed this." Roy missed your touch as soon as you let go of him, reaching out so that he could hold your hand in his tightly while you walked around the couch to take a seat by his side. "I thought surely, what, with the husband having the affair he did it - and I was half right, the husband staged the kidnapping."

"I knew something was up with him!" You gasped, wrapping your arms around Roy's waist as you curled into his side, the hand that had just been holding yours pulling his blanket to cover your lap then moving to rest across your shoulders. "How was the husband involved? He didn't hurt the baby did he?" He used the palm of his hand to press your head against his chest, tucking your hair back behind your ear and then moving his hand to rest against your bicep, scratching his fingers gently into the exposed flesh there. "Oh my god, he didn't, like, get rid of it so he could be with the neighbour did he?"

"Slow down, slow down," Roy shushed, folding the corner of the page he was on, something so close to the end of the book you could count the pages if you tried. He pressed a chaste, warm kiss to the crown of your head, placing the book down beside him on the couch. "Let me explain, Angel." Roy's other hand, now free from holding the book, cradled your chin gently, tilting your head up so he could press a tender kiss to your lips. "So Anne's dad-"

Another gasp slipped past your lips. More then anything, you wanted to let Roy explain the plot of what he'd been reading, but his nightly updates had kept you on the edge of your seat. Despite not having read a single page, apart from the 2 chapters you read aloud to Roy earlier in the week when he was feeling a little under the weather, you were completely and utterly enthralled; desperate to know how it ended. Besides, this daily discussion was the highlight of your days. No matter how good or bad your day had been, if you'd gone out of your way to ignore each other or talked nonstop: Roy still talked and you still listened. "What did Anne's dad have to do with it?"

"You'll see." He chastised, pressing a kiss to the tip-of your nose before continuing with his explanation. "Marco assists in kidnapping the baby, why? Because his business is going out of money and he plans on faking a ransom note for asking for the exact amount of money he needs to pay up to save his business." Roy slid his hand under the blanket, pulling your legs up and into his lap as you brought your head up from against his chest. Threading your fingers through his hair, you looked at him confused. "Anne's parents are rich, remember? But they won't give him the money so he stages this kidnapping to force them to pay the ransom."

"No." You gasped, you hand clapping against your mouth. "Why wouldn't they give their son in law the money? They do know it directly affects their daughter and grand-daughter, right?"

"They won't give him the money because they don't like him, so get this, the guy who convinced Marco to stage the kidnapping was hired by Anne's dad." Roy laughed at the gasp you let out, you completely enthralled with the story and him completely enthralled with you. He always was. "Anne's dad staged the whole thing because he wanted Anne and Marco to split up. And just when you think everything's okay because they got the baby back; Anne murders the neighbour because she had been having an affair - with Anne’s dad.”

You were practically jumping in your seat.

Sometimes you wish you had the same amount of patience as Roy so you could actually sit down and read with him. Most of the time, however, you were more then happy to listen to him passionately talk you through what he was reading, were happy to watch that wonderful smile you loved so much curl onto his lips.

"But!"

"But-" you repeated after Roy, pressing a kiss to his cheek, urging him to hurry up with his ending; you were waiting to hear it.

"But, Anne doesn't remember killing the neighbour, so there is this whole unreliable light cast on the whole story; it might not have even happened!" Roy expected to find you staring at him in shock, some commentary on what you think happened on the tip of your tongue, but it never came.

Instead, he found you staring at him with complete adoration, like you'd watched him mould the galaxies in his hands, hang the stars in the sky and spin the world on his fingernails. To you, he did, he really did. You leant forward a little, using the hand that you'd tangled in Roy's hair to pull him closer to you so that you could press your lips to his. The kiss was soft and tender, something that Roy, ever intense, had really come to enjoy through out your relationship; you brought out this entirely different side to him that he wasn't even sure existed until he met you.

"I love you." You murmured against his lips, going in for another quick peck before you pulled away, gracing him with the sight of a smile. "I love how passionate you get when talking about the stuff you love, and that smile - ugh that smile, Roy - you're killing me here."

Roy was certain he was doing the right thing. So certain, in fact, that he'd bought the ring the day you got together: Phoebe's accusation in your living room that you were getting married telling him everything he needed to know. The life Roy had dreamed of was right before him, all he had to do now was take it. "Marry me."

"What?" The hand that had began to caress his cheek as you kissed and the hand in his hair stilled; your entire body stilled in fact, and as quickly as he'd become confident enough to ask the question, he'd become nervous again.

"Fuck, what I meant was; will you marry me?" Roy shuffled underneath you, pulling out a ring box from somewhere behind him, though you weren't sure where considering you knew his pyjama bottoms didn't have pockets. "I'm not the kind of guy for a big speech thing, but I wish I was because you fucking deserve that kind of thing. You deserve a lot more then I can ever give you, actually, and yet you still love me day in and day fucking out. I'll admit, sometimes I don't get why you do."

"Roy..." You whimpered, tears brimming in your eyes as you moved both of your hands to cradle his face.

"But you do. And I'd truly, really, be the luckiest man in the world, if you would marry grumpy, old me." Tears had formed in Roy's own eyes, the pair of you totally overwhelmed by the intimate and tender moment. You'd never been more in love with Roy then right now. "Please fucking say yes, I'm an absolute mess without you"

"Yes, please." You whispered, hands still cradling Roy's face even though your eyes remained on the ring in front of you. It was as if he'd peeked inside your brain and made the perfect ring; it was simple yet elegant and entirely you, it was really perfect. This time, you answered louder. "Please, yes."

You pulled Roy's face to you, pressing a firm and hot kiss to his lips. You let your hands leave his face, sliding up and over his cheekbones until you reached his hair, twisting your fingers into it and pulling him even tighter against you, deepening the kiss as you did. "A million times yes, Roy, yes, yes, yes." Tears had begun to freely flow down your cheeks, though there was not an ounce of sadness to them. You were insurmountably happy - over the fucking moon. "I'd say yes in every fucking language in the world if I could. I love you Roy." You bit your lip back between your teeth, trying to contain your smile since your cheeks burned. "Mrs Kent." A giggle slipped past your lips. "That's me."

"Fuck yeah, that's you." Roy growled, pulling you into him and pressing a kiss to your lips. His grip in your hair allowed him to tilt your head back slightly, giving him the perfect angle to push his tongue past your lips with a tug of his hand on your hair. If he had already put the ring on your finger, he'd have picked you up and taken you to bed then and there with the moan you let out. "Now, Mrs Kent, you going to let me put this ring on your fucking finger or what?"

~*~

You were thankful Roy had proposed on a Friday night; not only because that meant you didn't have to worry about how late he kept you up or how quickly you needed to regain the ability to walk straight, but because it gave you the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday to figure out how to tell your friends. Phoebe and Molly were coming over for dinner later that night, but you had a slight feeling you weren't actually going to have to say anything to them - you had no doubt Roy had consulted Molly over it, and Phoebe, well, you just knew she'd pick up on it the second she saw you.

"C'mere." Roy groaned beside you, not giving you the chance to move yourself before he was wrapping one arm around your waist and the other under your thigh. He slid you across the bed with ease, years of training still paying off despite the fact he hadn't played on a pitch in nearly 4 years now. Placing the leg he'd grabbed over his own leg, he pulled you flush against him, chest pressed to chest. "Good morning, Angel, sleep good?"

Roy's voice had a deeper edge then usual to it in the morning. "Always do when I'm with you, Handsome." You purred, gently scratching your fingers against his chest. "Although I've got this awful kink in my neck, must’ve slept funny."

"I can think of a few other kinks you've got." Roy murmured against your shoulder, pressing open mouthed kissed along it and up your neck. When he nipped at the sensitive skin just under your ear, you pushed yourself away from him, not out of want, but out of necessity.

"We've got guests in a few hours, remember?"

"I can do a lot in an hour alone." Given how late the two of you had been up doing things, you'd slept in till lunch, but that didn't make the sound of sleepy and slow morning sex with Roy any less appealing. God, the thought of it alone had you wanting to cancel everything ever and stay here forever.

"Hmm, that you can do." Pulling his head out of the crook of your neck, you pressed a kiss to his lips, tangling your hands into Roy's hair and trying impossibly hard to get even closer to him. "Show me what you got, coach."

A growl rolled out of Roy's throat and he was quick to get started on his own assault of your lips, fully using the position he'd pulled you into to his advantage.

~*~

After everything the two of you spent your early afternoon doing, you only had 2 hours to make sure everything was ready for when Molly and Phoebe showed up, and since your cooking skills ended at turkey dinosaurs and pizza, you left most of the work down to Roy. He let you help prepare ingredients, standing behind you with an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand guiding your hand to cut things a specific way. But when the time came to actually cook the meal, he guided you out of the kitchen, encouraging you to go and get ready with a soft kiss; one to your cheek and another to your temple.

When you'd showered and gotten ready, you made it your turn to kick Roy out of the kitchen, promising not to touch anything unless he asked you to. You made sure to set the table all nice and proper for Phoebe and Molly's arrival, still slightly starstruck by the actual use of the dining table and not just eating dinner on your couch like you'd become so accustomed to before you and Roy moved in together. Sometimes though, especially when Phoebe stayed over, you'd all eat dinner together on the sofa, spy kids playing in the background, for old times sake. And before you knew it, you'd heard the knock at the door.

Swinging the door open, you knelt down immediately, sweeping Phoebe into your arms and hugging her tightly. With her head tucked in between your shoulder and neck, you stuck out your left hand at Molly, wriggling your ring finger enthusiastically. Phoebe squealed your name, wrapping her little arms tightly around your neck; even though you'd seen her two days ago when you picked her up from school, she still missed you as much as if she hadn't seen you for a million years.

As you went to stand back up, phoebe kept her grip on your neck, a silent plea for you to pick her up. Even at 9 years old, she still loved being paraded around in your arms, taking full advantage of your love for her and her love of being close to you. You pulled Molly into the house by the hand, kicking the door shut with your foot and leading them to the kitchen, where Roy was finishing up dinner.

"Hi, Uncle Roy!" Phoebe opted to stay in your arms instead of wiggling out of them to give Roy a 'hello' hug, knowing he was busy cooking and shouldn't be interrupted.

"Hey Phoebe, dinner will be ready in 2 minutes, okay? Why don't you go and grab your phoebe mug from your room before we all sit down?" When you and Roy moved in together, it was a unanimous decision that Phoebe needed her own room in your house; and when you were moving her things from Roy and your separate houses into your new house you got her a 'phoebe mug' as a housewarming gift. It was a bright pink ceramic mug, her name written once by you on the front and once by Roy on the back - it was the only thing she would drink out of when she was at your house.

The second phoebe had slipped out of the room, you turned to Molly with a squeal, the two of you grabbing tightly onto each other and jumping around the kitchen. Roy watched fondly as the two of you gushed over the ring Molly had already seen a thousand times. She took your hand in hers, running her finger over the ring with a featherlight touch, tears filling her waterline. Molly grabbed your hand and pulled it over her shoulder, hugging you again, though this time more tenderly, more teary-eyed.

"I'd say welcome to the family, but I think you've been a part of it since the day you met Phoebe." Tears began to fill your own eyes at the words she whispered against the shell of your ear. "You make him so happy, so, so happy, and that's all I could ever want for Roy. It's all I ever way for you." Molly pulled away from the hug, wiping her thumb under your eye as your tears threatened to spill over. "He loves you. We all do. I love you."

"I love you too, Molly." Just as quickly as she'd pushed you away, you pulled her in for another hug, squeezing her tightly as though it would convey everything you were feeling. It did.

At the sound of feet running down your hallway, Molly jumped away from you, quickly wiping at her own eyes before turning to face her little girl. She gently took the mug from her hands and passed it to you, ushering her to the dining table while you and Roy plated up.

"What did she say to you?" Roy asked, knocking his hip against yours as he he started putting food into each plate.

You pulled Phoebe's favourite cordial off your shelf, pouring some in then moving past Roy to get to the sink to dilute it. "Nothing." He couldn't see the smile that formed on your face as you thought on what your future sister in law had said to you moments prior. "Just that she loves me, she loves you. That she's happy for us."

Roy wrapped an arm around you from behind as he came to join you at the sink, leaning past you to put his cooking tongs in. "I can't wait to see Phoebe's reaction." Roy murmured against the skin of your neck, pressing a kiss there then spinning you around to face him. "She absolutely adores you. She's gonna be over the fucking moon."

"Not more over the moon then me." You pressed another kiss to his lips, making sure to keep the cordial far away from you and Roy incase it spilled.

Roy turned his back on you, picking up two of the bigger plates. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Oh really?" You asked, picking up the final big plate and Phoebe's smaller own. "I get to marry the love of my life and be officially related to some of the people I love the most. I think I win."

"We'll see." With one last kiss the two of you headed towards the dining table, all four of you tucking into dinner and telling each other about your weeks like clockwork; though you and Roy refrained from one pretty big event till after dinner.

When your food was all finished, you'd given Phoebe a bigger bowl of ice cream then usual, immediately prompting her to be suspicious. "Either I've been really good at school this week, or you guys have done something really bad."

