#but each time you make sure every single drop goes where it belongs (inside my pussy 😇)

[rosicheeks]

4:35 and I'm thinking about putting a baby in a certain sexy Tumblr mutual

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

[parkersbliss]

Diamonds | K. Brekker

pairing; kaz brekker x female!reader

warnings: cursing, I think that’s it

wc; 2.3K

synopsis: dirtyhands doesn’t need anyone, but he wants you, even if he can’t have you

prompts: 001: “why do you care?” 047: “please just let me in.”

a/n: this went in a very different direction then I planned but I love it??

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

Kaz Brekker was a lot of things.

Emotionally unavailable was one of them.

But you never thought much of it. You didn’t think less of him because of that. Surviving the barrel meant being cold, ruthless, and cunning.

Everyone had to have some dark side to them. It was a given.

But Kaz’s dark side never turned off. He was always in a constant state of brooding, thinking about all the ways the plan could fail or coming up with a new heist.

His brain never shuts off.

You never considered that a bad thing, but everyone has to rest eventually.

But rest wasn’t a word in Kaz’s dictionary. For him, resting meant thinking about other things.

Things that he wanted to forget.

So he busied himself with work, numbers, and other things to push the other thoughts out of his mind. Sometimes they were about Jordie and the harbor, sometimes they were about Rollins or you.

Kaz never wanted to forget you, but he didn’t want to think about you either. About the way, your lips curved up into a smile every time Jesper threw his arm around you. Or the way you throw your head back every time Nina makes a joke, the way you sit patiently with Wylan when he tries to read, the way you train so gracefully with Inej, and the way you make fun of Matthias’ accent.

He wants to push it all out of his mind because he doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t get how he manages to notice every detail about you.

It would cost him eventually, which is why he didn’t think about it. It’s why he tried to busy himself with things that have nothing to do with you.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always work out that way.

It was moments like these where Kaz is in a constant state of don’t fuck up and don’t say anything.

Which never goes in his favor.

The plan was simple, break-in and walk-out. There were three separate sections to the museum, and the event kept everyone pretty busy.

All you had to do was get in, steal a few jewels and then blend in with the crowd for the rest of the night.

It should be easy enough.

You all dress in your best attire, at least, the best attire that wouldn’t slow you down if you have to run. Kaz’s breath hitches in his throat when he sees you. Silky fabric, exposed skin, and all your beauty.

He nods at you as you fall into step behind him.

“You look nice,” You said.

“Thank you. So do you.”

You all find yourself in an ally by the museum as Inej scales the roof for her way in. You know she’s successful when the back entrance pops open, and she leans against the door frame with a satisfied smile on her face; her green dress trails along the floor as you make your way inside.

Bright fluorescent lights illuminate the hallway, and the sound of heels and Kaz’s cane echo down it. Kaz pick locks the three doors with ease, signaling for the groups of you to go in.

Matthias and Nina are responsible for the smaller riches, Inej, Wylan, and Jesper take care of replacing them, and you and Kaz get the big stuff.

The room sparkles with diamonds, almost blinding you. To Kaz, it smells like money. For each piece stolen, the two of you replace it with a cheaper place holder.

By the time anyone noticed, you would be gone.

You grab a ring off a stand, slipping it on and examining it in the light.

Kaz coughs, and you turn to face him.

He holds the most expensive piece in his hand, a diamond necklace.

It’s worth more than a quarter of a million kruge.

“Woah,” you breathe out. The diamonds are arranged in such a way that it sits close to the neck, and looks like small interconnected leaves.

“Wear it,” Kaz said.

“Kaz-”

“You would look… pretty with it,” The last part is barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” You agree, taking the piece from his hands. Your fingers barely brush his gloved ones as you take the necklace, clasping it around your neck.

Then, Kaz steps back. “I think we got most of it.”

You can’t take all of the riches, but you can take enough to make some serious bank. You exit the room, Kaz locking it after, and meet back in the hallway with everyone else. Inej and Nina both drip in equal expenses and gasp when they see your necklace.

“I almost want to keep it,” You said, touching the diamonds.

“It does look stunning on you,” Nina said.

“I’m sure we have enough to keep that piece,” Inej said, gesturing to the jewelry between you all.

“I do not understand the need for stones to prove one’s worth,” Matthias said.

Nina pats his shoulder, “It’s like you Fjerdans and your fur coats.”

"Witch," Matthias mumbled under his breath.

Kaz takes the lead, directing you to the main room. You can hear the sounds of people chattering, classical music floating in the air. You all split into smaller groups, mostly pairs, to avoid detection.

You and Kaz stay towards the center of the room, observing everyone else and waiting till the event ends.

As Kaz’s eyes sweep the ballroom, yours sweep over his face, familiarizing yourself with his features.

He has sharp cheekbones, fair skin, and a pointed nose. His lips are drawn down into the softest frown, and there are bags under his dark eyes. His eyebrow twitches ever so slightly whenever he sees someone he doesn’t like, and he runs a gloved hand through his hair, slicking it back more if it’s possible.

He was beautiful.

After a few more moments of mingling, they prepare to bring the jewelry out on display. You and Kaz back towards the exit, just in case something goes wrong.

The fake one sparkles just the same, and a clear difference can’t be seen. It’s only glass that Wylan had managed to craft by himself.

The servant gulps, taking careful steps with the case in his hand. His hands shake, and as he takes the first step up the stairs, he stumbles.

It shatters.

The glass scatters across the floor, the fake necklace you planted aside does the same, the pieces landing everywhere.

You can practically feel Kaz tense next to you when the crowd gasps; actual diamonds wouldn’t break.

“Don’t move,” Kaz whispers. He makes a hand gesture to the rest of the Dregs around the room that means remain still. “Act just as surprised.”

On any other occasion, it would be easy, but when the original necklace is dangling from your neck, it’s like an open target for anyone with eyes. Murmurs flow through the crowd, but no one pays any mind to the Dregs because you all look like you belong here. They’re looking for the black sheep among the white.

But they all look just the same.

“We will be conducting manual searches,” The guards announce.

“Saints,” You whisper, hand instinctively grabbing the diamonds on your neck.

“Plan B,” Kaz said. He meets Jesper’s eyes across the room, nodding his head, and Jesper smirks. He grabs one of his revolvers, firing a single shot and tucking it away before anyone notices. The crowd screams, everyone rushing to the exits as more shots are fired from various parties (some from Jesper, some from guards, or others who just love chaos).

You all make a run for it, using the main exit where guards were desperately trying to keep everyone in.

You watch Inej slip through with ease, Nina and Mattias next. Jesper gets held up, but he managed to talk his way out of it as Wylan tugs on his sleeve.

You and Kaz are last, taking your time to avoid being pushed in by the crowd. You could run ahead, get out before Kaz, but you don’t.

You stay by his side and maintain the slow pace, even when there’s a quarter of a million kruge hanging from your neck.

As you approach the exit, you’re one foot out when someone grabs your arm.

“I got her!” The guard shouts. He starts dragging you back inside as you try to dig your heel into their foot.

Then, in the span of a second, a cane comes down on his arm, a clear snap ringing out.

You stumble from their grasp, unknowingly using Kaz’s shoulder to steady yourself. He hisses but says nothing more because as soon as you notice, you let go.

“Nina!” You scream as the guards come pouring out the entrance.

It was clear who the target was.

The heartrender holds up her hands, effectively dropping their beat, but you underestimate how many there are.

“Run!” Jesper shouts.

And you do as you’re told. The guards open fire, and you bunch your dress in your hands, running through the streets of Ketterdam. Kaz begins to fall behind, and you slow down your pace.

“Jes, throw me a revolver!”

“What?”

“Throw it!”

Wylan rolls his eyes, fishing the gun from his boyfriend’s pocket and tossing it at you.

“What are you doing?” Kaz said.

“Saving your ass!” You reply.

“I don’t need your saving!” Kaz retorts, glaring at you.

You roll your eyes, “Fine, I’m covering you.”

“I don’t need that either.”

“Kaz-”

“I don’t need you!”

You nod, turning away from him to hide the hurt on your face. “No, of course, you don't."

You fire a single shot at a guard, busying yourself in taking a few out, so Kaz doesn’t get hit. When he’s a good way ahead, you sprint after the rest of the Dregs. You see the tail of Jesper’s coat disappear down an alleyway.

You fire one last round of shots and duck behind it. You move past Kaz, catching up with Jesper and thanking him.

He smiles, bumping your shoulder. “Anything for the lady.”

The slat is in sight, and you sigh in relief, happy to rest and unload all the jewels everyone is dripping in.

You could only imagine the amount of kruge you’d come up with.

Jesper opens the door for the Dregs, and you all practically collapse on the couch. You Nina and Inej are all on one, kicking off your heels.

“I hate heels,” You said.

“You’re telling me,” Inej replied. “Never again.”

Nina shrugs, “Annoying as hell, but they do work in place of a knife every now and then.”

“I am never without my knives.”

“We know.”

Kaz walks past you all, limping a bit worse than usual and going up to his office.

You don’t bother following after him. Instead, you all dump the jewelry on the table.

“Oh, saints,” Inej gasped.

Jesper leans back in his seat, “I think we’re set.”

“You’ll gamble it all away before we even cash it in,” Matthias said as Jesper scoffed.

“It’ll take me at least a few months to lose that.”

“Months?” Wylan asked.

“Like six tops.”

Everyone begins to argue, and you tune them out. You forgot about the most expensive piece hanging from your neck, absentmindedly playing with it. When you remember, you figure the best thing to do with it is give it up to Kaz.

With a sigh, you stand up, the fabric of your dress falling back into place.

You don’t bother knocking on his door, you know you should, but you didn’t care all that much.

“Here’s your necklace,” You said bitterly, dropping it on his desk.

“(Y/N)-”

“A quarter of a million kruge, enough to set you for life. That’s all you need, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Sure felt like it,” You snap.

“I just-,” Kaz sighed, avoiding your gaze. “Keep the necklace.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You don’t?” Kaz asked, eyebrows raised. “I thought you liked it. You should have it if that’s the case.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

You click your tongue, “Keep the fucking necklace, Kaz.”

Kaz curses himself, tugging at his hair. He was making the situation much worse. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn't piss you off. He thought the necklace would be like a peace offering, a sign of his thanks.

It backfired on him.

He’s bordering the line of being cold or grateful. When grateful didn’t work in his favor, he went for the other.

“I want you to have it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Please, take it.”

“It’s worth money. That’s far more important to both of us.”

Kaz shuts his eyes, “(Y/N), please.”

And you know this isn't about the necklace anymore. It never really was.

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. You were tired of pretending to brush off your feelings. It was killing you. Every time you tried to do something, Kaz pushed you back. You couldn't keep doing this to yourself.

“You either want this, or you don’t. Which one is it?”

“Please,” he said softly.

You sigh, blinking harshly. Your heart hammers in your chest. You take a breath, trying to calm yourself.

“Kaz, I need you,” You said softly, “Please just let me in.”

“I can’t,” He said, voice strained as he fights his demons. God, he wants to, but he's scared. He's scared of pushing you away or hurting either of you in the process. He couldn't go through that kind of loss again.

“I will wait,” You said. “I will wait as long as you need. I just need to know that you’re in this too.”

Kaz meets your eyes. His are glassy as he holds the necklace tightly in his hands, running his gloved fingers over the diamonds.

He could lose you.

And that is far worse than not having you at all.

He slowly peels his gloves off. His movements are slow and deliberate, taking his time. When they’re off, he grabs the necklace and stands up.

You hold your breath as he stands behind you, brushing your hair out of the way. His fingers just barely dance across your skin, but they’re there.

He clasps the necklace, and you turn around to face him.

“Kaz?” You question.

“I need you too, (Y/N).”

“I’m not leaving," You assure him.

“Good. We’re in this.”

“We’re in this.”

[fangirleaconmigo]

This is about Geralt needing to hear Jaskier say “I love you,” and figuring out how to ask for it.

------

Geralt believes Jaskier. He does.

He just needs to hear it again.

The question sits heavy on his tongue for a week. Every time he considers asking it, all the courage he needs to follow through on it deserts him. He senses that once he is vulnerable in plain sight, there will be no hiding again.

But one night, courage shows its face. They are crammed onto a mattress on a dusty floor. They have stripped off their clothing and are greedily helping themselves to each other’s bodies. The moment their skin is pressed together and their breath mingles, Geralt realizes that this is his moment.

It is the perfect opportunity to disguise the need of his heart. So he wraps it in a seductive demand. He pulls out of the hot clutch of Jaskier, eliciting a whimper and an urgent, “Please, Geralt, please.”

He presses their foreheads together, just as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple. He allows the heaving of their chests to subside. Then he rolls his hips, sliding back home, and he whispers.

“Jaskier. Do you love me?”

Jaskiers takes him so fucking deep, eyes widening as though he is seeing god. His lips fall open in concert with his thighs. Geralt tightens his grip on Jaskier’s cock and strokes him that much faster. Jaskier smells like a lavender sea and his desperation is growing thick. He teeters on the edge, then he comes. He squeezes down on Geralt, and his words gush, ushered on waves of lust.

“I l-- love y--ou Ger--alt.”

He is barely comprehensible because he is also releasing onto Geralt’s fist, painting him with hot stripes. His fingernails clutch wildly at Geralt’s shoulder blades, drawing thin red lines as he rides his climax.

Geralt watches, transfixed as Jaskier writhes beneath him, professing his love.

He stuffs every single syllable into his aching heart.

The words console him but do not sate him yet. He needs to hear it again. Just one more time, and then he will stop.

“Do you love me?” he asks again, sounding rough and shattered this time. His fingers slide down Jaskier’s temple and his thumb slips absently into his searching mouth. Jaskier curls his lips around it and sucks sweetly.

Geralt is so taken with him. And in the back of his mind, a small voice warns him that he is becoming too much. He is no longer hiding behind amorous banter. He is obvious in his need.

He pins Jaskier’s shoulders in place this time and silences the voice with another thrust. His pleasure crests, and even though his body seizes and he snarls as he comes, his eyes still linger on Jaskier’s face. He still listens for what he needs.

“I love you, Geralt. I love you.”

This time Jaskier is steady and emphatic. He cradles Geralt’s face in his hands and wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist. Defiance flickers in his eyes.

Geralt rides the vibrations of his peak, still watching the wide blue eyes glistening with tears. Then he slides onto the mattress, pulling Jaskier against his sticky chest. Jaskier throws a leg over him to hook them even closer. Geralt grasps his thigh, hitching it higher to burrow closer into him. He realizes that Jaskier is trembling.

“Fuck,” whispers Jaskier, “I can still feel you inside of me.”

These are his favorite moments, when Jaskier is overcome and shaking, leaking his spend. These are his favorite kisses, the ones that are lax and echo their pleasure. He presses his tongue between Jaskier’s parted lips and they kiss, unhurried and satisfied.

When they pull apart, Jaskier is playing with his hair. “Well?” He asks from behind half lidded eyes, wet lashes smashed against Geralt’s bicep where his head is at rest.

“Well, what?”

Jaskier kisses the tip of his nose. Geralt scrunches under the onslaught.

“Poor manners to ask, then not return it,” Jaskier says.

Jaskier already knows that Geralt is his, body and soul. But of course he says it.

“I love you, Jaskier,” he says.

Geralt’s eyes flutter closed as Jaskier kisses one eyelid, then the other. His face releases even the thought of tension.

“My precious, beautiful man,” says Jaskier. His voice bursts with love and admiration.

Geralt blinks fast to fight back the burning in his eyes. He pulls Jaskier tight against him to hide it.

These are the only moments he can find the courage to ask.

At first.

Soon he learns other ways.

A few days later, when he drops dinner at Jaskier’s feet, he waits with an eyebrow cocked and a smile playing on his lips.

Jaskier gasps and claps when he sees the fish. Lacking witcher vision, he cannot fish at night, so he has built the fire. He looks up at Geralt. When he notices that Geralt is waiting, his eyes twinkle knowingly. “Have I mentioned lately that I love you?”

“Hmmm,” says Geralt. He settles on his knees. He is halfway through gutting the first fish, when Jaskier steals a teasing glance.

“You must say it back, you know.” He nudges Geralt playfully with his elbow, since his hands are covered in fish.

“I love you, too,” Geralt mutters, smothering a smile. Then he looks up and winks at his love. Jaskier practically flutters in response, and Geralt feels very smug indeed.

Then, a few nights later, Jaskier is working and Geralt doesn’t have a contract. So Geralt goes up to their room ahead of him. He prepares a bath, laboring to craft every oil and scent just the way Jaskier likes it.

When Jaskier pulls off his clothes and sinks into the steaming water, he moans as though he were in the throes of passion. Geralt stands with his arms crossed, wearing a proud, waiting smile.

“Gods, I love you,” Jaskier says, just before he dips beneath the water to wet his head. He emerges again and opens one dripping eye to watch the effect his words have had on Geralt.

Geralt grins and his chest expands.

Those words used to feel like a gift that Jaskier had given him by accident. They used to feel like a favor stolen when destiny blinked, one that she would surely snatch back when she realized the deception.

But as he lowers into the tub, and Jaskier maneuvers between his thighs (he really seems to like it there), Geralt realizes that those words are starting to feel like something that can actually belong to him. Like they are his.

Jaskier settles back against his chest, water sloshing. Geralt hears him open his mouth to speak. But before he can make a sound, Geralt encircles him in his arms and squeezes him tight.

Then he whispers in his ear, “I love you too, Jaskier.” He kisses his soapy neck and then releases him.

“I know,” says Jaskier. He twists his body and steals a fragrant, damp kiss. “Sometimes I like to hear you say it, though.”

Geralt skims his hands under the water and grips Jaskier’s hips. He hums and closes his eyes. “I know,” he says. “And I’ll say it as many times as you like. You don’t have to be afraid to ask.”

[wondernimbus]

meet the weasleys — george weasley

pairing: george weasley x female!reader

summary: george takes reader to meet his family.

requests are closed for now. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

"I’m nervous."

"Well, don't be."

"Thank you, George. That somehow just alleviated all of my worries."

George snickers and squeezes her hand in reassurance. “Just relax. My family doesn't bite—or, well, Ron used to, but that was back when he was, what, five? And besides, you already know him, and he's never bit you before, has he?"

"Not helping."

"And you've met most of my family already."

“I haven't met your mum. Or your dad. Or Bill and Charlie,” she argues, eyes worriedly darting from George’s own to the wooden door in front of them.

George laughs again. His eyes don’t fail to catch onto the way she’s frantically tapping her foot against the ground, how she keeps worrying at her bottom lip. The sight has him grinning widely; he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t horribly endeared.

“Listen,” he says, removing his fingers from her own in favor of turning her around to face him. George’s hands go to her neck, cradling the sides of her cheeks. “They’re going to love you. And if they don’t—well, I can always find a different family.”

”George,” she sighs.

”Only joking,” he grins, and leans in to press a very brief kiss to the tip of her nose. “But I mean it. They’ll adore you. Possibly even more than I do, although that’s up for debate.”

She lets out a long breath, pursing her lips together in a feeble attempt at a smile, but George commends her for trying. He drops his hands back to his sides and laces his fingers through her own again, turning to face the door like they’re about to venture into some sort of grand adventure and not into his family’s living room—and George is about to twist open the knob, until [Y/N] goes, “Wait.”

He glances at her. Her eyes are wide and the look on her face still so uncertain. Sucking in a breath through her teeth, she asks him, “How do I look?”

The grin on George’s face is so impossibly wide. “Like a billion galleons,” he tells her. Just because he can’t resist the urge, he swoops down to press one more chaste kiss to her lips. And then finally, he twists the knob.

The moment George steps foot through the door, he’s immediately enveloped by the wafting scent of something being cooked on the stove. It smells familiar, like he should know what it is, but George has never been much of a chef. But he recognizes the sounds—the voices—coming from the kitchen despite all of them mingling together to form one raucous chorus of chatter. He knows exactly which voice belongs to who—knows that the loud shriek is his mum reprimanding one of them, knows that the sound of someone whining is very likely Ron. That laugh is Bill’s, too, mingled with Fred’s voice. George just knows, automatically, without even having to think about it. George knows, too, without looking down on the “welcome” mat in front of the door, that there are going to be muddy boots on top it—and there they are. He steps around them. George knows that there is going to be a quilt magically knitting itself together on the couch without even having to look at it—and there it is.

And just like that, he knows he’s home.

Something about having [Y/N] in the vicinity of a place so important to him—a place that’s part of him—has his heart feeling full. He pauses for a moment in the doorway, taking it all in, but he’s snapped out of his brief spell of inexplicable happiness when his father comes lumbering out of the door leading to the kitchen.

“George!” his dad exclaims loudly, and just like that all chatter from the room behind him ceases (“They’re here?!” he hears his mother panic). “We didn’t hear you come in!”

”Likely because mum was too busy screaming,” George grins, and walks forward to envelop his father in a hug.

”Ah, yes—Fred arrived half an hour ago and terrified Ron out of his wits with some sort of fake—no, actually, nevermind that! This must be [Y/N].”

Arthur’s eyes have landed on her, and George actually has to give her a little nudge for her to say something. Her eyes widen like she’s surprised at being addressed (as though the entire point of this gathering hadn’t been to get to introduce her), but then her lips break out into a smile and she steps forward to shake his father’s outstretched hand.

”It’s really nice to meet you,” she says, eyes crinkling at the edges. George stands to the side watching the scene unfold, feeling oddly proud.

”Yes, of course!” Arthur nods with remarkable enthusiasm, smiling just as wide. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you! You’re Muggle-born, correct?”

She lets out a tinkling laugh. “Yes, that’s right.”

”Brilliant!” he claps his hands together—but George knows exactly where this is going, so he cuts his father off and says, “I think we can address the function of a rubber duck later over dinner, dad.”

Arthur pauses, seemingly dejected, but then gathers himself and nods. “Oh, right, well, I suppose—“

”[Y/N]!”

And there’s George’s mum, Molly, coming from the kitchen, hurriedly pulling off her oven mitts to rush straight towards [Y/N] and envelop her in a big, warm hug. “Oh!” [Y/N] exclaims, obviously taken a bit by surprise given that the two of them have never met before, but eventually she breaks out into light laughs and hugs her back. [Y/N] meets George’s gaze over Molly’s shoulder; he gives her this encouraging sort of smile, and then jokingly complains, ”Blimey. S’pose I’m not missed here anymore.”

”Oh, quiet, you!” Molly frets, waving a dismissive hand in the air (George laughs) and then pulling away from [Y/N] to grip her by the arms and gush, “You’re far prettier than I could have ever imagined!”

[Y/N] flushes a shade of vibrant pink. “Oh, no—but thank you—“

”Have you gotten your vision checked lately, [Y/N]?” It’s Fred, leaning on the kitchen doorframe with a toy snake dangling from his hand. “Or do you really want to be with Georgey despite his baffling similarities to a mountain troll?"

”We’re twins, you prat.” George smacks the back of Fred’s head.

“Ah, right.” Fred is grinning despite having received a blow to the head. “It’s lovely seeing you, future-sister-in-law.”

Fred and [Y/N] have known each other just as long as she and George have, having gone to Hogwarts at the same time all those years ago. All three of them had bonded over their mutual love for pranks, although [Y/N] had always been their babysitter of sorts—the one who made sure none of their jokes went too far out of line. George loved her for it; loved how considerate and gentle she was despite her undeniable mischief. But he’d only really gotten himself to tell her after the war; one brief visit of hers to the joke shop turned into two, and then three, and then suddenly [Y/N] was always hanging around somewhere in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, helping the business run along. It was Fred who convinced George, only six months ago, to confess his admiration for her after five years of holding himself back.

After the war, George had all the time in the world to take as many risks as he could. So he told her—and now here they are: [Y/N] ruffling Fred’s hair fondly, George trying to fend off his mother’s hands trying to fix his hair (“don’t you think you need a haircut, sweetie?”), and Ron making his grand entrance from behind Fred.

”Ron!” [Y/N] exclaims, catching sight of him, and then jokingly she adds, “I haven’t seen you in ages—last time I saw you you were the size of a Pygmy Puff.”

Ron scoffs out a laugh. “You’re only two years older than me, you know,” he huffs, but lets her hug him, anyway.

Brief introductions are made as Bill and Charlie enter the room. George watches as [Y/N] shakes their hands—Charlie hugs her, as he’s always been big on affection—and just like that George knows that she’s won all of them over, the way she’d done to him. The way she still does to him, after all this time.

Five minutes later they're being ushered into the garden behind the Burrow, where a long wooden table has been set up. There are golden streamers draped all around the bushes and hanging from the branches of trees, but that's hardly what captures George and [Y/N]'s attention first because at the very end of the long table, a large banner is floating in mid-air: one that says "WELCOME TO THE FAMILY!" in glittering silver letters.