"It's not like that Pheeb's, we're actually celebrating." Phoebe's head perked up at that as she mentally checked it wasn't anyone's birthday, or 'uncles day,' or Mother's Day, or 'future aunties day' (as she'd dubbed it) and she'd forgotten. When she ruled that she definitely hadn't forgotten anything, she turned to you in wait.

"What are we celebrating?"

"Me and your uncle Roy-"

"Holy shit." Smiles crept on all three of your faces as Phoebe pieced it together in her mind. "Are you getting married? Please tell me you're getting married?"

"Are getting married." As you brought your ring adorned hand up for her to see, Phoebe burst into tears, jumping off of her seat and running around to the other side of the table where you and Roy sat. She was quick to climb into Roy's lap, wrapping one arm around each of your knecks to pull you into a hug.

"This is the best day of my life." She whispered, her words coming out in a whine as she tried desperately hard to keep her tears in. "Do I get to be a flower girl?"

"Of course you get to be the flower girl, what kind of fucking question is that?" Roy scolded though a smile remained on his face, you wouldn't have anyone one else as your flower girl. Your niece was barely walking and besides, not that you'd ever admit it with them present, but you much preferred Phoebe to any blood relative you had.

Phoebe's face turned into a frown at Roy's words. "You owe me £1, uncle Roy."

"After the S-bomb you dropped before? I think we're even."

~*~

When Monday rolled around, you were extremely nervous. It wasn't that you thought any of the people at Nelson road would react badly to your engagement, you knew non of them would, you were nervous in the way you are at 8 years old on Christmas Eve - in a giddy way when you can't wait for what you feel to be shared.

You'd come up with a plan in bed the night before - announce it to Beard first, then to the boys, and then you'd make your way up to Rebecca's office to announce it to her, Higgins and Keeley (who'd you thankfully knew would be at the dog track this morning for a meeting).

To execute step 1 with no interruptions, you made sure to arrive an hour earlier to work then you usually would - knowing that Beard liked to show up early and the boys would show up as close to practice as they could get away with. Just as you expected, Beard was alone in the office, only a couple of other people in the building at all, making for an easy entrance.

"Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of you two showing up earlier then you ever have in the 5 years I've known you." Beard asked, his feet perched high up on his desk and an open book dropped against his chest.

"I needed to ask you something, actually." Roy wrapped an arm around your waist, rubbing soothing circles into your skin, silently encouraging you to ask what you wanted to ask.

"Fire away, Katniss."

"I actually wanted to ask, um, well, if you'd walk me down the aisle?"

Beard stilled, then took a shaky breath, then stilled again. He slowly picked up the book from his chest, dog-eared the page and swung his feet down from his desk, standing and crossing the room so that he could stand in front of you. "You, you-" Another shaky breath. "You want me? Me? To walk you down the aisle?"

"Yeah. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a father and-"

Beard pulled you into a hug, something he'd never done before, and tentatively wrapped his arms under yours, pinning you against him. He was warm and smelled like cinnamon, and though you'd never been a big fan of the scent, you found right now that you'd happily bask in it forever. "Yes, of course I will, it'd be an honour."

No further words were exchanged between the two of you until he pulled away, quickly wiping at his eyes before turning to Roy with a scowl. "I can fight, just so you know." He took a step closer to him, and you swore you'd never seen Roy so afraid as when Beard stuck a firm finger in his chest. "If you hurt her, I'll hurt you." Then he retreated to his chair, picking up his book and replacing it against his chest. "So when were you thinking? I always thing spring is the best time for a wedding."

The three of you discussed everything from what date you were thinking to ideal song choices while you waited for the changing room to fill up, wanting to make sure everyone had arrived before you shared the news. When Roy had done his 6th head count and found everyone had arrived, he nodded towards the door, asking if you were ready to go and tell everyone. You nodded, letting Roy lead the way and hanging in the doorway of the coaches office until Beard was at your side.

"You didn't have to threaten him, you know. He's never hurt me once, I don't think he's going to start now."

Beard folded his arms across his chest then nudged you gently in the side as the the two of you came to stand next to Roy, him shouting 'whistle,' silencing the changing room. "Hey, that's what dads are for."

"Before I start, someone grab Nate and Will from the boot room." Jamie, being closest to the boot room, dashed in and right back out, Will and Nate right behind him. "Right. Angel, the floor is yours."

You thanked Roy before turning back to the boys, all of them waiting anxiously as they waited to see what you had to say that was so important Roy had even called Will and Nate out. "I need to know if you're all available next June - we're talking the end of June, early July." Thankfully, your job at Richmond often required planning things far in advance, even if far in advance was a year away, so no one expected anything as you started to speak. "I know it's the off season but I need you all here, in Richmond. Especially Colin."

"Why especially me?" Colin asked, one hand nervously wringing the other.

"Because I absolutely refuse to get married if my man of honour won't be able to make it."

The whole changing room erupted into a chorus of gasps, quickly followed by cheers and players and kitmen alike swarming you and Roy with hugs and cries of congratulations - which, for once, he actually entertained.

Colin was the first to reach for you to pull you into a hug, his hands shaking as he did. "You really want me to be your man of honour? At your wedding?"

"Of course I do, Col." It didn't get any less tearful asking people to be apart of your wedding. "Your my best friend. I love you." No sooner then Colin had pulled you into another hug had you been torn out of it, by a very excited Jamie.

"I can't fucking believe it me. Well, I can actually, but I also can't." He pulled you in for an even tighter hug then Colin had, probably down to the fact he had more excitement then nerves coursing through his system. "Feels like yesterday me and Phoebe were sat on your couch convincing you Roy did love you, and now look at yous."

"Will Phoebe be at the wedding?" Isaac had spun you out of Jamie's hold and into his, keeping one arm around your shoulder as he spoke to you. "Cause I don't want to be the only person eating the turkey dinosaurs; there will be turkey dinosaurs right?"

"Of course there will be, Isaac." Will pulled you out from under Isaac's arm and into a sweet, although brief, hug. "Right? Otherwise I might have to RSVP no."

"Im sure it can be arranged, what, with all of Roy's footballer money." The two laughed at your words, though a certain footballer turned coach found them more amusing.

"All my footballer money, huh?"

"I hope the fact I'm only marrying you for your money doesn't make you want to call off the wedding." You teased, spinning around and wrapping your arms around Roy's neck.

He pressed a slow and sensual kiss to your lips, ignoring the teasing shouts and cheers from his team. "Hmm, you're lucky you're cute." Roy pressed another kiss to your lips, paying no mind to the curious stares of the team around him. Though when they began to linger for a minute too long, he pulled away from you with a sigh. "Right, 50 laps, all of you." When no one moved, he raised his voice. "Now!"

Roy intertwined his fingers with yours, waving a goodbye to Beard but promising to be back before the boys had finished their 50 laps.

Keeley had reacted just how you expected her to - with many screams and squeals and a tight hug that nearly knocked you off the ground. Rebecca and Higgins were much more reserved in their responses but each offered a hug and a congratulation's to the happy couple. Roy kept your fingers intertwined the whole time, squeezing your hand tight each time someone reached out for a hug but putting up with their love otherwise.

You couldn't wait to marry him.

~*~

Knowing that the off season would start around  the beginning of June, you'd decided early on the last week of June was the perfect time for the two of you to get married. And while the end of June was still a month and a half away, you were seriously considering calling the wedding off.

When you'd found out you were pregnant in February, you knew you had to keep it a close secret until you'd finished the first trimester, just incase anything happened to you or the baby, and each week since you'd found out you kept swearing to yourself you were going to tell Roy. You still hadn't. Which brought you to right now, where you were crying on the floor of your ensuite bathroom at the dead of night, at just over 12 weeks pregnant and a baby bump beginning to show.

Given the cold weather of early spring you'd kept it hidden pretty well so far, but with the progressively warmer weather, it was getting harder and harder to hide. Above that, you were now very much aware that since the baby bump had appeared, it was only going to get bigger - and you were in absolute tears over wether or not you were still going to fit into the outfit you'd picked. While your choice of outfit for your wedding wasn't anything extravagant, it made you feel extremely pretty, and hugged you in just the right way - it wouldn't if you were four months pregnant and with a baby bump that you felt was the size of Saturn.

One particularly loud sob had you clamping a hand over your mouth, hoping and praying to anything out there that Roy hadn't heard you. You didn't want him stressing, especially when you were crying over trivial things considering the life you'd always dreamed was within your grasp.

Roy's eyes blinked open though he wasn't entirely sure why, however, when he rolled over and attempted to wrap his arms around you, he was met with cold and empty sheets. The cool feel of the sheets beneath his fingers had him shooting awake; clearly you'd been out of bed a while, and considering it was pushing 2am, his first thought was that you were sick. Which wasn't too far from the truth.

Slowly, he made his way towards your en-suite bathroom, rubbing at his eyes to get him to wake up quicker. Pushing the door open, his entire being froze at the sight of you crying on the bathroom floor, him immediately falling to the ground next to you and pulling you into his lap. One hand brushed your hair out of your face while the other cupped the back of your head, pressing it into the crook of his neck. "It's okay Angel, I'm here, I'm here."

It took Roy roughly 15 minutes of rocking you gently in his arms and whispering soothing words into your hair before your sobs calmed down enough that you could talk without your words turning into a whimper. "C'mon Angel, talk to me." The way Roy oh so gently cradled your face had tears springing to your eyes again. "Or is it about me? Do you want me to call Molly? I'm sure she wouldn't mind-"

"No, it's about me." A fresh set of tears were rolling down your cheeks, but the heaving sobs that had been coming from your chest before ceased. "It's me, I've ruined everything."

"Angel..."

"I just wanted to wear a nice fucking outfit on my wedding day, and I can't, and its making me so sad it's stupid." Roy's thumb continuously wiped at the tears that were furiously running down your cheeks. "And it makes me even more sad because, because, I'm getting everything I've ever dreamed of and I'm sad over something stupid like what I can wear."

"It's not stupid, Angel face." Roy murmured against your temple, the scratch of his beard against your skin familiar and comforting. "Nothings stupid if it makes you so upset. Just talk me through it, yeah? Why can't you wear what you picked? Did it get damaged or something?"

"No, no, it's fine, it's just- it won't fit me anymore." Roy pressed a kiss to your temple, immediately spouting words of reassurance that it would still fit you and if it didn't he'd hire the best tailor in the world to make it fit and that regardless, you'd look incredibly beautiful no matter what you wore. You shook your head gently. "It's not that Roy, it's, I'm-"

You readjusted yourself in Roy's lap, turning so that your legs were either side of his, caging him in. You wrapped your arms around his neck, looking down at the bump you could just see through one of Roy's old jerseys you'd fallen asleep in, while you avoided his concerned gaze. "It's not going to fit me anymore, because I'm pregnant, Roy."

Silence filled the bathroom.

When you finally gained the courage to look up at Roy, tears were pooled in his eyes, that wonderful smile of his making the most tender appearance you'd ever seen. "You're pregnant?" He whispered, mumbling the two words over, and over, and over again. "You're pregnant."

Before you could ask Roy if he was okay, he was pressing his lips to yours, allowing the tears to fall from his eyes though without the noise of a sob. He simply kissed you over, and over, and over again, only pulling away when he could no longer contain the smile that what pulling at his lips. Your hands cradled his cheeks, wiping away each tear gently with the pad of your thumb. "I can't believe I'm crying." He scoffed, though didn't move away from to ur touch as you continued to wipe away his tears.

"If it makes you feel any better, I find the vulnerability of it incredibly hot."

One of Roy's hands moved from the side of your thighs to cup your cheek, pushing hair back behind your ear as a watery smile took over his face.

"You know," Roy paused, tenderly running his fingers up and down the side of your neck as his hand slipped down from your cheek to hold you there. "If you'd come to me 5 years ago, back when Ted and Beard first started, and told me in 5 years time I'd have everything I'd ever dreamed of? And, with the gorgeous woman from the office outside the changing rooms? I would've laughed in your face and told you to fuck off." After a moments thought, he added. "I probably wouldn't have let anyone get close enough to me to tell me that in the first place, to be honest."

"Look how far you've come." You mused, one hand slipping into the hair at the base of Roy's neck as his tears slowly stopped. "Some might say that I've made you go soft.”

Roy laughed, head tilted back against the bathroom wall as he was prevented from throwing it back further. The tilt of his head upwards granted you the perfect position to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He smiled at you softly, bringing his hand forward from the side of your neck so that he could cup your jaw. "To be loved, is to be changed." He hummed, his chest tightening as tears filled your eyes once more.

"I love you, Roy." You whispered, as though even saying it would break the sincerity of the words slipping from your lips. Although you'd said them a thousand times, it was like Roy was hearing it for the first time all over again. "Like I really, really love you Roy." Leaning forward, you rested your forehead against his. "So much... so much so that I feel like I'm never going to be able to express it enough, like if I don't get it out of me, I might die."