George doesn't miss the look on [Y/N]'s face when she sees this; her eyes almost seem to well up with tears, and despite the picture-perfect setting in front of him—despite the golden streamers and the balloons and the faerie lights hanging in mid-air—it's that look on [Y/N]'s face that has his breath catching in his throat and his heart doing odd little double-takes inside his chest.

He loves her, he realizes. It’s nothing new—shouldn't be anything new to him, as he's known it for quite a while now—but still there are moments like this one where he pauses and has to take a while to let it sink in; the fact that the woman next to him, whose smile reminds him of every single happy moment he has ever lived through, loves him just as much as he loves her.

Knowing that is absolutely surreal.

"We didn't expect you to arrive so early!" Molly says, obviously harried as she passes by them bearing a cauldron of steaming soup. “The cookies are still baking—and [Y/N], honey, I sent Ginny upstairs to go fetch your sweater, she should be down any time soon—Ron, Fred, will you stop that!”

The two, who had been wrestling with the toy snake Fred held in his hands earlier, immediately drop their hands to their sides. “T’was Fred who started it,” grumbles Ron.

”And I plan on ending it!” Fred emits some sort of war-cry, but stops when he spots the look on his mother’s face. “Kidding, mum.”

—

It takes a good half-hour or so before the last of the dishes are finally set on the table and everyone is seated. There’s food of all sorts in front of them—treacle tarts, cakes, pudding, pie—and [Y/N], who initially thought she’d feel too nervous to eat anything, eats with ease. Like everyone else around the table, she’s wearing a fuzzy red sweater with her initial sewn in front; a gift to her from Molly. The moment she’d laid eyes on it she knew it was her favorite thing in the entire world.

She tells this to George, who raises his eyebrows and replies snarkily, “I’m gonna have to ask for you to return the necklace I gave you, then.”

”Oh, sod off,” she laughs, rolling her eyes, but she lets him spoon pie into her mouth.

“Gah, get a room!” complains Fred.

”It’s not like they’re snogging,” says Charlie.

”Would you like us to?” grins George, earning him a slap to the shoulder from [Y/N].

”There are children here, George,” she scolds.

”You’re only two years older!” protests Ron.

No one really notices, but the sun has long since sunken below the horizon. Everyone around the table is immersed in chatter; Ron, for example, has been roped into a passionate debate with Fred and George about the true purpose of Pygmy Puffs. (“They only exist to ask for food and jump around and make annoying little noises!” says Ron, to which George responds with, “That sounds like you, Ron.”) [Y/N], meanwhile, is offering an explanation to Arthur about the rubber duck.

“They don’t do much of anything, really. They float and squirt and sometimes they make noises.”

But Arthur looks disappointed, as though he’d been expecting something much more grand. So [Y/N], not wanting to bring down his mood, decides to add, ”I believe they’re also used to keep—um—Grindylows away from your bathwater.”

Mr. Weasley positively beams with joy. “Is that right? I told you, Molly, rubber ducks are magnificent little things!”

Molly gives her husband an exasperated look, but it disappears the moment she turns to [Y/N]. “We’re so glad to have you here, sweetie,” she tells her, reaching over the table to grasp her hand and offering her the most motherly smile [Y/N] has ever seen. “We’ve heard so many good things about you. George speaks so very highly of you—and he was right, you really are perfect for him!"

[Y/N] flushes, smiling. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”

”Oh, no, no, call me Molly,” she laughs, waving a hand in the air. “You’re part of the family now, dear. No need for formalities.”

And [Y/N] does feel like it—like she’s part of this table. This family. Not just the girlfriend of one of their sons but someone who actually belongs.

It’s odd, in a magical sort of way, how all of their random conversations blend together to form one harmonious burst of chatter, how everything and everyone in that table just works. Like puzzle pieces from different sets, she thinks to herself. And they shouldn't fit, but they do.

So this is home for George. This is the place he grew up in. This is where his heart lives.

She can't help the way her eyes stray to him every now and then, noting the sheer joy reflected in his eyes, the way the smile on his lips never really goes away. How, even when Ron flicks a strawberry at his face—even when George threatens to send a whole army of pygmy puffs after him—there's still that joyful glint in his eyes.

With the end of winter right around the corner, surrounded by the family that has welcomed her with open arms, holding the hand of her very favorite person underneath table, fireflies flitting around above them as laughter echoes around the table: [Y/N] feels safe. Happy.

So this is home.

—

The next morning, [Y/N] and George find themselves walking along the edge of the woods where meadow rues grow, a little ways away from the Burrow. They walk unhurried, the soles of their feet swishing against the blades of grass with each step, hands hanging loosely intertwined between them.

They’d woken up before anyone else, when the sun had just barely begun to rise. George had told her to "Get up, I want to take you somewhere" and admittedly she'd whined a little, claiming to need five more minutes of sleep, but George, laughing, threw her over his shoulder and threatened to carry her all the way there if she didn't oblige.

But now, she's glad she came with.

At one point she stops walking, lifts her face to the sky and closes her eyes against the warmth of the sun, taking a deep breath and soaking in everything that the morning wants to bring her. George watches her without question, a fond little smile already tugging on the edges of his lips without him even realizing. [Y/N] is beautiful in the sunlight—or any light at all, actually. George isn't entirely convinced someone like her—someone so breathtakingly beautiful and gentle and patient—would want someone like him. But when he tugs on her hand, turning her around to face him, and when he cups her jaw and guides her closer to press their mouths together, she lets him. She doesn't even think about it. Just melts into him like it's the only thing she knows how to do.

And then she pulls back slightly but stays close, runs a palm down the length of George’s arm and links their fingers together.

"It’s not much," he tells her, voice uncharacteristically quiet. A little unsure. "But it's home." Because, now that the excitement from yesterday has faded, George knows what his house could look like to someone who hasn't lived there all their life—knows that it looks messy, like pieces of it were thrown together haphazardly. It’s not a manor. Nothing like the kind of houses you see featured on Witch Weekly. He knows that [Y/N] isn't the type to care, but still—

"I love it," she pulls away, throwing her head back in an actual laugh—the kind that reminds George of everything good in the world. "I love this place, George. And your brothers and Ginny and your parents. Yesterday was.." she pauses, calming down a little, taking in a deep breath as she squeezes his hand in her own. "It was magical."

Quietly, with her eyes skittering away to look back at the Burrow behind them, she tells him, "I'm really happy, George."

George knows he'll remember this moment forever. The day is just beginning, and he is standing on the edge of a forest-line with a girl who looks at him like in spite of however many weird things he does, whatever dumb things he says, however embarrassing and difficult and painful some days might be, George is still worthy of being hers.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Deep End  -  Four

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: He’s back. After all your best efforts at getting away, he’s found you again. And this time, he’s not letting you go so easily. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you to be his. Forever.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Language, Angst, Manipulation, Fluff, Smut, 

Word Count: 2.9K

A/n: Hello and welcome, formally, to part four. I hope you all had a lovely weekend and have an amazing week! I love you all very much.

Madness Masterlist

Bad Dream Masterlist

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

~*~

You sit nervously on the lip of the bathtub, picking at the skin around your thumbnail as you wait for the timer to ring.

It feels like it’s been hours already.

“It’s okay, honey. Don’t worry. If it isn’t positive, we’ll just keep trying.”

Steve's words don’t ease your anxiety the way he thinks they do.

Your eyes are trained on the timer, counting down the seconds, though you already have a feeling of what the tests are going to say.

The alarm sounds like war drums and you’re racing for the row of sticks on the bathroom counter, your heart dropping into your stomach as you inspect them.

Positive.

Every single one of them.

Tears fill your eyes and you bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with sobs.

There it goes.

Your last shred of hope for gaining freedom. Out the window, just like that.

Steve’s arms come up around your shoulders, hugging you tightly.

“I knew it. I just... I knew. You smell different, your breasts are bigger. I fucking knew it.”

He nudges his nose against your cheek until you finally tilt your head back, and then his lips are on yours.

You don't fight him, too hopeless to even try anymore.

Your tears are salty, you can taste them on his lips, but he doesn’t seem bothered at all by them. No, he still kisses you, walks you out of the bathroom towards the bed.

He helps you out of your clothes, his hands groping and squeezing every inch of you as if he’s never felt you before, as if you’re the first woman he’s touched in forever.

The tears are steady, continuing down your face as he pushes you gently onto the bed, his lips trailing over your inner thighs while his eyes raise to yours.

“We’re gonna have another baby, honey. I always knew your body was perfect. Absolutely made for me. And now you’re gonna give me another baby. You’re gonna grow all nice and round...” He trails off, his eyes dark and full of lust as he gazes down at your stomach as if picturing you pregnant again.

“C’mon, darling. We need to celebrate.” He sheds his clothes so that you’re both naked, his warm body pressed tightly against yours, though it does little to quell the shivers of distress rolling down your spine.

Pregnant. Again.

He places kiss after kiss onto your neck, trailing down to your breasts and halting there.

“Can’t wait for you to be nice and big again, all full and round because of me. Fuck, can’t wait ‘till you start makin’ milk again, honey.”

His lips latch around your nipple, sucking hard enough to make your back arch, a whine of pain and pleasure rolling out of your mouth.

“That’s it. M’gonna make you feel nice, honey. Gonna make you feel loved. You know I love you, huh? Yeah. I do.”

His words make your stomach twist in uncomfortable knots, and you close your eyes to avoid the intensity of his gaze. You focus instead on the feel of his body against yours, nice and warm and heavy.

One of his hands snakes between your legs, toying with your clit and dipping into your heat to prepare you for his cock.

“Getting all wet and messy for me, huh?” Your eyes remain shut, blocking out his face, the face of the man who’s done so many atrocious things to you.

He thrusts his fingers in and out rather slowly, dragging them against your sensitive walls until he deems you ready enough for him, though there’s no way to truly be ready for him.

He positions himself between your legs, perched on his haunches while his hands rub over your thighs gently.

“Can’t wait for you to have my baby, sweetheart. Gonna watch you get all nice and full, bring another life into this world for me. That’s what you’re here for, darling.”

He slides his manhood through your folds, coating himself in your essence before slowly pushing into you, forcing every inch into your tight wet heat.

Your mouth drops open, brows pulling together at the stretch of him so deep inside of you, pushing against every resistance your body brings forth. He forces himself into you until he’s seated comfortably, cock held tightly by your fluttering walls.

“Fuck, feel that. Feel you. So tight... tight ‘n wet. Fuck... Fuck...”

He pulls back then pushes in, each thrust slow and precise and far too good. You hate how good he makes you feel, how well he knows your body. You hate how good you feel beneath him, how right it feels to be with him, to be held in his arms.

And you fucking hate him for making you enjoy a single second of time spent with him.

His thrusts speed up until he’s hammering his hips into yours, each movement of his hips forcing his cock to press against your cervix painfully, but the pain is welcome.

It’s what you deserve for enjoying it.

A soft moan falls from your lips when he drops his hand between your legs, fingers working your clit with practiced ease.

He’s spent months learning and re-learning your body, he knows you almost as well as he knows himself, and if the only way you want him is physically then fine, but he’s going to make that want stronger than your hatred for him.

“O-oh god...” Your eyes squeeze shut as the edge creeps closer, each pass of his thumb on your clit and his cock between your walls bringing it so much nearer.

“You gonna cum for me, honey? Yeah? Gonna be my good girl?” You nod, if only so he doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, you feel so good, darling... so good.” He picks up speed, and you get lost in your orgasm like a leaf in a windstorm.

It picks you up and pulls you from reality. Bliss clouds your mind, your senses, and nothing matters except the rolling waves of pleasure flooding you.

“Just like that, honey... fuck.”

He drops his head into the crook of your neck, breaths hot and damp against your skin as he follows you into the blissful embrace.

His hips stutter to a stop, warmth painting your walls and filling you to the brim, just like he always does.

He pants against you, his mind consumed with obsession, adoration, love. He finally has you back in his arms. Finally gets to rebuild his family, get the happy ending he’s been craving.

He’s not gonna give it up.

You’re right where you belong.

~*~

He waits an absurdly long time before telling anyone.

He doesn’t want anyone to know, especially not Nat. Bucky, sure, he can know, but not Nat. Not after the way she kept so many secrets for so long.

It isn’t until you start showing -about two months after the positive tests- that he finally tells the two of them the good news, inviting them over to help set up the baby's room and have a nice night with his family.

Bucky and Steve have just finished painting the walls yellow, a neutral baby colour that you suggested.

Steve insists that you sit slightly outside the room, even though both windows are open and a fan is going, the paint specifically bought because it’s non-toxic.

But you don’t argue. You’ll sit as far away from them as possible.

Sarah’s in your lap, her eyes focused on the colouring book on the ground in front of her, her tongue poking out between her lips as she tries to stay inside the lines.

“Alright. That’s the crib all done. Honey, you wanna grab us a drink?”

Your head snaps up at Steve’s request, and you nod, rising to your feet and instinctively dropping a hand to your small bump.

“Can I help?” Sarah asks excitedly, bouncing up onto her toes and following you down the stairs.

“Of course. You wanna bring this up to Uncle Bucky?”

You pour two glasses of lemonade, one for the blond and one for the brunet.

“Can I have some?” You nod, grabbing a cup for her as she starts carefully up the stairs with the glass.

“Need a hand?” You stiffen, eyes slowly raising to the redhead’s.

“No.”

She sighs, taking a seat at the counter.

“Just hear me out, (Y/n), please. I just... I just wanna explain. Please.” You grind your teeth together at her.

“What could you possibly have to say to me? How could you possibly explain the way you betrayed me? Betrayed Sarah? You got my dad killed, Natasha, and now I’m pregnant again.”

She looks so lost, so desperate, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s her fault you’re here.

"Just please, (Y/n). Please.” There’s nothing you can really do to stop her. It’s obvious that Bucky and Steve would side with her over you in a heartbeat.

“I never breathed a single word of your whereabouts to anyone, I swear. Not even my therapist. I swear on my life, (Y/n) I never told anyone where to find you.”

You look up at her and shake your head.

“You were the only other person who knew where we were hiding.”

She lets out a shaky breath and looks away from your eyes.

“After what happened at the cabin I started going to therapy. Saw a good therapist who helped me get through a lot of stuff. James was going to therapy too, we were getting better together.”

You don’t think any therapy in the world will change the fact that James Barnes is a monster through and through, but you don’t say that to her. No, you let her continue.

“I started getting better. James did too. We got back to work, to helping people,  being the good guys.”

She pauses, sniffling then scrubbing at her cheek.

“I told him that uh, one of my friends had a baby and that spending time around them made me want one too. It upset me because that... that’s a dream that I’ll never be able to have. Or, I thought it was.” A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but it lacks any positive emotions behind it.

“He told me about this experimental procedure that they started doing in Switzerland. Reversals for female sterilization. Highly experimental but... he said I should give it a shot. The worst that would happen would be... well... no worse than what I’ve had to live with for most of my life.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, not in defiance but in comfort. Self-comfort, and for a moment you feel bad for her.

“I talked it over with Bucky. Told him about how much I wanted a baby, a little mini version of him or I, and he was on board. Said he wished I told him sooner.” She chuckles, shaking her head fondly at the memory.

“That’s when I left for that while, remember?” You nod.

She missed Christmas and you were only slightly devastated at having to spend the holiday alone.

“I got the procedure done. Was on bed rest for a while after and even after I was given a clean bill of health I... I didn’t want to try. I was too nervous. Afraid that it wouldn't work but more afraid that it would.”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes squeezed shut tightly as she recounts the events that occurred leading up to your abduction. Her betrayal.

“It uh... it took three months but we conceived. I was finally pregnant.” She smiles a tearful, wet smile at you and your own eyes prickle with tears as you realize that her story won’t have a happy ending.

Your mind immediately goes to the worst things you can think of, ranging from miscarriage to murder, and you find yourself wanting to call Sarah down away from her father.

“I was ecstatic, (Y/n). I was so fucking happy.” Her eyes are filled with a type of sorrow that you’re far too familiar with. One you’ve felt too much in your short life.

“I told my shrink about it, told him how happy I was. Bucky and I cried together when we found out cause... we were finally gonna be parents. That’s around the time when I started coming by more often. What, sic months ago? Yeah, right around then. I uh, I wanted to wait until I was showing more to tell you, but...” She trails off, her face falling even more and tears trailing down her cheeks.

“That’s around the same time when Bucky started seeing Steve more. Spent less and less time at home with me and more time with Steve. I uh, got a call one day from his therapist, asking if everything was okay because she hadn’t seen him in weeks. That’s when I knew something wasn’t right. We hadn’t spoken to Steve since the cabin incident and then Bucky was spending every waking moment with him.”

She stops speaking, her fingers trembling and her bottom lip wobbling.

“What happened to the baby?” You ask softly, needing to know who hurt her, who caused it.

She exhales deeply and slowly opens her eyes.

“I uh, I guess Bucky must’ve told him. And uh... if Steve can’t have his happily ever after then no one can.”

My heart drops into my stomach.

“What did he do?”

She doesn’t answer right away. No, instead she picks at her fingers for a long moment.

“Did you know... that drinking certain teas can cause a miscarriage? Because I didn’t.” You furrow your brows, trying to figure out what she means until it dawns on you.

“He made you drink it?” You’re not sure which ‘he’ you’re talking about, but you know it must’ve been at least one, if not both of them.

“The last time I uh, set foot in this house before that dinner we had together... he invited us over for drinks and to watch the game. He made me some tea and asked me why I thought it was okay to keep secrets from him. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time but... that hardly matters. A few days later I started bleeding. A lot. I was in the infirmary for days on end only to find out that he’d poisoned my baby.”

She sniffles again and wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“After that, he didn’t trust me, only trusted Bucky. Went to my therapist and took his notes, beat answers out of him when he refused to speak. I’m assuming they bugged me o-or something. Or followed my licence plate, searched through my history to figure it out."

Her candy apple green eyes meet yours, vibrant and staring directly into your soul with passion and fire rivalling that of a forest fire.

“I never breathed a single word of you or Sarah to anyone. Steve figured it out on his own, after almost killing my therapist, and killing my baby. I never said anything, I swear. On the life of my child, I didn’t say a thing.”

Your breaths come in shallow bursts, anxiety spiking as you shake your head.

“I-I don’t...” She puts a gentle hand on your shoulder and nods, guiding you towards the couch.

“I’m sorry. But that’s... that’s the truth. Steve is a monster, and he’s got Bucky following him mindlessly. I don’t... I don’t know what to do or who to turn to.”

You open your mouth to speak, but the sound of feet trudging down the stairs cuts you off.

“Everything alright down here?” Steve asks, reaching for his glass of lemonade but pausing when he sees the look of distress on your face.

His eyes flutter between you and Nat before he takes a seat beside you, grabbing your hand gently in his.

“Honey? You okay?”

You shake your head, trying to rid it of the overwhelming thoughts.

“Mommy?” The three of you look up as Sarah bounds down the stairs, climbing into your lap.

“Where’s my juice?” You pick her up and rest her on your hip as you stand up, walking into the kitchen to grab her cup of juice and distance yourself from the people on the couch.

Bucky comes down the stairs next, confused and wondering where everyone went.

His eyes find Natasha’s first, the poorly masked sorrow colouring her features, and his heart aches.

Sarah drinks her lemonade quickly, making a loud ‘ahh’ sound once she’s devoured the last drop.

“Can we have pizza for dinner?” She asks eagerly, looking up at you with big blue eyes.

You swallow hard then nod, your eyes slowly raising to Steve’s as he walks over to you.

“Pizza?” You ask softly, turning back to your daughter when he nods.

“Of course.” She squeals excitedly, wrapping her arms around your neck and hugging you tightly.

You hug her closer to your body, burying your face in her hair as a tear slips down your cheek.

You knew he was a bad man, but you never thought he’d hurt a child. That would’ve been his niece or nephew, a friend for Sarah and your new baby. But no, he decided that Natasha didn’t deserve her happy ending, neither did Bucky.

Natasha is one of the few friends you’ve ever had, and the fact that he’d hurt her that way, kill off her one dream, is disgusting.

It makes you wonder what he’ll do to you, or even Sarah.

You thought hurting kids was something Steve would never do, but now you’re not so sure.

[eremiie]

broken promises

❥ angst | 3.9k words | eren x armin

❥ content: none. just pure heart break.

❥ the moment you’re born your soulmates words are etched into your skin, and the moment you meet them they disappear just as fast. so when eren meets armin why don’t his words go? and why does armin have to carry the weight of a wretched life on his shoulders? surely his fate is his fault.

this fic is a rendition of chapter 139! read at your own risk

this fic is for @mikaberries 4k collab event! my word was ‘broken promises’ and my ship was eremin! enjoy<3

ty to @arlerted for beta reading this fic!

"hey, why don't you put up a fight?"

those were the first words muttered to him.

"you're wrong! i'm not losing because i don't run."

those were the first words that made the black mark sprawled on eren's wrist begin to fade away, seeping from the tan skin and sprawling like dust onto the concrete he stood on.

the first words that made the blue of armin's eyes dazzle with interest, peering over his shoulder almost tumbling over to get a fresh look at what was holding eren's interest so well.

he knew what was holding eren's interest, he's seen it before with so many people close to him, he's heard stories from his grandparents. it couldn't be happening to him though? happening so soon? i mean he was just a kid, he—

"you're my soulmate..."

so if eren was his soulmate, why didn't the words disappear?

so if eren was his soulmate, why didn't the words disappear?

so if eren was his soulmate, why didn't the words disappear?

why were his first words to him not the ones scribbled on his skin?

nevertheless, armin wanted to grasp any hope presented to him. if eren was his soulmate he'd try his best to believe him. surely it was just a glitch in the system, maybe a phenomenon never discovered. but even then it didn't matter, because how eren's eyes gleamed at his bare wrist, eyes flicking from armin to his arm, to armin, it was all the confirmation armin needed.

still, on sleepless nights, when only the moonlight would beam through the window of the barracks leaving enough light for armin to peer down at the bare skin of eren's wrist and the words i promise on his own, he couldn't help but wonder if eren was really his.

his pale hand engulfs with eren's as eren drapes his arm over armin's waist. it was so welcoming. that same hand wraps him in blankets, it cups the soft skin of armin's cheek, it adjusts armin's ODM gear, it was the hand that armin, just by the way it moves so lovingly, would've suspected belongs to his soulmate.

it couldn't have been a mistake, mistakes with things like this just didn’t happen.

"i'm yours." eren's voice would grumble against the nape of armin's neck, breath fanning over the new goosebumps formed, and hand squeezing armin's a little tighter.

armin's breath hitches, swallowing his spit before adjusting himself until he was facing eren.

his eyes were so beautiful in the dim light. armin could admire every speck of blue that would dance across the green canvas, every slight glimmer of gold that reminds armin of eren's mother. it reminds him of the same glimmer that dropped onto the cold concrete when eren was deemed his.

eren blinks, once or twice, armin can't remember because his mind drifts farther than he wants, and untangles their hands, bringing one up to armin's cheek.

it's wet, a fresh tear falling from the corner of armin's eye that eren brushes away with the pad of his thumb.

when armin leans back to give eren a one over, he doesn't remember when eren’s hair got longer, when his eyes became so dull, or when his smile became a permanent pout.

his soulmate isn't supposed to be his and he lets the thought pull him away from reality more often than not. no matter how many times eren could repeat how they were meant to be it would never feel right.

there was a barrier in between them that kept armin farther away from eren than he wanted to be. a barrier that armin pounded against, aching to break and release him from the solemn thoughts that clouded his brain.

when eren wipes another tear that shines against armin's cheek, he pushes forward on the bed, pressing his forehead against armin's and closing his eyes so armin can't see them anymore.

the simple touch, the simple gesture brings armin back to reality and he can feel that familiar longing in the pit of his stomach, the furrow in eren's brow, and the newfound wetness of his cheek.

he doesn't mean to press his forehead so hard against eren's, but the closer he is to him, the more he can feel the warmth of eren's skin. he can silence the storm inside of him. maybe if he tries hard enough and sticks close to eren that barrier would break, at least crack.

eren's palm brings armin as close as possible by the back of his head until he can feel armin breathing on his chin. armin could tell eren that he wasn't meant for him over and over again, but there was no mark on his wrist anymore, no sign that screamed armin wasn't his in his eyes. as long as his skin was a clean slate, as long as he could spend restless nights with his lover, days laying in each other's arm's under the tree as they stared at the wall longing for freedom, armin belonged to him.

"will you still be mine when you leave for marley?" he cuddles closer to eren, hands sat against his lover’s chest as he takes pleasure in his presence.

eren reluctantly nods his head and presses armin closer, a soft press of his lips to armin's nose.