Roy pressed a searing kiss to your lips, sliding his hand back up your jaw and under your ear, tangling his fingers in the hair there. "I love you too, more then i ever thought I was capable of loving anyone.” Roy leaned in for another kiss then pulled away with a smirk as you ground yourself into him. "Want me to show you how much I love you, yeah?"

"Definitely."

Roy put his hands back to their original place under your thighs, slowly moving the two of you from your position on the bathroom floor to standing once more. When he was standing, you held in his arms with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, you continued the clash of tongue and teeth you'd started moments again. However, before he could get started on showing you just how much he loved you, you leaned away from him, eyes running over his whole face. "You might have to hold off on doing that thing with your hips, y'know, because of the baby."

"I'll stop doing that when the doctor tells me to stop."

~*~

Fortunately for you, at your next check up the following Thursday, the doctor gave you the all clear - on the health of the baby and the fact Roy could continue working magic with his hips. Considering you were nearly 14 weeks along, the ultrasound technician had offered to let you know the gender of the baby, but both you and Roy had agreed that you didn't want to know. You so seriously didn't want anyone to know, in fact, that Roy made a show of ripping up the envelope that contained the baby's gender right in front of the ultrasound technician after she offered it out to you; her suggestion of a gender reveal dying on her tongue.

Roy had been nothing but attentive since he'd found out; moving at your beck and call even more then normal, so much so that people around Nelson road were beginning to notice.

"Alright, what's going on?" The second Roy left your office, Isaac, Colin and Will crowed into the room, locking the door behind them. If you weren’t such a veteran of their shenanigans, you'd be getting concerned. "Are you dying?"

"Why would I be dying?" You asked, clicking the email you'd been writing closed, giving the three lads your undivided attention.

"Roy's been following you, like, more then usual though." Isaac stated, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "Weird, innit."

Before you could question what they found weird about you talking to and hanging around your fiancé, Will stepped forward, his hands tucked sheepishly in his pockets. "You're pregnant, right? I'm like 80% sure you're pregnant."

Your hand came to rest against the small bump you'd concealed under your Richmond sweater.

"Holy fuck boyo." Colin gasped, smacking his hand into Will's chest. "She is. How did you know?"

"She's glowing." Isaac and Colin tilted their heads in sync while their gaze remained directly on you, as though they were trying to see what Will saw. When it appeared they couldn't, Will let out a sigh, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. "I don't know; maybe it's the lighting."

Silence took over your small office space, the four of you alternating between staring at each other and the hand that rested against your stomach.

"Angel, you got-" Roy paused at the sight before him, scanning the room with a pointed glare. While Isaac had had the sense to lock the main door to your office when he started his interrogation, it had seemed he had forgotten to lock the connecting door from your office into the changing rooms. You'd never been more thankful to be in an office with two doors.  After a few more seconds of assessment, he seethed out a "Fuck! Not a word of this to anyone, yeah?"

All three lads nodded in silence, scurrying from the room after a particularly harsh glare from Roy had told them they had overstayed their welcome in your office. As your head fell into your hands due to the stress of it all, Roy crossed the room, slipping his fingers into your hair and scratching gently at your scalp. "They're not going to tell anyone, Angel, don't stress."

"But, what-"

"No buts, or what if's, or anything." Roy chastised, pulling your head out of your hands and crouching down to meet you at eye level. He took your hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "We tell everyone when you're ready. And if that's after the wedding, then that's after the wedding." Roy pressed a kiss to your knuckles. "And that's that."

You let out a long sigh, weight lifted from your shoulders at Roy's gentle touch and soothing words. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"You've mentioned it once or twice."

~*~

You were too scared to put your outfit on. After almost 10 months of planning every detail and waking up to see your engagement ring on your finger, you were finally getting to be Mrs Kent. And you were too scared to go out there and get dressed.

When Will, Colin and Isaac found out you were pregnant, it was on accident, but going out there, before your man of honour, bridesmaids, Phoebe and Beard to put on your outfit would be intentionally revealing your baby bump. It was so stupid, you thought, to be this worried about something that would make people happy - that would make you and Roy happy. But a small part of you just wanted things to work out how you'd planned then in your head; like being able to wear what you'd picked to marry the love of your life.

However, you wanted to get married to Roy more then you cared about keeping the baby a secret.

Everyone gasped as you walked into the main part of the hotel room. You'd forgone a dressing gown in favour of getting ready in the comfort of pyjama shorts and one of Roy's old jerseys, wanting to have a part of him with you even though you wouldn't see him the night before the wedding.

Roy had actually wanted to forgo the traditional 'no seeing the bride bullshit,' him in favour of spending every second he could get with you, but Keeley and Jamie had convinced him it would make that moment of you walking down the aisle all the more special. Though as you walked into the room, you'd wished more then anything you'd convinced Keeley to let him stay with you. All you wanted was his hand in yours as you did this.

All eyes fell to the shadow of a baby bump that could be seen through the loose material of Roy's jersey; it was the one he wore at his very first Richmond match, Kent printed and worn proudly on the back. No one moved or even dared to breath.

"Surprise?" You didn't mean for it to come out as a question, but the tense silence and feel of everyone's eyes on you had you shying away from your friends and family in a way you'd never done before. "I'm pregnant!"

Molly was the first to move, crossing the length of the room and pulling you into an embrace. "I love you." She whispered against your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I'm going to be an auntie." Within seconds the remaining people in the room swarmed you into one big group hug. Each of Colin, Keeley, Rebecca and Beard whispered congratulations to you, telling you just how beautiful you looked and how excited they were to see you walk down the aisle. Phoebe, however, pulled the funniest face at you, her brow tense in the spitting image of Roy.

"You're not wearing that, are you?"

Phoebe had magically broke the tension of the room, smiles all around as Molly and Keeley ushered you back to the other side of the door, helping you into your outfit and making sure your hair stayed in the way you'd styled it when you got changed. Fully dressed and feeling yourself, you stepped back into the main room with newfound confidence.

You were going to marry Roy - Roy who updated you on his book every night and valued your opinion on it, who still brought you lunch everyday at work, who was willing to hold you on the bathroom floor at 3am when he should've been sleeping, who made you feel like you were the only person in a room that mattered - and you couldn't be more excited.

Colin held your hand the entire drive from the hotel and the whole way from the car to the church doors. Only two pieces of wood separated you from everything you'd ever wanted. He pressed a featherlight kiss to your cheek and wished you luck before heading inside, leaving just you and Beard outside the building.

"You nervous?" He asked, moving his hand so that it rested lovingly on the small of your back.

"It's Roy." Roy always made you nervous. From the smile that had you weak in the knees when he actually decided to show it, to the butterflies the simple movement of his fingers against your skin caused; Roy had you swooning every time he looked at you. "I can't wait to get in there."

"Can you wait a second?" Ted Lasso was stood behind you, hands bashfully tucked into suit pants pockets.

"Ted." You gasped, opening your arms but not leaving Beard's side. The American rushed towards you, scooping you into a tender hug. "What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't make it..."

"Well, you know how Roy is, stubborn, hard-headed," Ted had aged a little since you last saw him on English soil, but he still held that quintessential ted spirit to him; even though he looked a lot more tired then you ever remembered him being. "Will do anything for the people he loves. Even if that's calling someone everyday for 8 months straight and convincing them to clear their calendar."

Roy who called one of your favourite people daily until he convinced them to make time to come to your wedding despite the fact they'd have to fly halfway across the world to attend.

"Well, I'm glad you're here Ted." He pressed a kiss to your temple, unwrapping himself from you and flattening out the front of his suit.

"I'll see you in there." Ted walked to the doors Colin had entered through moments ago, stopping and turning back to you at the last second. "You look beautiful by the way, you're practically glowing." With a knowing wink, Ted slipped through the doors, finding the way to his seat to wait for the ceremony to begin.

"Well, I think we're really ready now." You mused, linking your arm though Beard's. When you turned to flash a smile at him, you saw eyes filled with fondness, tears threatening to cloud his vision if he thought about the scene before him for too long. "Aren't we Willis?"

"Lets go, sweetheart." The pet name struck you to your core, your hand squeezing his bicep in reassurance. There was no one else you'd want to walk you down the aisle. "You're getting married!"

The ceremony ran perfectly. Willis walked you down the aisle and handed you off to Roy after whispering what you were certain was a threat in his ear. Tears brimmed Roy's waterline the whole ceremony, but they didn't spill over under you were pronounced husband and wife. No one commented on the tears that ran down Roy's cheeks, and you didn't think anyone was ever going to bring it up; a mutual understanding settling over the room that the Roy Kent that stood at the alter wasn't Roy Kent football sensation, but that he was Roy Kent, loving husband.

All those years ago Jamie had been completely and utterly right, all Roy needed was someone to show him it was okay to be soft. Thankfully, he had found that in you.

~*~

"Nell, go back to sleep baby, daddy's here."

Roy had his back turned to you as he rocked Penelope in his arms, murmuring some song that you couldn't quite make out under his breath to help her get back to sleep. In the 4 weeks since Penelope - or 'Nell' as Roy had lovingly started calling her - had been born, Roy had more then proved himself to be the amazing dad you knew he would be. Though he'd voiced his worries about not being a good dad several times throughout your pregnancy, each time you'd soothed away the worry; scratching your fingers against his scalp and reminding him of everything he'd ever done for Phoebe.

Phoebe had been the most excited to meet the baby, begging her mum to let her come over every single day after school so that she could spend time with her newborn cousin (even though that time was mostly spent with Phoebe in your lap with Nell in hers).

The Boys at Nelson Road came in for a close second when it came to being excited to meet the baby. Will, Colin and Isaac had made it their duty to show up to you and Roy's house every day after training when you were 7 months along in order to paint the babies nursery and build all the furniture that you'd bought.

They were even worse when you went into labour.

Roy had called Beard to let him know the two of you wouldn't be able to make it to work that Tuesday, and Beard loaded up the coach for a group trip to Richmond's hospital. You had the whole of AFC Richmond crowded in the waiting room, arms filled with stuffed animals, balloons and flowers. Jamie had charmed up the nurse who you were charged to, convincing him to let all of the players into your room at once. While most of the team fawned over the baby, gave you their best wishes then made their way back to the coach, Colin, Isaac, and Will asked to hold her, tears filling their eyes as they took in the sight of the tiny baby.

"She's beautiful." Colin whispered, lightly running the tip of his finger up and down her button nose. "With your parents, you're going to be the coolest kid ever. And Uncle Colin is going to make sure of it."

"You know," Will whispered, stiff as a board as he held Penelope on his arms, scared to even breath less it hurt the baby. "I remember that day I saw you with Phoebe in Tesco, and I told you I didn't realise you were a mum." Roy shot you a confused glance, reminding you you'd never actually filled him in on your trip to the supermarket that day with Phoebe. "And now you are one. It almost doesn't feel real."

"I've never held a baby before." Isaac admitted, the most relaxed holding her despite his inexperience. "It's weird, innit. Like, this baby I'm holding right now started out nothing and now she's real and alive and in my arms…Spooky."

Jamie, however, you practically had to force to hold Nell; and even then he was scared shitless. When you managed to convince him to take a seat on your hospital bed, he seemed less tense about holding her, but the ever present crease in his brow told you otherwise. "She looks just like you."

"She's got Roy's nose, and I bet she'll have his eyebrows too."

Jamie's eyes never left the baby, even as the other boys slipped out of the room with one last goodbye and a promise to come and visit Nell again when you got sent home.

"Ask us what her full name is." Roy kicked Jamie's foot, finally snapping his attention away from the newborn.

"You what?”

Apparently, he hadn't been listening, the tender tone to Roy's voice leaving as soon as it had arrived. "I said ask us what her full name is, fuckhead."

Jamie didn't ask you, he wasn't sure he could get the words out without choking up, the suggestion of the question springing tears to his eyes.

"Her full name is Penelope Jamie Kent." You hadn't seen Jamie so upset since Roy dragged him into your office, sobs wracking his body, two years ago before the journey up north to play against Manchester City at the Etihad.

He pulled Nell closer to his chest, hugging her as best as you could hold a baby, then passed her to Beard, pulling Roy in for the tightest hug you'd ever seen the two share. When Jamie came to hug you, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, whispering in your ear; "You've made Grandad go all soft." And after a brief pause. "The rest of us too."

Beard didn't stay long after Jamie left, knowing the coach was only waiting on him to return to training. He muttered something under his breath, pressed a kiss to Nell's head and then handed her back to you, pressing a kiss to yours. "Jamie’s right. Spitting image of you. Though I do agree she has Roy's nose."

"I hope she gets his smile." You quietly confessed, not missing the way Roy's lips curled up into the wonderful  smile you loved so much. "We got something for you." Roy pulled out a gift bag from next to your 'we need to go to the hospital the baby is coming' bag and handed it to his fellow coach. Beard waisted no time opening the gift, a soft smile curling on his lips as he pulled out the mug, 'worlds best grandad' printed on the front and a Richmond crest printed on the back. "I love you...dad."

A tear silently ran down Beard' cheek but he didn't wipe it away, pulling you and the baby in for a group hug. After a tight squeeze, he opened up his arms, a silent invite for Roy to join. He did so without question, thanking Willis for everything.

Beard had used the mug at Nelson Road everyday since.

Nell had made a total of 3 visits so far to Nelson Road; every Thursday afternoon being the day you'd come to the dog track with her and disrupt afternoon training so that the boys could fawn over her as an end of the week treat. Tomorrow would be her 4th visit, and yet, Roy had been the one to wake up and tend to her when he'd have to be up in a few hours to coach Jamie and you could essentially sleep in until 12 and still be on time.

As he put Nell back inside her cot, you wrapped your arms around his waist and slid them up and under the front of his t-shirt. "You're such a good dad, Roy."

"Only cause you make me a good dad." He turned around in your hold, your hands now up the back of his shirt, his arms now over your shoulders/

"That doesn't even make sense." You countered, resting your chin against his chest so that you could look at him. Roy took the opportunity to press a slow and tender kiss to your lips.

"Fuck off, it totally does."

"Doesn't."

"Does."

"Doesn't."

"Does."

At a whine from Nell, the two of you fell silent, not wanting to wake her after Roy had just put her back to sleep.

"She know it makes sense." The two of your were looking down at Nell's tony from where she slept soundly in the crib.

"She's only agreeing cause it's you." You lowered your chin so that the side of your head rested against Roy's chest, giving you a better look at your beautiful baby girl. "She's a total daddy's girl already, you know."

"Gets that from her mother." Roy paused after he spoke, realising quickly that his words hadn't made much sense or come out in the way he intended. "I meant, she's a total me, girl. Like she loves me a lot because you love me a lot. Fuck."

"I knew what you meant, handsome."

Roy quirked his eyebrow at your response. "You did huh?" He swept you off your feet, literally, carrying you back to your bedroom with a slip in his step.

You hand slapped against his bicep, a gasp slipping from your lips as your pieced together Roy's words paired with his suggestive tone and that glint in his eye. "The doctor said no sex for 6 weeks, Roy."

"No penetrative sex for six weeks." Roy clarified, laying you down on the mused bedsheets and kissing his way down your form; starting with scrapes of teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck, all the way down to the thick skin of your thighs. "The guy said nothing about oral."

an : thanks for reading this far *mwah* I love you <33 I hope you enjoyed this!!! Please feel free to send in a request for Roy or Jamie I'd love to write it!!!

[nieamo]

Lipstick

Summary: You're backstage with your girlfriend Rhea getting ready for her comeback

"10 more minutes Rhea, then we need you on stage" a member of the RAW production staff tells her before walking away. You're leaning over her while she's sitting more or less patiently on her chair, waiting for you to be done with your final touches on her make-up. "Stop fidgeting, I‘m almost done" you say with a warning tone. "Sorry, I guess I‘m just pretty nervous about coming back and all. Kind of feels like I‘ve been away for years and I'm really excited to be back even if I don't fight today but I still worry tha-" you stop her rambling by laying a finger on her lips and then tilt her chin up to look into her eyes "Hey, stop worrying for a second and listen to me. You have absolutely no reason to be worried. You are Rhea fucking Ripley! No one can live up to you and everyone out there knows it. So wipe that worried frown of your face, get up and get ready to kick some ass! Well maybe do the ass-kicking part figuratively, today's supposed to be just about showing your face again."

Rhea smiles and looks up at you lovingly. "What would I do without you?" "Crash and die" you respond smirking down at her. "Oho someone's feeling confident today." she says and cocks an eyebrow in a challenging way. "Well someone's gotta get you all riled up for the show" you respond. "Then you better be sure you can handle the consequences. Because trust me, if I don‘t get to fight today, I‘m sure as hell not going to go easy on a brat like you." she threatens. You grin slightly before leaning down and whispering into her ear: "You think that's going to scare me off? Try me, Mami." As soon as those last words left your mouth Rhea jumps to her feet and steps impossibly closer, slightly towering over you. "Ah ah ah not yet though, I‘m still not done with your makeup. Your lipstick is still missing." She sighs and lets you finish your work although this time she keeps standing right there, only millimeters in front of you, seemingly counting the seconds until you're done. "Alright I‘m d-" but you can‘t even finish that sentence before she picks you up, presses you against the wall and starts kissing you. You immediately start kissing her back and tightly grip onto her neck and shoulders. But before things could go any further there's a knock on the door and the same assistant as before says "3 minutes. We really need you in position now Rhea!" before hurrying away again. You reluctantly pull back from her lips and she grins saying: "Don't think we're done here. I want you packed up and ready to go as soon as I get off that stage understood?" "Yes" you reply and quickly add ", Mami" when she gives you a warning glare. Satisfied with that response she lets you down and turns to leave after giving you a quick slap on the ass. But you stop her and turn her around again saying "Wait! I have to redo your lipstick."

hellooo this was my first short little imagine. i‘ve been desperately craving some rhea fics so i thought i'd just start writing some myself. feel free to let me know what you think and thanks for reading :)

[moonstruckme]

Hii again

So after thinking it over, I'd like to humbly request Peter Parker with a reader who casually mentions one time (maybe even before they're dating) that her love language it physical affection

After that, Peter makes sure to always touch her, hold her hand, kiss her, etc

Thank you so much!!

-🔮

Hi my love, sorry it took me a bit to get to this! Thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy it :D

Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 799 words

“Hi pretty girl,” Peter calls as he comes in the door. “How was your day?”

You grin, going to meet him in the living room, where Peter sweeps you into his arms for a kiss. You laugh against his lips. “It was good. How about yours?”

He holds you to his front with one arm, chucking his backpack into the corner with the other before dragging the both of you down onto the couch. “Awful,” he laments, bespeckling your neck and shoulder with kisses. “So long without you. I was cold.” 

“My poor boy,” you coo sympathetically, rolling over so you’re facing him and combing your fingers through his hair. “Get any bad guys?”

“Tons of bike thieves. Nothing interesting.” 

“Hey, bike theft is a serious crime,” you argue. “If I were a college student or a delivery person, I would be very glad you were on the streets today.” 

Peter’s forefinger traces a path from your temple to your chin. “But you’re you, so you missed me, right?”

“I did.” It’s no big admittance. You make it obvious enough. “I always miss you.” 

He laughs, tilting your chin upwards and pecking you on the lips. “You miss hugs and kisses, not me.” His free hand begins roving your back as though to drive the point home. 

“I miss you, and the hugs and kisses,” you counter. “I would still miss you without them, though.” 

Peter raises his eyebrows, hands stilling as though to call your bluff. It takes some serious effort not to pout. “Oh yeah?” His voice is lilting, eyelashes pinching at the corners. “You think you could still love me if we never touched?”

“Of course I could,” you laugh. 

“You really think so?”

“Easily.” 

Peter whistles. “Bold words for someone whose love language is physical touch.” 

You blink, going from teasing to confused in the space of a second. “How’d you know that?”

“Uh, you told me,” he says, grinning. 

“What? When?”

“I dunno…like, a couple weeks after we started hanging out? Before we were dating. We were talking about personality tests, comparing results and whatever, and you said your top love language, by far, was physical touch.” 

“Oh.” You don’t remember that at all. “Is it yours, too?”

Peter’s answering grin is borderline sheepish. “It’s a close second. My first is acts of service.” 

“Huh.” Of course it is. It’s almost funny, that you’d ever thought Peter’s love language could be anything else. So why had he been the one touching you all this time? You don’t hold back with the physical affection either, but you’ve never been the first one to reach for Peter’s hand, or open your arms for a hug, or move in for a kiss. Peter’s always there, ready for you to give him the signal. Ever since your first date, his hands have been on you constantly, keeping you close. Even before that, when his touches were more chaste, they were still there. He’d link arms with you in crowds or squeeze your shoulder when you were nervous or offer you a hug on a bad day. 

“Hey, don’t go all shy on me.” Peter pinches at your side. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”

You realize you have started blushing, thinking of how he’s been accommodating you all this time. “Nothing, just…is that why you’re always so touchy? Because of me?”

Peter runs his hand up and down your side, from your hip to your underarm and back again in a pensive rhythm. “I mean, if you’re asking if I want to touch you, I do. I guess what goes through my head, basically, is I love you and want you to know it, so I just do the thing that I know will register with you.” He shrugs. “And I don’t mind it either, so that’s a bonus.” 

There’s a little smile playing at his lips, but it does nothing to undercut the sincerity in his eyes. Your heart grows heavy with fondness. “Peter, that’s so thoughtful of you.” You take his face in your hand, stroking at his cheek. “God, I don’t deserve you, do I? Give me some acts of service to do for you. Any holes in your suit need mending?”

Peter smiles at you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Thanks, baby, but I’ve got it. Just be here when I get home, and that’s enough for me.”

You start to protest, but he kisses you, palming the side of your face to angle you closer. He tastes like the fruity gum he sometimes chews, and your lips part automatically for him, but you won’t be diverted from your cause.

Starting tomorrow, there’s going to be a cup of coffee waiting when he wakes up and a packed lunch for his patrol.

[kinicheous]

home | kinich

for a person of natlan, falling in love with someone from outside of the borders might be the worst curse of all.

genres/notes: angst-ish, fluff-ish, mildly suggestive, mentions of possible death (let me know if something is missing!)

“how often do i have to tell you?”

on the other side of the door, the inn is buzzing with gleeful people. you can faintly hear them cheer and talk, glasses clinking and entertainers performing. on this side though, it’s quiet, so quiet that kinich’s voice reverberates through the silence. or perhaps it’s the proximity—his words fan your skin, that’s just how close he is as he hovers above you.

“i’m from natlan. i can get revived at any time,” he says. “you’re not.” he emphasizes his statement by squeezing your intertwined fingers, pushing your hand deeper into the sheets below you. “you can’t, y/n. one mistake and it’s over.”

you’ve seen kinich worried. he trusts you enough to easily wave you off every time you go on a journey, but at times where you return with more than just a couple of wounds, you can’t blame him for getting worried nonetheless.

today is different though. he’s never seen you this battered and patched up, and you’ve never seen him this upset. not worried, but upset, on the border to irritated. you can tell in the half-lidded eyes that bore into you, and the weight of it makes your own divert away to anything and everything else in the room.

“so, what? it’s like that for every adventurer, it’s not like i’m gonna quit being one,” you mumble, genuinely meaning your response but not able to sound as confident as you’d hoped, “besides, i came home this time too, didn’t i?”

a small gasp escapes you when his other hand finds your chin, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you turn to face him again.

“what about next time? what about the day you don’t come home at all?” kinich mutters, leaning even closer until his forehead rests against yours. “how often do i have to remind you?”

“kinich, i—...” you try to argue back, though words blending in with the room’s silence when you feel his breath tremble against your lips; beneath all that frustration, there’s a tinge of pain ringing in his tone; a pain that echoes into your chest as well and for a brief moment, it makes you imagine what it’d be like if the roles were reversed. you can’t imagine trading your current for anything in the world but you simply can’t blame him either.

you make another attempt. this one, however, is also shut down when the gap separating you closes without as much as a single warning—the desperation in the kiss anchors you to the plane of reality, and so does the next one, and the next one. you’re slowly given fewer and fewer opportunities to breathe in a way that isn’t through sharp inhales and yet, there’s a part of you that outweighs a need so primary human. kinich parts from you for a mere second, locking your eyes during that instant, before tilting his head to the other side, and as his hand slips from your chin to gently caress your cheek, you wish time would stop,

“kinich, i’m sorry,” you try again, barely getting the words out between dazed touches. “i can’t give up my adventures, i— you know i can’t.”

and he nods.

kinich nods, so pliantly, like he didn’t try to argue with you in the first place. he doesn’t want to, and he makes this clear as he at last parts, “i know.” he slides further down, just enough to attach his lips to the spot below your ear, slowly but surely leaving a trail of kisses down your skin. “i would never take them away from you,” he says, with a genuinity in the purest sense of the word. there’s another pause and the longer it lasts, the more certain you become that there’s a mark soon to blossom where your neck meets your shoulder.

“i just need you to take better care of yourself,” kinich declares between gritted teeth. you feel a second squeeze from his hand, the thumb of his other running across the corner of your eye, and that’s when he gives in; he detaches himself from your burning skin one last time, opting to settle into the crook of your neck.

“don’t make me remind you again… please.”

you’re not entirely sure when he let his entire weight drop on top of you, or when your legs tangled together. neither are you sure exactly when your fingers started to feel like they were about to break in the grip of his own, but that doesn’t really matter. the events in the rest of the inn have greatly increased, but you don’t care a particular lot about that either.

for the moment, there are only two people flush against each other, closer than ever as if a gap of even a centimeter would mean the end of the world—maybe it would, for you, and for him because in this very moment, nothing else matters except the fact that you both exist in it.

you move around the slightest bit, enough to nuzzle your face into the messy strands of his hair. your fingers find their way to his scalp as well, and he sighs in what sounds like relief.

“i can’t promise anything,” you answer bluntly, having no intentions whatsoever on sugarcoating anything, though follow up with a reassurance, “but i’ll try. someone has to welcome you back next time you get revived after all.”

it’s muffled, but the groan kinich lets out against your skin is loud and clear nonetheless.