"i'll still be yours."

"and you'll—"

"i'll still be yours. until we see the rest of the world together; the flaming water, frozen plains, and snowfields of sand."

armin stifles noise and sinks down from where he was against eren’s forehead until his head is in the fabric of eren's shirt, hands grabbing at the cotton so tight that eren's afraid he might tear it.

eren's shirt is getting wet but he doesn't mind. he wants to cry too.

instead, he lets his thumb smooth over the same strands of blonde hair he plaits while sitting in a field of campanulas, and lets his hand lightly ruffle the tresses he watches armin toy with, contemplating if he should cut them or not.

the next time he sees armin they're cut.

the next time armin sees eren, his eyes are duller than that night they were tangled in each other's arms.

armin barely says a word to eren on the airship, there was nothing to be said. nothing to be said when sasha died, her blood staining the wood of the ship. nothing to be said after the conversation at the table, armin's blood being wiped away by the damp cloth in mikasa's hand.

he never had a voice like eren, but when he screams at him on the floor where he sits around shards of broken glass and spilled wine as mikasa tries to get him to stand, he uses eren's own voice against him— words so passionate and spat like venom at eren that he has no choice but to turn around for a mere second.

someone who could kill so plainly and drag his loved ones along, not shedding a single tear as he goes, didn't seem like the soulmate set for armin.

but the way eren turns around, a snarl on his face that juxtaposes the gloss of a limpid tear in his eye— for a second, just for a second armin thinks otherwise.

and when he looks down at his wrist, "i promise." still haunting him, he wishes the world was kind.

ᝰ

armin slams the door behind himself, leaving mikasa alone in the gloomy storage room.

it was his fault a darkened cloud was hanging over the room, his outburst at mikasa wasn't her fault— but how could she even think about eren with all the peril happening?

his breathing is heavy and the sounds of titans are right next to his ears, pounding and stomping their way across the ocean, across the world. it was so noisy, the screams outside, people running from falling debris. he wishes the noise would cease for only a moment so he could gather his thoughts.

armin wipes at his eyes in hopes that it would stop the way his vision begins to blur. he stumbles backward using his free hand to steady himself once he hits the brick wall behind him.

truth being, no matter how little the thought was he was thinking about eren too.

he pulls at his sleeve to further hide his wrist, teeth-gritting as he fails to hold back tears that slip from his eyes and onto the floor he stood on. they decorate the stone floors in lovely splotches, darkening the grey and creating spots that'd disappear with time. but, as long as armin kept crying the least likely the evidence would simply "disappear".

"i'm tired." his voice cracks and like a broken dam tears begin to flow free, sliding down his cheeks as his skin begins to flush. he knows he can't stop them now. he can't stop the thoughts in his head or the tears staining his cheeks. he wishes to relax and be at the ocean again, staring across the waves where he finally got a taste of what freedom was before it was snatched away again. "i hate this."

no matter how hard he wipes at them, they're never-ending. why does he have to be the boy whocries? who can't defend himself, the boy with the burden placed on him, the boy with no soulmate. "i hate this, i hate this."

his knees buckle and he allows himself to slide down the wall, ODM gear clinking as it hits the floor, the wall rough as it scrapes against the material of his shirt. it's easier to block out the cries of terror outside and instead bury himself in his hands to cry for someone to release him from this stress.

he's tired of the wrenching in his heart, thoughts being solely on the one he thought was destined for him. no matter how hard he tries to think of what was most important his mind can't help but wander back to calm nights with eren. what could've been and what he wished became.

how did he fall in love with someone so wretched? and how did they make him so wretched?

his sniffles are the only thing he can hear and his tears decorate the sleeves of his shirt— just like he decorated eren's the last night his arms cradled him close.

"i hate you. i hate that we have to kill you— you're," a sob breaks his sentence, but he's thankful for it because he didn't want to finish it anyway. the next words to come out wouldn't have been true. they would've just been a fit of anger and sadness that clawed at his heart, twisting it between its grasp and trying its best to break the little hope armin had left.

"we have to kill you." is what he says instead.

what was he doing? there was no time to sob, no time to cry over someone like eren. he would heed the words he told mikasa— there was no time to think about eren, he was a lost cause.

armin unsteadily picks himself off the ground, adjusting the gear around his waist and using the back of his hand to wipe stray tears. he's lucky no one came through or went out the doors— it would've just been another open performance of his weakness and it'd be proof that erwin was the one who should've been chosen that day.

he would let eren go and he would do what he had to do to save the people around him, it was the least he could do after erwin's death.

ᝰ

when his titan is standing in front of eren's colossal titan those words mean nothing.

it's the adrenaline that tames the pull on his heart. he's so close yet so far— his soulmate, no eren, is right there but here he was doing all he could to stop him.

there's no time to relish in the past, although it flashes in the back of his head. loose memories of what eren was and the monster he’s become.

he wants to remember eren's rough palms against his cheeks again, his natural warmth he radiates while he pulls armin close as possible. but he pushes the memories to the back of his head— they were nothing but an echo now.

he has to give it his all because he's sure eren isn't thinking the same way as him.

the mosaic of him holds pieces of eren in it and it was evident by the flicker of eren's passion in his eyes when he stares him down, fists raised and only a murmur of "why did it turn out this way?" leaving trembling lips.

when he throws a heavy arm at eren it's like it all happens in slow motion; first, a pounding in his skull, causing him to close his eyes at the twinge, then a burst of light flashing over his eyes, and albeit how they stayed close a blanket of white drops over his vision.

he loses his balance and wonders if eren has knocked him out yet, until he lands on a hard surface. the pale sand is grainy under his hands and for some reason, his mind is blank. the soft whirring of what sounded like wind whips past his ears. he's calm.

armin flutters doe eyes open, adjusting to the brightness of the light in front of him. it was oddly familiar. purples, blues, and greens surrounded the striking light— and the longer he stares forth, the more it reminds armin of a tree whose branches reach for the sky. he's mesmerized. this must be what space is— stars adorning the black mural, as rays of colorful light burst over the top of armin like pops of fire being sent into the sky.

it's beautiful, and armin's reminded of earth, of the comfort of life— even in the walls. maybe this was what he believed was on the other side of the walls when he was younger, and if he sat in front of his younger self and explained the sight in front of him, telling him this is what was out there, he was sure he would've believed it.

"armin."

the blonde whips his head around, meeting a face his memories know so well.

eren's skin is illuminated by the light of paths, a gleam in such familiar green eyes that he only ever thought he'd see in his dreams. his hands are pocketed and his hair is free, laying gently against the side of his face. bags pull at the skin below his eyes and a tired smile graces his face as he puts a hand out for armin to grab.

armin wants to grab it but he recoils, scrambling to stand up on his own and dusting the sand from his hands. his eyebrows are furrowed and he's scowling at eren as he crosses his arms.

he doesn't know what to say— he doesn't know where he is. he's still mad at eren, he can't just take him to a dream-like place and think everything is okay. he's killed so many people, he's dragged his friends into what could only be described as hell, and eren didn't know the toll he put on armin's life. he couldn't just waltz into it, destroy everything, and expect armin to just talk to him again.

armin seems to always be too caught up in his thoughts because when eren's palm– that's still as warm as he remembers– presses him to eren's chest it takes him a moment too long to realize. the ends of eren's hair that graze armin's nose is something he'd never thought he'd feel again.

eren shouldn't be hugging him, but he can't push him off— it hurts.

it hurts when eren's stray tears hit the top of his head and it hurts when eren clings to armin like he'll disappear if he lets go. the cries of "i'm sorry," are all armin can hear as eren sinks to the floor in front of him, weeping tears of agony and years of pain that he was never able to share.

eren knows he caused everyone pain, and he knows what he's done is unforgivable, and although he's caused everyone so many tears, eren needs to be the boy who cries this time.

armin shudders, impending sobs trying to wrack his body. his hand cups his mouth as he drops to his feet as well. when eren glances up at him with woeful eyes, he can paint a picture with those blue flecks and glimmers of gold that he finally gets to see again. he sighs shakily and turns his head away from eren in fear of the tears he was trying to blink back from falling.

armin lets eren explain himself.

he lets eren reduce him to a complete sobbing mess. all these months of asking himself why was all summed up to him, the only question being left unanswered being why he still had words slapped across his wrist. he doesn't dare to ask about it— he's sure he already knows the answer.

"so... you're going to die?" armin asks hesitantly, scrunching particles of sand in between his hands.

"i have to. i have to atone somehow."

it's the words armin knows would slip from eren's mouth but not the words armin wants to hear. leaning forward he places his hands on eren's shoulders, a pleading look across the ocean that was his eyes. at least that's how eren would describe it.

"but maybe there's a way we can fix this!"

eren gives armin a small smile, placing his hands over armin's so gently. "armin... you think i'll be free like you once all this is over?"

armin's pleading expression fades and is replaced by a dejected one, his lips falling and his eyebrows turning upwards. "eren..."

eren pulls armin close to him, hand in his hair once more, tangling through the blonde strands and burying his nose into them. they smell just how he remembered, even with how short his hair was now— like fresh linen and the smell of the ocean that lingers even after only one visit.

"eren," his eyes screw as he bawls into eren's shoulder while wrapping his arms around him. "but you promised."

armin pulls away just as fast when the thought hits him. he grabs eren's wrist and pulls it from his hair. "you promised! you said we'd see the flaming water... the... the frozen plains and the snowfields of sand! you promised!"

eren shakes his head profusely, more tears being shed as his hands come up to cup armin's own wet face.

armin's vision is obscured by his own tears and he rests his head in the palm of eren's head, indulging in the feeling because he won't get to feel it again.

he'll remember the intimacy he shared with eren from hearing his heartbeat in his ears as he laid against his chest to tracing the skin of eren's arm to lull himself to sleep. it wasn't fair that it had to be like this. that it had to be a mere reflection of what was, but it was his fault for being so gullible.

from the day he was still left with such a taunting mark he should've known that if his mark was still etched on his wrist, eren being his soulmate wasn't tangible. he should've left well enough alone and accepted his fate, met his soulmate years from that day and lived the life he was meant to live.

maybe then he wouldn't be stuck in what was a cruel form of torture, a life that lead to show him his karma of being so greedy— of trying to hold onto whatever was sent his way. he wasn't even supposed to be here right now.

yet, here he was, eren pressing his lips to armin's forehead, both of his cheeks, his nose and then a last tender one to his lips. although armin struggles to reciprocate them, eren can understand that they were received.

"you go, and you see all of those things without me because even when i'm not here the freedom you're granted is proof of me."

shaky hands reach to place themselves over eren's. "you promised."

"i'm sorry."

"eren, you—"

"i'm sorry."

to armin, it was confirmation that him and eren weren't meant to be. soulmates just weren't like this. he wouldn't have his mark, there wouldn't be so much hurt, and the promise eren shared with him would've been fulfilled.

armin refused to believe that his soulmate is eren.

he couldn't wonder who would come after eren when someone like eren existed. he couldn't fathom who else would put their life on the line like eren did not only for him but for everyone around him. who else would fight like eren did, all for selfless reasons.

whoever was eren’s true soulmate has to be the saddest yet happiest person on earth, to have a destined one like eren yet never be able to acknowledge him.

he'd come to terms with eren's fate, and he'd move on— after all what he thought was his fate was never meant to be.

eren pulls armin to a standing position and using the sleeve of his coat he wipes both him and armin's faces.

"i love you."

armin takes in eren's features, noting them down so he'd be able to remember them forever— even after he's gone.

"i love you too."

stepping forward, eren takes armin's hand in his own. "i'll be with you every step you take away from those walls and i'll be with you everywhere you visit."

it's hard to hear, but armin still manages to nod his head.

"i promise."

eren and everything around him begins to fade. he's trying to piece him together in his mind— create a solid memory to cherish forever.

the world around him fades and he's back on a sad dirt ground, palms stabling him as he begins to get up, mikasa walking towards him with the remnants of eren in her hands.

when he reaches for eren's head, it's only then he notices the words that his eyes used to linger back to every few hours are gone.

armin didn't realize when the words on his arm began to faintly glow and bleed because at the same time he was picking pieces of eren up and placing them together to create a firm picture that he wouldn't forget.

pale skin was the only thing left in its path— and when his eyes flit back to eren he sees his soulmate. for the first time he's sure of it.