“you’re such a damn menace.”

[grapenamjams]

Break

Characters: Aged up! Bouncer! Togame Jo x bartender fem. Reader

Genre: NSFW Smut

Summery: togame is a bouncer at the bar reader is a bartender at. Togame is known for his violence at patrons who cross the line earning a reputation and the label of someone to stay away from.But how can you? When night after night, you two grow closer and his blood stained hands make you feel so good? This is one of those nights.

Contains: thigh riding, fingering (f. Receiving.) f. Orgasm, quickie, pet names,

A/N: bouncer Togame AU truther

💚🐢Start Here 💚🐢

“C’mere” his voice fills the small break room once you both enter. He gently pushes you against the wall. One hand on the wall beside your head and the other tilting your chin up to met his half lidded eyes. Both of your breathings already starting to become heavy. Togame leans forward his eyes glancing to your lips and back. A silent question which you provide the answer with a smile and a nod. Giving one in return, his mouth captures yours being provided permission.

Always one to respect your boundaries knowing that in this line of work of bartending they have been crossed to many times to count. Always wanting to make you feel safe with the same hands that make other men cower in fear when they crossed the line.

Intimidating by just his stature accompanied by his bored glare had many of the patrons and even some staff on edge. Whispers of his violence and the appearance of his enjoyment of it followed him, clouding him in an air of cation. An air you knew you should not get close too and breathe for your own sake. But from where he leaned against the walls of the club each night. that glare had so many stay away from him, somehow turned into a lingering gaze whenever he looked at you. Lazy hooded eyes catching yours creating an additional hum go through your body, pounding more than the loud music surrounding you.

Night by night the two of you grew closer. Each time spend together reminded you of how wrong the perception of him from others was. His hands touch your body in a such gentle protective manner making you melt. Humming against him, matching his increasingly hungry kisses. Wanting this version he has shown you all to yourself.

Togame groans, pressing his body up against you, knee separating your legs. His mouth lowers to your neck. “I wanted to get my hands on you since you started your shift” with your eyes closed you move your head to give him more access to your skin, threading your fingers through his shoulder length hair. He leaves open mouthed kisses. His hot tongue licking over the bites he leaves behind. his hands move down your body. One landing on your hip and the other one going behind you lifting you up slightly. “Wearing these fucking leggings again, angel? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you wore them on purpose” he presses his thigh against your heat. You suck in a breath, the added pressure flaring your arousal. A hand holding onto his broad shoulder trying to stabilize yourself.

A gravelly chuckle brushes against your ear. “hm yeah, I love it when I’m right” his thigh pushes against your moving hips. You cant help but let out a small moan, at the friction. Your clothed core rubbing against his work pants provides a minimal sweet relief from the throbbing that began when you saw him waiting for you by the break room door.

Togame grabs your hips firmly adjusting you against his thigh. “Go on princess, show me how needy you are” the sight of you grinding on his clothed leg so desperately spikes Togame with desire. He swears he can feel your wetness seeping through his pants as you keep grinding yourself against his leg so adamantly.

“You’re so pent up… so desperate… is that for me? Hm?” Hot Blood shoots straight down from his head. feeling that familiar tightening in his body when hears your small whimpered “yes”

He groans in response. A hand cups your face making you look at him as his other hand leaves your hip making its way down past your waist band. “Then let me help you out, pretty girl” he swallows your strangled moans when he slips his fingers through your folds. Long calloused fingers already rubbing at your clit without hesitation.

Togame left out a shaky moan when he feels how wet you are. Chest pounding, mind clouding with the need to make you feel good at his fingertips. The thought making him kiss you harder. Only Pausing to push your leggings and underwear further down, to give him more room to resume his action, adding two fingers, pumping them into you. He watches your head fall back against the wall as he works his fingers into a satisfying pattern.

He curses at his favorite sight on earth. You completely relishing in the pleasure he’s giving you. Your hands clench his shoulders for support not trusting your own legs at this point. In no time he builds you up to that edge. Palm hitting you clit just right, his fingers curling inside brushing that sensitive spot.

You know you don’t have much time before your break should be over but you can’t stop the whines that cascade from your mouth, a plea within them. Togame shakes his head, kissing your lips and your jaw. “Don’t worry…I’m not stopping angel… not until I make you feel good.” His breathing is ragged, his body shivering with each pant and moan you let out by his ear. He pulls away just enough to look at your face in the dim light. His thumb going to your clit rubbing it in a way that had your stomach coiling. Your nails digging into his shirt.

“Look at you…fuck so perfect…” your own hips unconsciously move against his large hand. “That’s it pretty girl take…what you need…” he says matching your moans, eyes never leaving your face. His hands working you until His name falls from your lips letting him know you were at your limit.

“Yes come on… let go, let yourself feel good. Please” with his words and the way he’s rubbing your clit. You push yourself over the edge. Togame focuses on your state of ecstasy. His fingers not stopping along with his praises and encouragements helping you ride out your high.

Your chest moves quickly your mind still trying to reel itself back in. His kisses helping to ground you. “You okay?” He breathes out. You can only nod, the ability to speak forsaking you. He chuckles amused by your state. You whine against him at his hand withdrawing out of your leggings. He grins against your lips, satisfied with your protest. His hand caressing your waist and hip

until he can tell you are able to stand upright on your own.

“Ready to go back out there?” He asks, his calm demeanor coming back as if your essence wasn’t still coating his fingers. He takes in your flushed face, holding himself back from pulling you against him again. “What about you?” You say in a breath. Togame holds in a groan at your question. Such a simple one from your sweet voice that has his body reminding him how heated he still was. He gives you a lazy grin, which never fails to make your heart stutter.

Your eyes widen seeing him put two glistening fingers into his mouth, sucking them off with a pop. “Don’t worry, angel I’ll get my fill at the end of our shift.”

[fairy-writes]

SO MANY KISSES, SO LITTLE TIME

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Trigun Stampede

Pairing(s): Nicholas D. Wolfwood x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, “Sweetheart” as a nickname, Types of Kisses

Notes: I’m still very new to the Trigun Stampede fandom. Seriously, I finished the anime two days ago. So please forgive me if I get anything wrong! (I’ve also only seen Stampede, so don’t come for me pls)

__________________________________________________________________________

Kissing Nicholas D. Wolfwood was hesitant.

He kissed you like he was scared you’d disappear. Like you were nothing but a mirage he couldn’t touch with his fingers. Almost as if he expected you to be a ghost and not a real person before him.

His lips are chapped, and he tastes like the cigarette and booze he had just had. But you can’t bring yourself to care all that much.

Because your first kiss with Nicholas D. Wolfwood is hesitant, yet as the kiss goes on, he gets bolder and more confident. But he still handles you with the delicacy of someone who was oh so scared.

You pull away from him gently, playing with the baby hairs on the back of his neck as you lean your forehead on his,

“That was a long time coming.” You tease, and he just huffs, pinching your side and making you squeal slightly.

“Shaddup. I wanted to do it right.” He grumbles but leans back in to peck your lips once more. 

Kissing Nicholas D. Wolfwood was tender.

It’s late at night, and Vash is snoring lightly in his sleeping bag just a few feet from you. Roberto and Meryl are asleep in the van, leaving you and Nicholas awake to keep watch.

After all, you never know when bandits could strike.

You toss a stray stick into the dying fire and look up at the stars. You can hear Nicholas lighting up a cigarette next to you, but you don’t say anything. You’ve chastised him enough about his smoking habits, and you know for a fact that he doesn’t care enough about his health to really do anything about it.

Eventually, you lean your head on his shoulder. He doesn’t move at first. He never does. But slowly, as if reassuring himself that this is truly okay, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you through the sand until you’re flush against his side. You hum when he asks if this is okay. He’s always asking if this is okay, even though he knows your answer by now. 

“‘Course it is. You know you don’t have to ask Nick.” You whisper into the night and hear him chuckle under his breath. He doesn’t respond. Not verbally, at least. 

Instead, he tilts your chin to face him and presses a kiss to your mouth. It lasts no more than a few seconds. You reach up with one hand to cradle his jawline, feeling his stubble scratch your fingertips and bring him back to your lips the moment he pulls away. He laughs,

“Can’t get enough of me, can ya, sweetheart?” He teases, and you grin, nudging his nose with your own. 

“Never.”

Kissing Nicholas D. Wolfwood was quick.

Gunshots rang out around you, and you ducked as one whizzed over your head. You could hear Vash trying to talk down the bandits trying to claim the bounty on his head. 

It wasn’t helping much. 

You unholster your pistol and check the magazine. Fully loaded like it had been a few minutes ago. Meryl and Roberto cower behind you, and you load a bullet into the chamber of your gun. Your trigger finger doesn’t touch said trigger just yet. 

Nicholas slides around the corner and bumps into you, hauling his cross behind him as one of the bandits throws a freaking grenade. 

“What a shit show!” He snarls, and you bark out a laugh, 

“Any chance we can leave Vash behind?” You say, not meaning it because Vash is a good person and an even better friend. He always had your back, just as you vowed to always have his. 

Nicholas scoffs,

“Trust me, sweetheart, I’d love to if it meant getting these bastards off my ass.” He says, peeking around the corner of your little hidey-hole before jerking backward to avoid getting hit with shrapnel from another grenade. 

Just as Nicholas makes to run back out, you snag ahold of the collar of his shirt and haul him down to press a bruising, quick kiss to his lips. He looks half-dazed with surprise but recovers in milliseconds. 

“Be safe out there.” You plead, and he grins that suave grin that has your heart stuttering in your chest, 

“Always.”

Kissing Nicholas D. Wolfwood was slow.

You sit up against pillows, nursing a bullet injury to your shoulder, some minor scrapes and bruises, and a fractured ankle to top it all off. The town you were in was small, with only a few hundred residents and the only medical clinic for miles. You had to shell out your last few double dollars just to pay to be treated. 

Nicholas sits beside you, cleaning his Punisher while you doze. He had volunteered to stay behind to watch over you while Vash went into hiding until you were healed. Meryl and Roberto holed up in the ramshackle inn down the road. 

“How ‘re you feelin’?” Nicholas asked, and you snapped awake. The painkillers you were given thankfully muted the pain to a dull throb, so you were able to adjust your pillows without any issues. 

“As good as I can be, I suppose.” You mumble, and he scoffs, 

“Needle noggin is gonna get you killed one of these days.” You shrug your good shoulder,

“I’ll live. I got you to protect me, right?” You say goodnaturedly and smile when his lips twitch up just the slightest bit. 

It’s silent for a beat. Then two. 

“Y’know… There’s something that might make me feel better.” You muse, and he looks at you, eyebrow raised, as he sets aside his Punisher up against the wall. 

“And what’s that?” He replies. You look up at the ceiling, tapping your lips with a finger before looking at your lover with a sweet smile, 

“A kiss.” 

Nicholas stares at you for a second before hanging his head with a shake and a chuckle. But he doesn’t say no. 

You knew that kisses were the one way to get him out of his slump. And you also knew that kisses were the one thing he never said no to.

So, he scoots off his chair and onto your bedside, where he leans in and kisses you slowly. You taste the barest hint of the medical serum he had used to heal himself after the gunfight and the cigarette he had had before stepping inside the hospital. You inhale through your nose and take in his scent of sand and the earthy smell that seemed to cling to him no matter where he went. 

Nicholas pulls away after the kiss and flicks your forehead, 

“Get some sleep, sweetheart. You’re going to need it if you’re gonna get better.” He whispers, and you roll your eyes. 

“Only if you sleep, too.” You say and tug him down until he’s lying with you on the cot. It’s small and, therefore, awkward, but you’ve slept in worse places.

The only thing that matters is that Nicholas is there with you.

[heyhihellosworld]

𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

Mason x reader + Trent Alexander-Arnold x reader

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Trent helps you forget

Warnings: Angst, smut, cheating, fluff

Notes: I rewrote this one like a thousand times until I got somewhat happy about it. I want to learn how to write smut but I think it's so haaard because it gets too static if you get what I mean. I don't actually know what this is but I think I like it, not sure lol. I feel like it's a bit hard to read so if it is please tell me so I can go back and change whenever my head is clear again

When there is -- it means there is a flashback

His eyes bore into yours as you sat on his couch, sipping the coffee he had made. A silence settled over the room but not an unpleasant silence, just a calm and peaceful one. That one that surrounded you when you were comfortable around eachother, not needing constant chatter to feel good.

He looked ridiculously good with his grey sweatpants and the t-shirt he always wore when he was home. His locks hanging over his face and his mouth tilted in a soft smile as you observed him from your sitting position.

You couldn't count the amount of times you had been in his house anymore and what had started as a way to get him off your mind had become a regular occurring thing that you never wanted to stop.

"You look beautiful" he murmured in your ear, his breath hot on your temple as he stood behind you. It felt unfamiliar to have his hands on you, not bad, just foreign. Your eyes closed but opened immediately again as all you could picture in your mind was Mason.

Trent's touch felt nice, it felt good but you both knew he wasn't the one on your mind. Even if you didn't love Mason anymore and you wanted to punch his face in for what he did he was still etched in your mind.

"You want this?" he mumbled in your ear making you break out of your thoughts. You nodded before any words came out breathing out an answer "Yeah", his kisses slowly moved lower over your neck and shoulders, your skin burning at his touch.

You wanted to forget about him, forget about his betrayal and move on. And what better way was there than to sleep with one of his teammates you had always fancied.

His hands took the empty cup from your grasp, settling it on the table before leading you up and towards the bedroom.

"For once we are doing this in the bedroom" he hummed as he guided you backwards, his small lopsided smile making you giggle.

Soon enough you found yourself straddling him on the bed as he sat against the headboard. His gorgeous eyes looking straight into you. The brown color drew you in and you were sure you could never get tired of his eyes. You loved the way they could read you and make you feel seen and beautiful. You had never felt that way before just by looking into someones eyes and that was just one of many things about him that made things stir inside of you.

He had always been a good friend, always been around and you had always found him attractive but never like this. Maybe it was because you had been with Mason or because he had you so hooked and caught up on everything he said, but lately you couldn't stop thinking about Trent and it wasn't only because of the sex you had.

It wasn't only sex anymore. In the beginning it had always been booty-calls, following him home after a game or going home together after a party but now that had changes. You called him if you wanted company, someone to watch a movie with or grab a meal with. He called you when he was down or felt lonely and what had before been every now and then was now multiple times a week. You had slowly but surely gotten used to his company and you liked him more than you wanted to admit.

Your hand stroked his chin, his lips turning into a big smile as you did so. There were so many who didn't like his chin hair but you loved it, it suited him just perfectly.

He smiled as you kissed him slowly, your hand on his chin guiding him to you. He was so nice to be with, so nice to kiss and be close to. He was so soft and calm but still never boring and always onto something. He was fun to be around and not only because of the sex but because of who he was.

His fingers delicately undressed you, taking his time to touch you as he carefully took of every piece of material on your body until there was nothing left.

Lips hot and hands clingy you got him out of his clothes, the way he reacted to your touch made you feel powerful. His mouth dropped open more and more for every pump of his cock and you felt your slick get wetter and wetter for every sound he let out.

You wanted to take him into your mouth so bad but before you could his fingers found your wetness, your mind becoming blank the seconds his fingertips made contact with your clit.

He knew exactly how to touch you in order for you to lose your mind in the matter of seconds. Your body reacted to his every move and it felt like you could burn up as he entered you with one finger.

Your body fell to the mattress as he rolled you over, covering you with his body whilst he continued to work you towards your orgasm. Your hand on his dick was long forgotten as you couldn't concentrate on him whilst he touched you like he did.

When he entered you all other things flew away, there was nothing else on your mind other than him and the feeling he left as he moved. It had been the same since the first time you had followed him home, it was the reason you had kept going back because despite your breakup with Mason had been recent Trent made you forget. Mason didn't ever pop up in your mind when you were with Trent.

Everything about him drove you crazy, the way his body moved and looked, the way he knew your body and could read what you wanted and needed. The way his brows furrowed in concentration and pleasure that made your heart stop and the way his hair stuck to his forehead that made you drip.

"Like that?" he breathed as his fingers found your clit again, fingertips circling the sensitive nub as he drove into you at a relentless pace.

"Just like that, don't stop" you moaned, not feeling in control of your moves or sounds as he took over your senses, pleasure filling your whole being.

It didn't take either of you long to finish but that wasn't a problem with Trent. Your body shook as you came down from your orgasm, hands grasping whatever you could reach before you collapsed into the sheets.

It didn't feel the same, his body felt different, everything felt different.

You didn't know what was going on, all you knew was that is wasn't the same as it had been.

Mason's hot breath fanned your ear as he thrusted into you, shallow breaths and small sounds spilling from you both as you shared the intimate moment one more time.

You knew something was going on and he knew that too.

He kissed you but it didn't feel right anymore, it was too intimate. His hips stuttered as he came inside the condom you had asked him to wear which he hadn't fought against.

You felt conflicted as he collapsed above you, your hands combing through his hair as you always used to do, one more time.

Trent's arm snaked around your body as he rolled of you, not wanting to crush you under his weight. His mouth trailed soft kisses over your neck and shoulders as you tried to get your breathing back to normal. "Did so well" he mumbled, your body reacting to his words being whispered in your ear.

You turned around in his hold to face him, loosing yourself in his eyes once again. Your hands wandered to his hair by instinct, gently dragging them through his locks, watching his eyes falling close at the affection.

"Thank you" you whispered, his eyes opening to meet yours in confusion to your words. "For what?" he chuckled, his smile infectious.

You huffed, smiling as you diverted your eyes "For being so sweet" you hummed, leaning forward to kiss his nose which made him laugh, his arms tightening around you as you were flushed against his chest, giggling with him.

You found him sitting on the couch with the tv on but he didn't pay too much attention to it, almost making it look like he was waiting for something.

He didn't look at you as you walked into the room but you knew he had seen you by the way he tensed.

"You know, don't you?" he sighed, his eyes stuck on the floor as you sat down in the love seat opposite him. You didn't feel rage you were past that phace, now all you felt was disappointment and bitterness.

A dry chuckle left your mouth "It wasn't exactly rocket science"

A deep sigh left him, his shoulders heaving at the action. "I'm sorry"

"I don't want to hear it"

"I didn't me-"

You cut him off with a sarcastic chuckle "didn't mean to? You gotta be joking right?"

Mason didn't say anything, thinking it would be better to just keep quiet which he was probably right about. He knew he was in the wrong, he knew he had broken you up and made a mistake but he also knew why he had done it. Would it have been a better idea to take the mature decision to talk to you about your failing relationship? Yes, but he hadn't gone the mature way and now he was paying the price.

"I want you out" you spoke, your voice clear and empty, finally making him look at you with his brown eyes that almost seemed to make you melt but today you felt nothing but bitterness as he looked at you like that.

He had played his cards and you had let him, you had let him run over you for way to long but now it was enough, you deserved better.

"Wh-what?"

"I. Want. You. Out. Of. MY. House"you smiled dryly at him

"You-you're..?"

"You're breaking up? Of course I fucking am, what do you take me for" you barked, his eyes flickering down which only made you realize how easy you had made things for him. How easily you had let him walk all over you.

"Fucking get out Mason we are over"

"You feel okay?"

You smiled at his soft words, your heart fluttering as his hand soothed over your hip.

"Feel perfect" you hummed because you truly did. You felt content being with him, his body against yours, the tv rolling and his warmth embracing you.

"What do you wanna watch?" he asked, reaching for the remote on the coffee table

"Movie?" "You choose" he smiled, kissing your temple as he settled again.

Trent was affectionate in a way you never had experienced before and in a way you didn't think he would be. But he showed you wrong in every thought you had about him.

You had never felt so happy nor content in somebody's company, especially not a man's.

"I really like you Trent" you hummed quietly, feeling his body stiffen at your words. "You do?"

"I really do"

Trent's smile made you smile, his arms drawing you in as he kissed you softly "thank fuck because I really like you too"

The kiss was short but intimate, showing what you felt for the other.

"Didn't think about that possibility when I was your rebound huh?" he teased you

You chuckled at him, stroking his cheek as you let yourself drown under his gaze

"You were never really a rebound, were you?"

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A3 part 12

Synopsis: Alastor disappeared for 8 years, leaving you confused, crushed, and angry. You spent those years building up your new self and protecting the haven from dangers left and right. What will happen when he returns to the new changes? Will he return anytime soon? Could you even go back to the way things were?

Previous part

Part 12: just us

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING:

I am NOT looking for any criticism on my writing in this particular chapter. 

This was written as much for me as it was for you readers. It will be incredibly slow and drawn out until the very end. I expect future chapters to be more heated and spicy, but this was my first time writing this kind of stuff.

So please, enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Relax, my dear," he whispered in my ear, "and put your trust in my hands."

He brought us up to stand straight and led me to the bed. He gently sat me down on the edge and took a step back. I tilted my head to the side, perplexed by his behavior. It wasn't until the radio on the dresser crackled to life and played a calm melody that I realized what he was doing.

Familiarity.

He stuck a red claw in his black tie and pulled it off his neck. He let it fall elegantly on the chair and took off the black vest. One by one, humming along to the song, he started to unbutton his long sleeve. My nerves lessened as something warm replaced it. Though when he got to his belt, my nerves went right back up. The sound brought me back to the ring cage. I could feel his hands on me as I tried to bite down on something, to scream for help that never came.

"Darling." Alastor caressed my cheek with the back of his hand, drawing me back to the present. His yellow smile and red eyes immediately grounded me. He grabbed one of my wrists and brought it up to his partly exposed chest. "You and me. Just us."

I let out a shaky breath. "Just us."

His smile grew sweeter. He put a knee on one side of me and pulled the shirt off the rest of the way. He sent thoughts my way and I listened, my hands coming up to touch his scarred skin like I had in the past. This was something I was used to doing.

He leaned down to kiss me. He was gentle, at first, but when I slipped my tongue between his lips and ran my claws up his sides, all bets were off. A hand gripped my hair as he pressed harder into the kiss. His sharp canines caught my lip and drew blood. He sucked on the small injury as his other hand found the zipper of my dress.

He paused. He didn't move until I gave him the go ahead through our minds. He was splitting my attention between his hands and the aggressive kissing. His tongue felt larger and it barely grazed the back of my throat, almost eliciting a gagging reflex. His presence was overtaking mine and filling my head with his magic. All I could see was red and green.

My dress fell down my arms, exposing my chest entirely. My mind immediately snapped back to reality as did my hands to my chest. I was wearing a bra underneath but it didn't stop me from trying to cover myself. I felt stupid since we were trying to go further. It wasn't as if he hadn't actually touched anything through clothing, but seeing it was different.

Yet he didn't look. At least not yet. He kept his face close to mine, eyes locked, as his cold claws slowly wrapped around my wrists. He gently pulled my hands down and away, allowing the fabric to fall completely in my lap. My eyes were wide open compared to his soft, slitted eyes that never broke contact. It felt like he was trying to look past me, look into my soul. Did he like what he was finding? Did he wish he had a different soulmate? Maybe someone who wasn't as insecure and broken as me?

"Darling," he said again. He stood up from the bed and helped me stand up. I tried to stop the dress from falling but all he did was put his claws on my bare shoulders. He tilted my chin up with a finger and canted his head to the side. "You are beautiful, even without the dress."

You're reading into my insecurities, I thought on instinct.

Is it not my job to help make you more secure?  he returned.

So?

I need to know them in order to help. So let me help. His claws trailed down my arms until they reached my hands which were balled into tight fists around the fabric. He gripped the dress around my fists, waiting and encouraging me to let go. We are soulmates, darling. I will not have nor want another.

I swallowed. This was actually happening. Could I handle this? Was I ready? I found myself staring at the waistband of his dress pants. My throat felt dry.

A kiss on the forehead made me flinch. He did it again, almost feather-like, then placed another one on the tip of my nose. It was out of the ordinary for him to be this touchy.

"Would you like to stop?" he asked, his tone incredibly serious and unfiltered.

"N-no! I'd...I'd like to keep going. I'm just..." I looked down at my feet, the dress still bunched at my waist. Tears were starting to swell in my eyes. They increased furthermore from embarrassment.

"Love? What is the meaning of this?" It was strange to hear him so concerned. His mind was searching mine but that seemed to make it worse. I pushed him out and he obliged. "Did I upset you?"

"No...I just..." The words were dying on my tongue. Why was it so much harder to voice things? I wanted to dig a hole and bury myself in it, never to return for a hundred years at the very least.

I'm scared.

"You mustn't feel the need to continue, love," he insisted.

"But I want to," I said with a little more conviction. "I want to but I'm...just scared to do it."

Alastor was quiet for a minute. The only sound was the crackle of the fire and the music from the radio. I had ruined the night.

He moved to sit us both on the edge of the bed and kept an inch of space between us. "Were you not scared when you fought Blackwater?" he prompted.

"I was."

"Were you not afraid when you first fought in the rings?"

"I was scared every time," I ameliorated.

"Were you afraid when I disappeared?"

I finally met his red eyes. "Yes."

"And yet here you stand."

I knew what point he was trying to make. Fear was something I was incredibly familiar with; something I wished I knew very little and experienced even less. Yet despite the fear, I had continued on. That was especially so when I first came to live in the house. I was terrified of him at some points, yet I continued to push, upset, and fight him.

I knew fear, but I knew strength. I knew hope.

I gave a short laugh. "I didn't take you for someone to give out good motivation."

He gave a teasing sneer. "Did it work?"

I wiped away a stray tear. "Yeah. It did." I wrapped an arm around his back and let him pull me close. He placed a kiss on the top of my head, between my horns. He used magic to remove our jewelry. I then stood up and let the fabric fall all the way to the floor before I could convince myself otherwise.

This time he actually stared. His eyes moved from my chest all the way down to my feet, then back up to my eyes. He licked his lips as he stood up to meet me. One hand cupped my face and the other ran up and down my side.