“paths...” armin mutters to himself as his hand smooths over the cooling skin of eren’s face.

this eren existed in paths where time is nonlinear— speaking armin words for what could have been the first as long as he continued to reside in them. “he said it in paths…” he says shakily, and he winces at his own voice.

time wasn’t linear in such a void, and eren had spoken the short sentence on his wrist into existence long before armin knew.

eren was his soulmate.

his soulmate who he was supposed to see the world with; flaming water, frozen plains, and snowfields of sand.

his soulmate who set him free yet he'd rather be chained to for the rest of his life if it meant he could wake up with him everyday.

his soulmate who he doubted so heavily, transfixed on two words that plagued his whole being.

his soulmate who didn't even know broke his heart, broke their promise.

"you promised."

[narumi-gens]

How did Naoya and his blue ball Queen meet 👁 👄 👁

note: Naoya’s Blue Ball Queen. Thank you, anon. That’s what I’m officially dubbing her 👑 also know that we know Naoya has a Kansai accent, I’m going wild.  warning: smut words: 1.7k (I’m trash) related drabbles

When Naoya is assigned a mission in Osaka to investigate and eliminate a group of curse users who are rumored to have gotten their hands on a Special Grade cursed object, he thinks nothing of it. As a Special Grade 1 sorcerer and heir to the Zen’in Clan, he considers it more of an annoyance than anything else. 

The thing that does catch his attention and raises his ire is that the higher-ups have decided to assign him a partner for this mission under the apparent logic that the growing strength of these curse users warrants sparing two Grade 1 sorcerers. 

And when he finds out that this partner is just some woman without a cursed technique, he’s furious. 

Throughout the entire duration of the mission, he finds himself bitterly fuming over your presence, his role as your babysitter, and your mistaken belief that the two of you are equals. When the mission is complete and the curse users are dead, he refuses to acknowledge the role you played in recovering the cursed object. 

He’s not quite sure what happens next. 

One moment he has you caged in against the wall in some seedy alley near the curse users’ base of operations, looming over you with a smirk as he tells you that your only value comes from how well you know how to serve a man and how many kids you can manage to pop out for whatever poor bastard ends up stuck with you.  

The next moment, he’s underneath you in some Osaka love hotel watching through half-lidded, hungry eyes as you ride him to your heart’s content with nothing on your mind but your own pleasure. 

He doesn’t know what did it. If it was the way you were looking at him like he wasn’t worth your time. Or maybe it was how every command he tried to give you went in one ear and out the other. It could have been how little respect you seemed to hold for him and his position. 

All he knows is that he wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk from your lips, teach you your place, and put out that fire that he saw burning in your eyes. 

But things aren’t going to plan. Because every time he attempts to take control as you bounce on his cock, slamming his hips up into yours from below at his desired pace or trying to flip you over so that he’s the one drilling into you, your grip on his throat grows tighter in warning. 

He can feel your nails digging into the skin of his throat and his chest until you’re drawing blood and leaving behind crescent-shaped gouges that will last for days -- and serve as a reminder that he lowered himself to your level. 

But that’s a problem for tomorrow. The only thing that matters now is chasing his own orgasm. Because, even though he hasn’t even known you for a full day, he knows with 100% certainty that if you come first then you’ll leave him still hard and aching for a release without a second thought. 

And with the way you’re moaning with your head dropped back as the pace of your hips begins to grow a bit sloppier, he can tell that you’re getting closer. But he’s not far behind, his own end is in sight as tension continues to build in the base of his spine. 

He begins to run his mouth despite your grip on his throat as he digs his fingers into your hips, determined to leave behind bruises that you’ll feel under your clothes for days. 

“This is all yer fuckin’ good for,” he spits over the wet sound your pussy makes every single time you sink down on his cock. “Yer nothin’ more than a warm hole for me to dump my cum in.”

Before he can continue to rattle off insults and remind you of how little you’re worth, you release his throat only to slap a hand over his mouth that you then use to support your entire weight. Your fingers dig into his sharp jawline and the fury in his eyes as he glares up at you goes unnoticed.

“Shut the fuck up,” you pant, never once breaking your rhythm. Your eyes squeeze even tighter shut as you try to block him out. “I can’t, fuck, come if I have to, ah!, listen to your whining.”

He winces when you lift your hand from his chest, the nail marks you leave behind stinging. But it’s quickly forgotten when he turns absolutely feral as you begin to furiously rub your clit. 

That seems to be all you need before you’re crying out and tensing above him as your pussy clamps down around his cock, the sensation making him groan into your hand. 

But Naoya knows how to seize an opportunity when one presents itself and he knows that if he doesn’t act now then he’ll be left with only his hand to finish getting himself off. Taking advantage of how caught up you are in your orgasm, he uses his strength to flip your positions so that you’re sprawled out beneath him and surprise cuts through the pleasure on your face. 

Only, he doesn’t want to see that fucking face or that fucking smirk or that fucking look in your eyes -- that look that makes him want to break you. 

So, he pulls out and roughly flips you over onto your knees. He tightly grabs onto your hips before plunging his cock back into your still-spasming cunt until he’s buried balls deep inside of you. You toss him an outraged look over your shoulder and he sees your mouth opening to let out some sharp-tongued remark. 

He cuts you off with a hand to the back of your neck that he uses to pin your head face-down into the mattress. You immediately begin to buck underneath him in protest but when he resumes fucking you hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping against skin each time his hips meet your ass loud in his ears, you suddenly become slightly more pliant. 

“That’s right,” he grunts, panting heavily as he takes in the sight of you on your knees in front of him -- ass up, head down. “Fuckin’ take it like the whore ya are.”

His words seem to reignite that spark in you because you begin trying to writhe away from him again. But his hold only grows tighter and his thrusts only become more brutal as he he keeps you in place. When he hears you trying to say something into the sheets, he pushes your face down harder. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he watches you struggle beneath him. “This is right where ya belong. On yer fuckin’ knees.”

He sees one of your hands move from where it had been clutching the sheets to slip under your body and when he feels you clench down around his cock, his eyes turn wild. 

“What makes ya think ya get to come again?” he seethes, now fucking into you with so much force that the headboard is hitting the wall with each thrust. “Ya ain’t earned the right to come twice. Fuckin’ bitch.”

But apparently, you’re presumptuous enough to think you have earned the right to come again because you’re suddenly tensing beneath him as your walls begin to spasm again, somehow even harder than the first time. 

It’s enough to make him loudly moan and he has just enough foresight to pull out of your sweet, sweet cunt just in time for him to spill his cum in warm streaks along your back. The last thing he wants is to end up with you carrying some bastard kid of his. 

As a sudden wave of exhaustion follows his orgasm, he collapses into bed next to you, absently running a hand through his sweaty hair and trying to catch his breath. He feels the bed moving beneath him and opens an eye to see that you’re already getting out of it before he closes it again.

Good. He doesn’t want to have to be around you any longer than he already has. 

He can hear you moving throughout the room and the sound of you picking up your discarded clothing. 

“I’ll let you report back and turn over the cursed object,” you finally break the silence to tell him and he looks at you to see that your back -- now wiped clean of his cum -- is turned to him as you pull on your jeans. 

He clenches his jaw at your phrasing. You’ll let him. As if you have any right to let him do anything. 

But before he can spit any of this out of you, you’ve already slipped your shirt over your head and are making your way to the door, giving no care to how your sweaty hair gives away how throughly you’ve just been fucked. 

“By the way, Zen’in-sama,” you pause to say, your hand on the doorknob as you look at him over your shoulder. That infuriating smirk is back on your lips and he hates how his cock is already stirring again at your mocking tone. “It seems like it’s your value that’s dependent on your ability to serve.”

Naoya sees red and shoots up to prop himself up on his elbows, but before he can put you in your place, you’re already gone, the door slamming shut behind you and your laughter ringing loudly through the hallway of the hotel.

He’s left to seethe on his own and it only fuels his anger. The next time he sees you, you’re going to regret ever having dared to cross him. He’ll remind you where exactly you belong -- on your knees and serving him. 

He focuses on this as he gets up out of the bed and pointedly tries not to think about how he let you get the last word. 

It’s only after he’s showered and is getting dressed that he realizes with a blinding hot rage that you used his shirt to wipe his cum off of your back. 

“Fuckin’ bitch.”

[a-d-curtis]

Artifacts

“Uh…” Aang looked down at the dilapidated wooden bucket that was placed reverently into his hands. The man bestowing it sank deferentially into a low bow; his head ducked so deeply that all Aang could see was the back of the man’s thin topknot tied far back on his balding head. “Uh… thanks?”

Aang looked down at the bucket in his hands. The bucket was old; that much was obvious. Aang held it up to get a closer look. The metal braid that held the darkened, dried wooden planks together was rusted until it was nearly black. When Aang looked into the bucket, he noted that the plank at the bottom didn’t fit snuggly like it should.

“Do you want me to… um, to help you fix your bucket? If you soak this wood, the planks will expand tightening the planks, and I can straiten out that bottom piece for you… this isn’t very useful if we can’t get it watertight again. But I can always make you a new one, if you, you know… need a water bucket… or something…?” Aang trailed off as the gentleman rose slowly out of his bow, looking at Aang with a look of utter disbelief, as though Aang’s words filling him with dismay.

“What?!” the man sputtered. “Make a new one?! No, no! You must not understand! This is an authentic, an original, air nomad water bucket!” He enunciated each word as though only someone truly obtuse would not see this for the prize that it was.

“Oh, right…” Aang hedged, looking at the beat-up old bucket. “I see.”

Of course Aang knew what this was. He and his friends had carried buckets just like this to and from the stream near the Southern Air Temple everyday. Each monk child would carry one in each hand as they bounded back from the stream, anxious to deliver the water to the cook. It was a mundane thing, something that just needed to get done. The sooner they got through with that chore, the more likely they might be able to squeeze in a quick game of airball before breakfast!

Out of habit, Aang looked behind him, searching for Katara to swoop in and help him navigate this awkward interaction. But of course she wasn’t there, Aang remembered with a slight drop in his stomach that he had come on this trip solo. Katara was still back in Ba Sing Se, busy working on a new project for the museum. Aang didn’t plan to be here in this small village more than a day, so instead of pulling Katara away from her work to come with him as he wanted to, he simply opted to handle this little task alone.

Aang held up the bucket with an importance he certainly didn’t feel and declared, “Why so it is! This is… um, very… special.” He looked at the bucket again, biting on his lip at his choice of words. To him, this bucket looked anything but special.

But the man beamed with delight at Aang’s praise!

“Yes, yes, it is!”

The man in his enthusiasm took the bucket from Aang’s hands and turned it over excitedly. “See!” The man pointed out. “Right here! An Air Nomad symbol!” Again he spoke the words like they were wondrous. “Carved right here on the bottom!”

Aang bent over to look. Sure enough. There it was. Three Air swirls carved (rather poorly, Aang noted) in the bottom wood piece.

“Well,” Aang said, brightening up a little as he took the bucket back from the man. “that would explain why the bottom doesn’t fit!” Aang shifted his staff into the crook of his elbow and turned the bucket upside down under his arm and gave the bottom a firm pound with his fist, knocking the bottom panel right out. The man gave an audible squawk, his hands jumping over his mouth aghast as the piece of wood fell into the dirt.

But Aang kept talking as he picked up the bucket’s base and flipped it over, fitting it back into the bottom of the water bucket. “See we always put the symbol on the inside of the bucket.” After making sure the base was fit in more securely, Aang handed the bucket back to the man. “There! That ought to hold water a lot better now! I still suggest you soak the whole thing, but now it ought to do it’s job just fine!”

The man looked at the bucket shoved so casually into his hands with a gaping mouth for a moment. Then his words began to tumble out of his mouth. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Avatar Aang! Now I know: the symbol goes on the inside! Oh I wish my father was here to see! You see my father acquired this treasure on one of his travels along the Granite Trading Route when he was a young man, bought it off a peddler near Dong Shaan City. This has sat in a place of prominence in my house ever since! My father had a great appreciation of antiques; and he had quite a collection. But this was his most prized – his only genuine Air Nomad artifact!”

The man’s face sobered, his voice taking on a formal tone as he once again fell into a deep bow, holding the bucket out towards Aang reverently. “But I would like you to have it now, Avatar Aang. A way to return it to its rightful place, among its rightful people. It wouldn’t be right for me to keep it, when an Air Nomad still exists to return it to.”