I let out a shaky breath as he brought his face close to mine. "I can do this."

"Of course you can," he agreed. "Just us."

Another breath. "Yeah. Just us."

One hand moved down to my ass and the other to my neck. They simultaneously jerked me forward against him. My laugh was cut off by an intense kiss. It took only seconds to melt into his touch, and fewer to return the fever. My hand went up the back of his head and grabbed a fistful of his hair. He moaned into the kiss, eliciting a moan from me as well.

He pulled me forward so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed and I was straddling him. The kiss broke momentarily from the movement but he was quick to pull my head down. My nose sucked in air as spit coated our lips and our jaws widened to deepen the kiss. My hands gripped the sides of his face while his moved along every square inch of my skin.

His claws found my bra strap and waited. I gave him the go ahead and he tossed the fabric somewhere on the floor. I sent an image in his mind and he obeyed, hands coming up to cup my breasts in his palms. He squeezed and started to massage the pockets of soft tissue. I let out a sigh through my nose.

"Beautiful," he broke the kiss to whisper his compliment. His smug smile was incredibly attractive. I connected our lips again. My tail slithered up his leg under his dress pants. His entire lower half was still covered, including his boot-covered hooves. His chuckle was deep in his chest. "I suppose it's not fair I am still partly dressed, is it?" 

He put a hand on my back and half rolled over, firmly yet softly settling me near the pillows. He stood as I sat up. My nerves were back as he undressed completely. I shivered as another set of nerves combined with my own. I had never actually seen a man completely naked. My conviction was slipping out of my hands at the sight.

He sat on the edge of the bed again and reached a hand out to touch my cheek. I had to force my eyes to meet his. "You may still say no, dear."

"No."

He raised his eyebrows.

"No--I mean...no...not...I meant yes. That wasn't...I still want to keep going. I'm sorry."

His smile returned fully, relief seeping through his mind into mine. He leaned forward so our foreheads were touching. His red eyes stared straight into mine. "You may say no at any point. It does not matter where we are, I will stop."

"O-okay." My voice was shaky again. I was almost too scared to look at his lower half.

Push through. You can do it. You want this. It's Alastor.

Another train of thought came through. Alastor wanted to go all the way. Alastor. The Radio Demon. A powerful, deadly Demon was being soft, kind, and gentle with me. A powerful, deadly Overlord wanted to sleep with me. How had I managed to get to this point? It felt like yesterday I was fighting tooth and nail to get out of the house and away from him.

His mind wrapped around my mind and pulled my attention back to the present once again. He leaned in close and dropped his voice an octave, "Eyes on me, darling. I want all of your attention tonight."

I hummed a laugh as he kissed me again. He twisted his body so he was on his knees and leaned me back into the pillows. My stomach dropped again but I repeated my earlier phrase over and over again. I can push through. I want this.

His tongue slipped dangerously deep in my mouth again. I was struggling to keep up with him. His lips pressed hard then light, his tongue moved in circles then glided across my teeth, and his tail made a slight noise as it wagged. Only I could hear it with my sensitive ears. I didn't dare draw attention to it.

I hadn't realized where his hand had gone until a claw hooked on the fabric still covering the last of me. My heart jumped in my throat and he pulled away, one arm keeping him propped up. The fear left nearly as fast as it had come up at the sight of him smiling down at me. His eyes and teeth glowed but there was a fondness to them.

I swallowed. He pulled on the fabric and I lifted my hips to let him pull them off all the way. I crossed my leg over my thigh but he was quick to pin it back to the mattress. I could hear it in his mind that he wanted complete openness. He wasn't going to do any of this half-assed or covered. I should've known.

His eyes caught sight of the mark on my left hip. "What a peculiar birthmark."

"Why's that?" I propped myself up on my elbows.

"It looks like a wing. Vaguely."

I looked down at the birthmark. I had never really looked at it like that. Maybe it was because of his vantage point.

He placed a knee between my legs and leaned up to press a short kiss on my lips. "You are gorgeous, love. I am not sure how I managed to earn such a beautiful soulmate. Perhaps I have been good in some way." The comment made me laugh. "I want to hear your voice more tonight."

I did the exact opposite as his knee came into contact with my sex. I sucked in a gasp at the first contact, then at the second contact of his own on my lower stomach. I felt overheated.

"You can say no at any time," he reminded again.

I took a second to breathe. "Keep going."

He kissed across my jaw, down my neck, and sucked on the crook of my neck. Goosebumps ran down my arms at the feeling. His dulled front teeth pinched the skin then lapped the area with his wet tongue. It sent both pleasure and nerves through me.

I felt him using magic. It took three seconds to realize what he was using magic on and felt the nerves surpass the pleasure. I could feel him trying to ease the fear through our minds. I kept repeating my phrase over and over again. I was making a choice this time. I was the one saying yes, I was the one initiating, I was the one in control even if I wasn't the dominating one. For once, he had relinquished control to me. What an act of trust.

He switched to the other side of my neck. His hair brushed my face and blocked my view of anything. I reached a hand up to carefully grab one of his ears. He moaned against my skin and the vibrations sent a funny feeling to my stomach.

His hand went to my chest, drew between my breasts, down my stomach, and cupped in between my legs. My heels dug into the mattress as I sucked in a yelp. He brought his lips close to my ear. "You may say no."

"N...Keep going."

Are you sure? he asked again.

I'm sure. Please.

Very well.

He was slow. His sharp claw dulled as he slipped a finger inside me. My hand gripped one of his antlers and the other punctured the mattress.

Breathe slow for me, darling, he instructed.

I listened and forced my breathing into longer inhales. His finger moved in and out with ease, then he added another one. There was slight pain around the edges.

"Good job, my love," he cooed in my ear.

This was really happening.

He added a third. I winced from the pain and he slowed, taking extra time to curl his fingers inside. It made my stomach feel weird every time he did it.

Then a fourth. Both hands were on him now, one gripping his shoulder and the other his back. I had dulled my own claws so I wouldn't rip his skin to shreds.

He kissed me again. "Are you ready?"

"I think so." My tone said otherwise.

He withdrew his hand and shifted so he was between my legs. My eyes immediately latched onto his member. His other hand smoothed down my legs. The black of his hands stretched up to his elbows like mine did.

His eyes finally left mine as his attention dropped lower. He snaked a hand underneath me and used his other to align himself.

"Wait!" I jerked away. He raised both hands and sat back on his heels. I gripped the sheets and swallowed. Tears dared to fall again.

"We can stop altogether, love."

"No...no. I want to...keep going. Just...I need a second." I had crossed my legs under me protectively. I closed my eyes and took slow, deep breaths. He was reading my mind correctly and keeping distance for now.

You can do this. It's okay. Push through. You want this. Your choice. Your choice. My choice.

I dared to open my eyes. I wiped away the tears as Alastor continued to stare at me with a look of concern. His hands were crossed in his lap, partially blocking my view of him.

"You're permitted to have a change of heart," he offered.

"I know. I know. It's...I'm okay. Let's keep going."

His eyes glanced at my still crossed legs. "Are you sure?"

I swallowed nothing and pried my legs open. I was grateful that his eyes never left mine. "Yes. I'm sure. I'm ready this time."

I held out my hand and he gently turned it over to place a kiss on the back. "You may tell what you need." He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on my knee.

"Please. Before I think myself out of it," I pleaded.

"Of course."

He planted a hand next to my hip as the other aligned himself a second time. His eyes met mine as his mind asked once again for confirmation. When it was given, he finally pressed in.

My eyes squeezed shut and I grabbed his wrist. I clenched my jaw painfully tight from the pain, shoving my head into the pillows as I did. He stopped a little ways in and pushed a stray hair out of my face.

"Breathe, darling."

I let out a long exhale.This is okay. This is okay. It's okay.

"You are alright, dear. You're doing great."

It's okay. Your choice. Your choice. It's okay.

"Tell me when to move."

Just breathe. It's okay. It's okay.

Panic started to rise in my chest. Why wasn't I able to calm down? Why couldn't I be normal? Why was I still scared? Just breathe. 

I could see the memories as plain as day. I could see the ugly smile, could smell his ashy breath, and could feel the painfully tight grip on my arms. His laugh echoed in my ears.

"Darling." Alastor brushed the back of his fingers against my cheek. "Look at me."

I peeled my eyes open. My shoulders relaxed involuntarily at the sight of his bright red hair and beady red eyes.

It's him. It's Alastor. Your choice.

"Put your trust in me, dear."

I nodded. "Okay. Okay."

He pulled out, slick skin dragging on slick skin, then pushed back in. He did this several times over until I felt new skin touch my surrounding area. He leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on my lips.

He pulled away and locked eyes with me. "You're so attractive."

I blinked.

I suddenly wanted him to move faster.

And move he did. He moved his hips back and forth, gradually picking up the pace as he felt my mind for when the pain dulled. His breathing grew heavier as mine turned into moans. I could see sweat building on his forehead and his muscles moving under tight skin.

"Darling," he said through his pants, "use those...beautiful claws on my back." I didn't sharpen them back to claws but I dug my human fingernails into his skin. He moaned through his thrusts, earning pressure from my fingers.

He slipped his arm under my lower back, effectively lifting me off the bed and somehow sliding deeper inside. My back arched upward and my heels dug into the mattress. My mouth gaped open but no noise came out.

Say my name, he ordered in my mind. Say my name out loud.

"Alastor," I whispered. I drew my nails along his skin.

"Louder," he growled.

"Alastor."

"Louder." His presence filled my mind and I involuntarily yelled his name. "That's it, love. Just like that."

Moans mixed with his name as pleasure replaced pain entirely. Something hot and pleasurable was sending electricity from the rim of my entrance up my spine.

I swallowed air. "Ala...Alastor." I suddenly became aware of a feeling I had experienced only from my own hands. "Al...I...Al I can feel it."

I dug my nails harder into his skin. He hissed but his mind told me enjoyed it. I wasn't even seeing him anymore. Only red, green, and tints of purple.

"I am getting there love," he barely managed to say. I could sense that I was closer than him and he was trying to fix that.

I managed to pull myself back to reality, out of our minds, and brought a hand up to his head. I gripped one of his ears and squeezed. His whole body shivered. That was all it took.

I fell back into our minds as he brought his face closer to mine. His breath fanned my cheeks as reflexive tears fell down the side of my face. My mouth fell open in a silent moan. I was getting close but it felt like it was taking forever.

"Al...please..." My foot claws punctured the mattress. "Please...I'm so close."

"That's it, baby, just like that."

The new nickname sent electricity down to my fingertips. I grabbed at his back and accidentally dug my actual claws into his back. He growled and bit down on my shoulder in retaliation.

"Al...right...right there. Oh Alastor...please don't...don't stop. Don't stop. Right there...keep going...oh please...ah-hah...Alastor!" My legs shook uncontrollably as my moan trailed into a whine.

I saw stars. My mind was filled with nothing but him and the sea of stars in my vision. Him and only him. I was only ever going to want him. Our minds, our feelings, our emotions, our memories, they blended into one. I didn't know who I was and I didn't know who he was. There was us. There were no separate beings. There was only us. Two minds into one.

One mind, one body.

I blinked. The plain, red ceiling stared back at me. It took me a moment to actually register that I was back in my own body. I felt sticky and almost uncomfortable, like I didn't belong in this particular body. My mind felt sticky, especially when Alastor came to and tried to bring his own mind back from wherever we had been.

There was a part we couldn't disconnect but I was perfectly okay with it. It felt like I was balancing two minds in my head. There were new memories and new thoughts and new emotions. I would sort through those later.

Alastor slowly propped himself on his elbows. I hadn't even realized he had fallen on top of me. His eyes, somehow lazy, eventually found mine through heavy eyelids. I lifted a tired hand and let him rub his cheek against it.

We did it, we thought in union. I wasn't sure who had started the train of thought. Finally.

Alastor gathered enough strength to pull out. He used magic to pull the covers on top of us. I managed to push myself over so I was half laying on him, my head resting on his shoulder.

I did it. I pushed through.

Are you happy? Alastor asked. We were both fighting off unconsciousness.

Very. I'm very happy, Al.

We both fell asleep an instant later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

IT FINALLY HAPPENED!

Let me know your thoughts? Just no criticism on my writing style please :P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette @masochist-downfall @martinys-world

[renlyslittlerose]

omg it’s gotta be “just follow my lead” for the kiss prompts …

💖 You know we had to do it to 'em

This one is slightly NSFW and features Padawan Anakin (he's 19 but still, if it's not your vibe then maybe refrain!)

---

Anakin had his ways to make Obi-Wan do things.

He knew just how to tilt his head and fiddle with the edges of his robes, casting Obi-Wan quick glances from behind his lashes as he asked for things in a tone that made Obi-Wan’s expression soften, his brows relax, his shoulders slump. But if that didn’t work he’d switch tactics, demure turned prideful, his voice rising as he pleaded his case and stalked after Obi-Wan’s determined gate as they weaved their way through the Temple hallways.