Aang hesitated before taking the old bucket apprehensively. The bucket suddenly felt heavier, and he felt heavier too. Sure he had run into situations like this before, where people felt inclined to present him with gifts. But it was always the most awkward for him when-- like now-- they were gifts recovered from the Air Nomads: a set of long cooking chopsticks, a half-broken glider, a rare item of fragile old saffron clothing. But these items didn’t belong to Aang, and they held no significance to him personally. Like this bucket. It is true that it appeared to be a genuine Air Nomad bucket. But to him, it was just a bucket. Something they had used a dime a dozen when he was a child. A tool. Nothing sacred or important and certainly not something revered. What would he do now with a leaky old bucket?

Wish for a new one, probably. Aang answered his own question ruefully. One that held water better, I’m sure.

He knew Katara would probably be thrilled if she were here. She was always getting excited over every little Air Nomad trinket or knickknack they found. In fact, a new Air Nomad exhibit at the Museum of Natural History is what Katara was working on right now in Ba Sing Se. In addition to working as a consultant for the project, Katara was also donating a great many of the things she had collected to the exhibit, things she had gathered over the past couple of years since she and Aang had begun traveling together.

Aang never objected when Katara would accumulate Air Nomad objects, and he appreciated her enthusiasm. Really. He was touched by how important his heritage was to her. However, there was something about it that more recently had begun to bother him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but Katara’s tendency to “collect” his people’s leftover things didn’t always sit right with Aang.

Maybe it was something about how collecting these “antiques” made him feel even more distant from his people; each item proof of how long they had been gone, how far removed he was from them. Proof that his family was little more than memories and artifacts now. These items served as a concrete reminder that his people were extinct, gone forever. It made it harder to just forget and pretend he was just on a journey right now. That the others were still out there, just not right here with him.

Aang imagined taking this man’s bucket back to the museum. He imagined it being put behind glass on a display pedestal. What would people gain from observing this bucket? How would a bucket like this make them feel? It certainly wouldn’t make them laugh remembering the time that Dhun got his head stuck in one of these buckets when he’d been showing off for the girls from the western air temple and fell head first into the custodial closet after tumbling off his glider. They wouldn’t imagine the taste of sweet exhilaration from that water fight Aang had started that time when all the kids had decided to dump their buckets on each other instead of delivering them to the cook (they also wouldn’t recall the feeling of raw hands after lugging one of these buckets up the northern chanting tower to scrub every, single, stair as punishment for their water fight.)

What would this bucket teach a common museum patron about Aang’s people? About who they were and how they lived and what they valued?

Nothing. It would mean nothing at all.

And seeing it on display would only solidify the cold, concrete feeling in Aang’s gut that he was also an artifact now. A remnant of a nation dead. And long since, at that. Should he be on display? Did he now fit better in a museum among his people’s remaining relics than anywhere else?

Maybe it was these unspoken apprehensions that spurred Aang to find excuses to leave the museum as often as possible. Aang knew that the Museum Curator would gladly have Aang take up a permanent residence at the museum if he could finagle it, just so the dry little man could pepper him with questions about his people’s agricultural practices, yearly migration habits, and gross national trade products. Katara’s project was a good one, but one that Aang found himself finding more and more excuses not to be a part of.

Aang hadn’t told Katara any of these feelings, so he knew he couldn’t expect her to just know. And sometimes he found himself falling into the same trap, getting excited or possessive of every scrap of his culture they came across. But lately he had been working extra hard, actively trying not to. This was exactly the kind of attachment his people had tried to avoid; placing value on something that was inherently temporary and unimportant.

Aang knew he couldn’t let go of his attachments to the people in his life – a spiritual flaw that he had long since come to accept about himself – but attachment to things was still something he still tried valiantly to avoid.

Aang looked up from the bucket in his hands at the man before him, his head still bowed, although he glanced up apprehensively, evaluating Aang’s reaction to his gift. Aang could see the sincerity in the man’s eyes, his wish to honor the Last Airbender with this gift. But there was pity there too. And maybe even a little guilt? A glimpse of the world’s collective shame at allowing an entire nation to be massacred.

Aang was used to these kinds of looks: looks of pity, shame, guilt. He had lost more than anyone would truly understand, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be pitied all the time for it.

Aang took a fortifying breath, and as he exhaled, he let go of the flare of resentment he’d felt. It was his choice how he would respond. Would he pity himself too? Or would he choose to live in the moment, accepting without clinging to the loss?

Aang smiled and moved the bucket handle onto his arm, and his glider into the crook of his shoulder so he could bow respectfully to the man. “What did you say your name was?” Aang asked warmly.

“Um, I didn’t say, but it’s Shao, sir,” the man replied as he looked self-consciously to the side, his shoulders still hunched in a bow.

“Well, Shao!” Aang said cheerfully as he wrapped his arm around Shao’s shoulder, lifting him from his bow and compelling the man to walk with him. “This is a really nice bucket—I mean a really nice genuine Air Nomad artifact. And I am honored by your generosity and your gift.” Which was true. Aang was honored that Shao would offer something that clearly meant so much to him. “Please consider your gift accepted and appreciated. However,” Aang stopped walking and turned toward Shao, placing the bucket back in his hands, “it would make me happiest if you would keep it. Remember your father when you look at it. The Air Nomads, we gift this back to you.”

Shao looked at the bucket in his hands, stunned before a glow began to lighten his expression leaving a large smile radiating brightly on his face. “Thank you, Avatar Aang! I, and my children, will treasure this forever!”

Aang clapped Shao’s back heartily before walking backwards several jaunty steps.

“Or maybe just get yourself a drink of water with it,” Aang winked before opening his glider and lifting lightly into the sky, flying light and free, unburdened. Remembering his people by being one.

Just a Nomad on the wind.

………………

Other works in this series:

Chant

Incense

[supercorpkid]

It’s called agony, honestly.

Part 3 of T is for Trauma - The Series

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2510.

Warnings: All aboard the angst train.

Notes: This is happening at the same time of part 2, but from a different perspective.

Previously on the series – part 1, part 2

“Guys, I brought dinner!” Kara yells going into the kitchen and Lena walks in a while later. Kara is setting the table and already has a potsticker in her mouth, she looks behind Lena. “Where’s our little moody teenager?”

“I don’t know. I just got home.” Lena goes to Kara and they kiss, lovingly. “She’s probably in her room, on her phone, trying to ignore us. Is it weird that exactly when she turned 16, she started being moody?”

“It took her long enough.” Kara smiles, then kisses Lena one more time. “I’ll go check on her, don’t touch my potstickers.” She points at Lena with a smile, who rolls her eyes in response. Kara runs to your bedroom, and knocks on the door. “Hey, kid. Food is here.” No answer. “Kid! Come on!”

When she doesn’t hear anything back, and doesn’t see you inside with her x-ray vision, she opens the door unceremoniously to investigate inside.

“Kid, that’s not funny. Where are you?”

When she finally realizes you’re not in your room, she comes back to the kitchen, looking confused with her furrowed brows. Lena looks back at her.

“She’s not home.” Kara announces it. She used her x-ray vision; she is sure you’re not around.

“What do you mean she’s not home? It’s really late.” Lena points at the clock, like Kara doesn’t know it’s way past your time to be home. She then goes to the refrigerator to look at the calendar on the door. “Was there something at school? It’s not on the calendar.”

“Not that I know of. She doesn’t have training today either. Did you see her at L Corp today?”

“No. I had to ask them to stop letting me know when she was there, remember?” Lena looks back at Kara who looks like it’s seconds away from panicking. “Just call her. Maybe she’s distracted with something.”

Kara takes her phone out of her pocket and tries calling you. No answer.

“She’s not picking up.” Kara is now on the verge of a breakdown, and Lena knows it, just by how her eyebrows look.

“Keep trying. Let me call Jamie.” Lena goes to the living room where her phone is, and Kara follows her closely, phone still on her ear, as she is trying to call you again. “Jamie.”

“Hey, aunt Lena.”

“Hey hun, is your cousin with you?”

“uh…No?”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“When we left school. Why? Is everything alright?”

“Did she tell you where she was heading to?”

“Yeah, she was going to L Corp to talk to you. Why? What happened? Did you two talk?”

“No. But do you know the reason for the conversation?”

“I mean, yeah, but… I think it’s best if you and aunt Kara talk to her first.”

“Ok. Well, thank you, Jamie.” Lena hangs up and looks at Kara ready to pass the information along, but Kara already heard everything.

“I’m going to L Corp. Keep trying her phone.” Kara flies out the window and Lena tries to call you and texting you a few times.

It doesn’t take long, maybe a little more than five minutes, for Kara to call Lena again with news.

“She’s not at her lab, and I asked around L Corp and she hasn’t stepped foot in here today.” Kara's heart is beating incredibly fast, and her hands shake so much she almost drops her phone a few times. Lena sits on the couch at home, her own heart going crazy, and she allows herself to have the same reaction Kara is having. Something is wrong. She was trying to ignore her mother's sense, but now she can’t anymore. They don’t talk for a full minute. “Lena. What do we do?”

“The watch.” It’s like they even forgot about all of that. Lena runs to her laptop, while Kara looks at her own watch to see your location in it. She doesn’t even take the phone out of her ear. “She’s close.”

“Yeah, I’m tracking her on the necklace’s GPS and it seems she’s around L Corp.” Lena agrees, and Kara uses her super speed to get to you. But, it’s not you.

“Lena…” Kara bends down to grab both the watch and the necklace from the ground. “It’s on the sidewalk, both watch and necklace together.”

“What? She never takes off the necklace.”

“I don’t think she took it off.” Kara flies high, phone still in her hand and glued to her ear. “Call Alex, go to the DEO, I’m going to fly around to see if I can locate her. I’ll see you there in a few.”

When they talk again, it’s already on the DEO. Alex, Brainy and Lena are all there. As soon as Kara lands and Lena doesn’t see you with her, she starts crying. Kara goes to her and hugs her, trying to calm her down, but it’s hard when she is fighting her own tears.

“We’ll find her.” She whispers on Lena’s head and turns to Alex, waiting for good news.

“Maybe you should try flying around the planet?” It’s Alex's suggestion and Kara breaths heavily, knowing there’s no good news yet.

“I did. Twice.” She looks at Brainy. “Any portals to different dimensions were open today? Any readings on fifth dimension magic?” Brainy has already denied both options. “If someone took her, they have kryptonite. Any luck on that lead?”

“Still looking into that.” Brainy says and goes back to the computer. Alex gives a couple of steps towards your moms, holds Kara’s arm, squeezing it lightly.

“We’re going to find her.” Alex says reassuringly. She then goes to where Brainy is, leaving Kara and Lena alone to talk.

“Do you think she-she…” Lena’s lips are trembling, her hands are shaking so much, and there are so many tears her entire face is wet. “She ran away from us?”

“No! Lena, no!” Kara says, grabbing each side of Lena’s arms, and she shakes her head in denial. “No! She wouldn’t have left everything in the middle of the sidewalk like that. Not the necklace.”

“But she was so upset yesterday, and it’s our fault. Kara! Kara, it’s our fault. We let our baby down.” Lena sobs desperately. “What if she wanted to leave? What if she doesn’t want us to find her?”

“Hey, hey. That didn’t happen. I know she was mad, but she wouldn’t ditch everything on the sidewalk like that, she would’ve left it home or… Lena, love. It was just a stupid fight; she wouldn’t run away from us.” Kara says, but it’s not how she really feels, she is just saying that to reassure your mom. In her heart she knows they let you down. “And you heard Jamie, she wanted to go to L Corp to talk to you. So she couldn’t be that mad-”

“She might have changed her mind.” Lena says before she’s finished. Kara looks down, and then around. She breaths deep a couple of times knowing that if the two of them get desperate at the same time, nothing will get done.

“Lena.” Kara holds her tight. “I think I would rather have her run away from us and be safe, than the scenario I’m playing in my mind right now.”

“You don’t think I have that scenario too?” Lena tries to let go of her embrace, but Kara keeps her in, protectively. “I have every scenario playing in my head. I have everyone who could harm her listed in my head, and I-I should’ve figured out a way to put a microchip inside her. This is all my fault.”

“Love, we’re going to find her.” Kara kisses her forehead, and that makes Lena cry even harder thinking that’s how they sooth you. “I’m going to fly around again. Maybe I missed something.”

“Please. Kara, please, find our baby. Please.” Lena asks desperately and Kara’s heart shrinks even more.

“I’ll do whatever I can, love.” She kisses Lena, and yells at Alex on the other side of the room. “Find every building made out of lead. I’ll burst into every single one of them if I have to.”

“We’ll cross data with readings of Kryptonite.” Alex answers and Kara leaves right after.