Most of the time Obi-Wan put up a fight - barrier upon barrier tossed up between them and in their bond, severing what little manipulation Anakin had until it felt like he was throwing himself against a wall. It happened enough where Anakin was ready with a quick barb and a glare for the inevitable rebuke or refusal.

But every so often Obi-Wan would give in; Anakin would ask for something in a manner that allowed him to slip beneath the carefully maintained armour Obi-Wan wore and pluck from his core - tearing little pieces away until he could fit himself inside, never to be parted from his Master.

And every so often, Obi-Wan agreed to something Anakin thought he would never agree to.

Like this time. Like right now. Like in this very moment: Anakin sat on his Master’s lap, thighs astride his thick waist, hands balled up on the dense fabric of Obi-Wan’s tunic as he stared at the small beauty mark dotted on his cheek.

Anakin had admired the mark before. He’d stared at it as a small child while he was supposed to be studying, his head resting on his curled arms as Obi-Wan read through his datapads, face sharply angled by the dense shadows and bright lights that spilled across his features. Or when they were sat side by side as they meditated, Anakin opening his eyes now and again to flick across Obi-Wan’s form, attention wandering from the perfection of his pose and the grace of his hands along his knees, up to the cut of his beard and the lines of his lips before falling on that very mark - a small blemish on an otherwise perfect man.

But now it was up close - close enough that with very little effort Anakin could touch it. Rub his thumb across it, pressing his fingerprint into Obi-Wan’s skin, marking him with his touch if only for a brief moment.

Obi-Wan’s breath was hot across his lips, his focus sharp, his grip strong along Anakin’s hips. Anakin could feel him shifting beneath him - little movements that sent a jolt of arousal through Anakin, his cheeks heating, his palms becoming clammy. He refused to meet his Master’s gaze and instead stayed as still as he could, fearful that if he did something wrong then he’d be sent back to his room, cut off from this immense intimacy - an intimacy he’d craved for a millenia.

The remark had been made in jest, but had been answered in a seriousness that spoke more than the words themselves.

‘You should teach me how to kiss, Master. Wouldn’t want me going out there into Coruscant’s underbelly to find someone who will.’

‘You’re right, Anakin. I wouldn’t want that…’

‘So you’ll do it?’

‘Come here, Padawan.’

Anakin wasn’t sure how long they’d been like this; Anakin on Obi-Wan’s lap, their eyes skirting and avoiding, their breathing tight and quick and hot across their lips and chins. The door behind Anakin was locked, a soft beep that crashed through the room as Obi-Wan guided Anakin to his couch, and yet it felt like at any moment someone could walk in - throw open the door and expose the intensity of their bond.

There were rumours. Anakin had heard them, and he knew Obi-Wan ought to have as well. But they were just rumours.

Or had been.

Toes curling in his boots, Anakin bit his bottom lip when Obi-Wan reached up to play with his braid. The tips of his fingers brushed his neck, and Anakin’s cock pulsed in his trousers. He remained as he was - poised just above, hands gripping Obi-Wan’s shoulders, attention fixed on the beauty mark. Obi-Wan let out a soft sigh as their bond fluttered, Anakin’s arousal coiling with Obi-Wan’s admiration.

“Anakin…”

Obi-Wan’s voice melted into Anakin’s core, and he finally looked from the mark to lock eyes with Obi-Wan. He sucked in a breath and held a moment when he saw how dark Obi-Wan’s eyes had become - grey-blue hues cast in shadows that intrigued and excited Anakin. Licking his bottom lip, he let out a pitiful moan when Obi-Wan’s hand cupped his cheek. Turning into the touch, he closed his eyes as Obi-Wan rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip, pressing into his pout, pulling up blood and making it tingle.

This was supposed to be an exercise - a teaching moment. It wasn’t supposed to be anything more, and yet…

“Relax, darling.”

A sweet name for a sweet boy, Obi-Wan had once remarked the first time he’d called Anakin darling. It had been months ago but Anakin still remembered how it made him feel. Desired and wanted, boastful and proud, humbled and unworthy. None of the other padawans were called ‘darling’ by their masters. Only Anakin - and only by Obi-Wan. Only by the one who mattered.

Anakin tried to relax, his body sinking downward until he was sat fully on Obi-Wan’s lap. He was warm and study beneath Anakin. Keeping his hands where they were, he squeezed down harder, his knuckles on his flesh hand aching while the newly formed metals of his mechno-hand trembled with the pressure. But the ache felt good. Almost as good as Obi-Wan’s thumb as it pressed into the groove of his chin and held him where he was.

He let out a shaky breath and stared at Obi-Wan. Something flashed in his Master’s gaze then - a quick thing that Anakin couldn’t decipher - before Obi-Wan wrapped his arm around his waist and held him closer still.

Breath, hot and smelling of clipped grasses like that of Obi-Wan’s tea, tickled Anakin’s lips and he held back another embarrassing moan. Instead a whimper came out, and Anakin watched as Obi-Wan’s pupils expanded ever so. He licked his bottom lip - a wet, pink tongue slipping past the dense hairs of his beard to swipe along the expanse of skin.

Anakin wanted to suck on it.

“Now… just follow my lead,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Anakin closed his eyes and sighed as Obi-Wan gently tilted his head to the left while he took up space to the right. A brief moment passed where Anakin thought maybe Obi-Wan was going to walk it all back - take his decency and his decorum and swath himself in his armour once more - but then the bristles of Obi-Wan’s beard tickled his lips before they joined. Anakin tried to relax as their lips rubbed together - a firm pressure followed by something softer before the pressure returned. Anakin wasn’t sure what to do and tried to mimic Obi-Wan’s movements even as his breath caught in his ribs and his mind rattled around in his skull.

He was kissing his Master.

He was kissing Obi-Wan.

And he wanted more.

Obi-Wan pulled away before Anakin could claim anything else. Anakin’s lips tingled, his groin tight with arousal, his mouth thick with spit. When Obi-Wan looked at him Anakin saw only the blackness of his pupils, thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. Without asking he moved in for more, desperate for the same sensation even if it remained chaste and demure. Proper, even though everything else was far from it.

But when they kissed again Obi-Wan parted his lips, hot breath skittering across Anakin’s, coaxing him to do the same. With a shaking sigh he opened his mouth and whimpered as their lips met again and again, quick and soft and slow and aching. Anakin followed Obi-Wan’s lead, mimicking his actions as he'd done so many times before, his hands relaxing to rest across Obi-Wan’s broad shoulders as they continued to kiss.

Anakin liked the feel of Obi-Wan’s lips, the brush of his beard, the strength in his hands. He liked how he could swallow Obi-Wan’s breath and hold it as his own; how he could smell the soaps on his skin and the sweat along his brow; feel his touch warm across his hip and along his cheek, and taste the tea and cakes he’d consumed just hours before, surrounded by his peers as he played perfect Master, perfect Jedi, perfect man.

And now he was panting in his Padawan’s mouth; gripping his Padwan’s waist; touching his Padwan and delighting in his Padawan and taking from his Padawan.

The kiss deepened and Anakin let out another moan as he felt Obi-Wan’s tongue slide into his mouth to rub along his own. The sensation was unfamiliar and yet pleasing all the same, Anakin shuddering as he thought about Obi-Wan being inside him. Anakin didn’t know what to do but followed along all the same, pushing back and rubbing when Obi-Wan retreated, licking up against the roof of his mouth, sliding along his teeth, collecting Obi-Wan’s spit and whatever else he could consume.

He was greedy for it - for Obi-Wan’s taste and touch and focus. He wanted to be good for Obi-Wan - wanted to prove his worth as he’d done with all their other lessons. He wanted to be the perfect Padawan for Obi-Wan, in all the ways he could.

Obi-Wan pulled away then, severing the cord that connected them with a gasp.

Opening his eyes Anakin stared at Obi-Wan’s beauty mark once more. His chest ached and he sucked back thick mouthfuls of muggy air, touch trembling as he pushed his palms into Obi-Wan’s shoulders until he could feel the press of his collarbone through the layers of robes. Obi-Wan’s breathing was heavy beneath him, his form taught and tense, his grip still demanding along Anakin’s hip and the side of his neck.

With an unsteady touch, Anakin reached up to touch Obi-Wan’s lips with the pads of his fingertips. He could feel his spit across his hairs and the plushness of his thin lips, and it was his turn to press and push, messing Obi-Wan up further.

Mine.

“Anakin…”

Obi-Wan’s voice was breathless, his tone unsteady - ragged - and Anakin finally looked up to lock eyes with him. He was greeted with an expression he knew all too well. He’d seen it on Obi-Wan’s face more times than he could count; before an argument and then right after, words biting, tone cutting, their bond rough and sharp. Or after a sparring session, sweat slick across their brows and down their backs, breath haggard, knuckles bruised and bloodied from when practice turned to real aggression. Or when Anakin manipulated the Force, the stink of it like electricity through the room, Anakin’s powers fluctuating and just on the edge, fear splashed across the faces of those in attendance except for one - except for Obi-Wan.

Anakin had never been able to place it before. But he knew now what it all meant - the sharpness to Obi-Wan’s gaze, the tension in his jaw, the tightness to his shoulders and the tendons of his neck.

Arousal.

“Master,” Anakin mumbled, before he took what he wanted once more and closed the gap.

[specialinterestshows]

The first half of the highly anticipated Damian Priest x Finn Balor smut, in light of their recent feuding.

Warnings for this section: blood, kink (biting, choking, literal fighting/wrestling for dominance)

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Wrath (Part 1/2)

The anger hadn’t let up for weeks. Slight after slight had kept Finn Balor in a dark place lately. The more he was denied vengeance, recognition, respect - the more he thirsted for blood. It may have been Seth Rollins that had wound him up more than anything, but recent issues with Damian Priest were having the biggest impact. After all, he expected Seth to give him hell. But Damian’s behavior was just-

Childish. Damian huffed just thinking about it. Finn was being childish about the entire situation. All Damian wanted was for Finn to stop interrupting his matches and maybe pull his head out of his ass long enough be happy for him winning Money in the Bank. Had Finn forgotten they were supposed to be on the same team? Damian shook his head and decided the best way to deal with his frustrated energy was to direct it into something productive. Rounding the corner to the training room, Damian stops mid-stride as he notices someone already there.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Finn gives the punching bag he was pummeling one last jab upon looking up before wiping the sweat off his forehead. The last time the two were face-to-face, they had a shouting match that was never resolved. “Here to tell me off some more?”

Any inclination Damian may have had to try and be civil left at the sound of Finn’s bitter tone. “I was just here to get some reps in, but I would have. Every. Right. To do more than just tell you off,” he growled, slowly walking toward Finn, allowing his height to add to the intimidation behind his words.

Despite having to tilt his chin upward, Finn's glare never faltered. “I should let you try and fight me. Might humble you a bit, Señor,” the title was dripping with sarcasm.

Damian chuckled, “Actually, anyone I make my bitch calls me Papi, not Señor. But don’t feel bad” - his touch was unexpectedly gentle as he cupped Finn’s face with one hand - “you’ll learn.”

Finn’s anger mixed with something else at the touch of Damian’s hand, making him hesitate. Was he really enjoying the caress of someone who humiliated him? The thought was enough to make his anger uncontrollable and instinct took over.

Breaking free from Damian’s grasp, Finn put all his strength behind the fist he let fly at the other man’s jaw. His momentum fell flat against Damian’s hand, held up at just the right moment. Something in Damian’s sadistic grin told Finn his hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed.

His suspicions are confirmed as Damian shoves him back against the wall, pinning his bare shoulders upon impact and kissing him roughly. Finn bites Damian’s lip hard and - determined not to remain on the defensive - manages to grab a handful of long, dark hair, pulling the taller man off him. Despite the fact that he was now bleeding from his lip, Damian was still grinning.

“Bastard,” Finn muttered, spitting off to the side as he walked around Damian, “You want nothing to do with me and now you can’t keep your hands off me?” - he punches the bag as he walks past it, heading in the direction of the training ring.

“Who said I wanted nothing to do with you?” Damian said casually, glancing at the blood he wiped off onto his hand.

The instant Damian looked down, Finn lept toward him and landed both feet squarely in the other man’s chest, knocking him down. Once his opponent was on the ground, Finn wasted no time pinning him - holding one leg up and putting his leg over the other.

As soon as he caught his breath, Damian started laughing, “Now how could I want nothing to do with you when you keep sweeping me off my feet like that?” he teased, laughing harder until he was pulled forward by his shirt, moaning as Finn sunk his teeth into his neck.

Damian grips Finn’s arm as his other hand touches Finn’s chest. Shifting his weight quickly, Damian turned Finn onto his back and slid the hand on his chest up to his throat, pulling his own throat away from Finn’s mouth.

“You look good on your back,” Damian breathes, taking in the sight of the man pinned underneath him. A moan escapes Finn’s lips as Damian - very obviously hard now - grinds against him and tightens the grip on his throat.

“Never heard you make a noise like that before,” Damian’s smile grows wider as he feels Finn start to get hard, “Ready to call me Papi?”

[end part 1 of 2]

Part 2 of 2: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/722331315644645376/wrath-part-22

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