“Tell me how I can help.” Lena asks both of the DEO agents, aggressively wiping her tears away. They both look at her with pity in their eyes.

“Lena-” Alex starts, but your mom doesn’t let her finish.

“Alex, don’t. Your daughter is home, safe and sound. You’re not allowed to do that, to look at me like that!”

“Little boxes, comrade.” Brainy jumps in, trying to help. Her eyes are filled with tears instantly.

“No offense Brainy, but there isn’t a box big enough for this. Just-Just please. I can’t sit around and do nothing. Please, tell me what to do.” She pleads in so much agony, Alex can’t ignore it.

“Come here.” Alex sits her in front of a big screen. “Kryptonite usually leaves a signature, but it disappears after a few hours. Jamie was the last one to see her, and that was after school. So, we’re having a hard time scanning for kryptonite. Brainy is looking at lead covered buildings, I’m looking into surveillance cameras on the way to L Corp. Can you keep scanning for kryptonite?”

“Yes. I’ll do it.” Lena goes back to the computer. Hearts jumping in her chest in anticipation.

She has to find you. She has to tell you that you were right. She promised she would be at your science fair, and she should’ve left everything and everyone behind, and kept her word. You’re the most important person in her life. No business deal is worth having you disappointed at her. And you were right, she was being selfish. She gave you a lab at L Corp to have you around her, while she could work at the same time. That wasn’t fair to you, it wasn’t quality time, since her mind wasn’t there with you. She has to find you. She has to apologize; she has to hug you and tell you she loves you. She has to.

“Alex, tell me you found something.” Kara comes back to the DEO after a few more rounds around the planet. It didn’t take her long to do so, but lucky for her, Alex has new leads.

“Surveillance camera.” Alex points at the big screen in front of them. Kara sees someone throwing you inside a van, and dropping your belongings on the floor. “You can try to find the van, there’s too many places with lead around here.”

“I’ll try that first, but keep going on the lead hiding spots.” Kara looks at Lena before flying away again. She is not crying anymore, but her eyes and face are still red and puffy. Kara wants to stop and comfort her, but she can’t, not unless she finds you. Until you’re back in their arms, there’s nothing she can say or do to comfort your mom, or herself.

Kara flies out again, knowing what to look for now. It takes her a while but she finds the van dumped on the side of a dark road. She opens the van with so much anger, the door comes out in her hand, leaving a hole where it used to be its place.

You’re not inside. There’s no one inside. Kara grunts in frustration and holds the bottom of the van, flipping it over in agony.

She can’t believe she hasn’t found you yet. She feels her heart squeezing in her chest and tears falling without her consent. It’s her fault you’re missing, that’s the only thing in her mind right now. If she wasn’t Supergirl, if she hadn’t pissed off so many people in this life, you wouldn’t be in this situation. She knows, by looking at your face in the video, that you were in so much pain because of kryptonite. There you were, in pain, and where was she when you needed her again? Why does this keep happening? Why can’t she ever protect you? This is all her fault, it’s all her fault. Kara’s heat vision explodes the van, while her mind plays tricks on her.

She flies high in the sky to look around. There is no place around where you could be, they ditched the van to trick her.

“Kara, get back to the DEO now.” She hears on her earpiece and she sure never flew so fast in her life before.

“What is it?” She asks appearing before them, out of the blue, making all three of them jump in surprise.

“The van?” Lena asks and Kara’s response is a head shake in denial.

“Dumped on the side of the road.” She looks at Brainy who’s currently looking for a way to focus on something in his tablet. “What is it?”

“Caught a message.” He says mysteriously. He puts whatever is in his tablet on the TVs in front of them. “It could be from anyone. It’s morse code.”

“Does she know morse code?” Kara looks at Lena who shrugs her response.

“It says. G-O-T. L-I-L-1.” Brainy looks back at them. “Does any of that means something to you?”

“It’s her.” Kara says, feeling her heart jumping in her chest. “Little one. It’s her.” She looks back at Lena. “Lena. It’s her!”

“What does G-O-T mean? Any idea?” Alex asks, going to her own tablet.

“I don’t know.” Lena sits in front of the computer again, typing furiously to find out. Everyone is silent for a few minutes, until Kara opens her mouth. “KARA, if you say Game of Thrones, I swear to GOD-”

“The van.” Kara looks at Alex, and then back at the message. “The van was on the road to Gotham.”

“Gotham.” Lena stands up fast. “Our baby is in Gotham.”

“Kara, wait!” Alex manages to hold her hand just in time before she flies away. “If they took her, they have Kryptonite, you said it yourself. You can’t go alone. You need a team.”

“Alex, the more she is exposed to Kryptonite, the less chance she has to survive.”

“I know. Brainy call J’onn! Kara, let me get some heavy armory. Supergirl doesn’t kill, but Agent Danvers sure does when someone messes with her family.” Alex says leaving everyone behind. Brainy is already talking to J’onn. Kara looks back at Lena, hearing both of their hearts jumping in anticipation.

“Supergirl might kill.” Kara mumbles with so much anger, it sends a shiver through Lena’s spine.

“Honey, listen to me.” Lena holds her arms. “I hate them just as much as you do, but don’t do it. Get our daughter, bring her home. That’s it. That’s the only thing you have to do. Let everyone else care about whoever did this to her.” Kara reluctantly agrees with her head. “This is your only mission. Bring our baby home.”

“I promise.” Kara brings Lena’s hand to her mouth and kisses it, gently. “I’ll bring our baby home if it’s the last thing I do.”

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [malex wip]

Inspired by the promo/trailer for season 3. Spoilers and speculation ahead. 

A tumblr work-in-progress

Pairing: Michael/Alex, Alex/Forrest

Summary: Alex goes undercover to seek out Deep Sky. Starts mid-2x13.

Alex leaned his back against the solid wood of his front door, letting the heavy oak take up his weight. He kept making the standard uneven bargain with his body, of giving just a little more, going through the motions for a little longer, and then it would be over. But the tally sheet his body held was long, overflowing with so many unfulfilled promises that it seemed ever more likely he would end this journey in the red. 

If it ever ended.

At least, tonight, he had haggled wisely for some space to breathe. On the other side of the door, he had managed to escape Forrest’s hopeful and not subtle attempts to follow him inside, toward the bedroom for a long-awaited reunion. A reunion that Alex had deftly avoided without a trace of guilt. He had used the bland excuse of fatigue from a long, cramped ride from Holloman Air Force Base to Roswell on a bus that had predated the ADA by a good thirty years. It was transparent but still true, written on every line of pain in his smile as he had said “Not tonight.” that even Forrest could read it, even if only Alex knew the real source of his fatigue. 

He waited several long moments, before turning to look out the peephole to watch Forrest’s Prius silently reverse out of his driveway. Exhaling out long and low, the tension he had started carrying a little more than a year ago slipped away, letting the calm certainty of safety of his house slip down his body as he released the facade. 

Alex was almost done with this assignment, he reminded himself, as he rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth, scrubbing away the taste of Forrest Long from earlier. 

Just a little while longer, and he will have enough good will built up to finally meet the leader of Deep Sky face-to-face, after all who could resist the request of a senior member, especially one with the last name of Long? It had been a lucky find that Alex had made in cleaning out his father’s house after his death, a ring and an old photo of the members. In washed out Kodak colors was the cabal of Deep Sky. Former military men with names Alex had memorized off the salvaged hard drives from the Caulfield prison. Linked not by overlapping time on the alien project, but what had become of their careers after their military service had ended. All of them vowing to carry on the protection of Earth against an alien threat, but without the oversight of the government. 

The photo in his dad’s desk had been expected, but the silver ring? He had remembered clutching it, his hands still sore from tearing down the shed with Michael, and feeling the imprint of the symbol press deep into his skin. Searing across what Mimi had called his long-love line, singular and deep on his palm. Searing even deeper inside with the recognition that the symbol matched the ring Forrest Long wore.

The genial historian with the loose-fitting cardigan and blue-streaked hair, who had shown flattering interest in Alex, had worn the same ring. Easy on his hand, flashing in the bright sunlight when he had eagerly met up with Alex at the paintball fields with sharpshooter skills. After that date had crashed and burned thanks to a mishmash of his father’s voice and the feeling he had whenever he thought about kissing someone, not Michael, well, Alex had figured that would be the last he would see of the man. 

It hadn’t been. 

Suddenly, Forrest was everywhere he was, the Crashdown, the Wild Pony. It should have been suspicious to Alex, after months of sharing the same town with the other man without a single encounter. His heart was still bounding uselessly after Michael, while his hands had been full of his suddenly feeble father, and he had missed the snare of the trap. Not just the one his father had laid. Then after his kidnapping, two things had become clear to Alex, his father would never change from the hateful man he was, and Alex’s heart would never change when it came to his feelings for Michael.

Alex pushed his leaden body away from the door, tottering on his feet for a moment before the new prosthesis shored up his balance and he took a deep breath for the strength to move forward.

Fuck. That was a mistake. 

His house smelled like rain. Michael. The unexpected consequence of having Michael watch over his house while he had moved around the country, playing up the role of the grieving scion of the Manes family legacy. After a year of brief trips back to Roswell and long stints on the road, the house now smelled like Michael. 

Alex sucked in greedy gulps of air, chasing the taste of green and petrichor with his tongue to wash away his previous actions at the bus stop. His security system, his reinforced door and window locks, the weight of his gun still tucked in his back holster, none of it made him feel as safe as the smell of Michael in his home. It was the smallest crumb of promise, but it filled him.

Moving toward the kitchen for a drink, he clocked the changes Michael had made in his absence. His heavier luggage, shipped ahead of him, was already stored, including the set of crutches and the charging station for his back-up prosthesis. The lights in the kitchen came on with a single touch, all of them bright. Dammit, Michael had fixed the two burnt out bulbs, along with the slightly weeping fitting on the sink faucet.

There was zero sign of neglect in his house, no matter where he looked. Not even the faintest trace of dust on his guitars. The house looked warm and well tended. Loved. 

The rush of tears welled in his throat, an impossibly large lump, as Alex fought to keep from breaking down. Don’t fucking cry, don’t do it, that’s for at night, he swore creatively at himself. Tears were only allowed under the cover of dark, in hotel rooms or visiting officer quarters, not in the middle of his brightly lit kitchen.

A knock sounded on the front door.

Abruptly, every drop of tortured longing was gone, as Alex straightened his shoulders and crossed the threshold back to the door. He pasted the right amount of faked aspiration mixed with real annoyance on his face as he yanked the door open, expecting to see Forrest back on his step with a weak excuse concocted to overcome the earlier rebuff.

Michael looked up in the porch light, his black hat in hand and his curls wild with nervous raking. “Uh, hi.” He scuffed his boots against the concrete before growing still under Alex’s gaze.

He looked over Michael’s shoulder nervously, for the distinctive truck that everyone in town knew belonged to Michael, but his driveway was empty.

“I parked a few streets over. I don’t think anyone saw me-” Michael’s explanation was cut off short as Alex grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside. Stumbling from Alex’s strong grip, Michael fell forward, and then back as the front door slammed shut with them both safely inside out of view. His mouth was still open in surprise as Alex covered his lips in a kiss. 

The surprise was short-lived. Michael came alive under the kiss, opening and yielding to Alex’s hungry lips and tongue. Alex brought his hands up into Michael’s curls, cupping his head protectively as he pressed Michael firmly against the door, drinking in every sound Michael was making. 

Hours before, he had kissed Forrest at the bus station, playing up the role of a dutiful boyfriend returning home. It was the tariff he paid with his body to get closer to the roots of Deep Sky, but this, feeling Michael whole and safe under his hands, tasting him now, that was sustenance. Lifeblood. There was an evolution of difference between the two, like comparing simple bacteria wiggling toward complexity and the finished product of a man, standing upright. 

It was both a reminder of why he was doing this and a reinstatement of focus, as he slowly broke the kiss with reluctance. Michael chased at his lips, his mouth red and wet, his eyes dark with want. He could feel the heat coming off of Michael’s thin brown shirt, his hands itched to pull it off, to descend back into the physical, but Alex knew that he owed Michael an explanation for earlier.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t know he was going to be there to meet my bus. I thought it would be okay for you to give me a ride,” Alex explained quietly, as he ran his hands from Michael’s neck down to his fingertips, drinking in all the changes that had happened while he was gone. Michael looked thinner to him, as if he wasn’t eating enough despite the healthy amount of work and money. “I guess he wanted to surprise me and thought it would be romantic.” 

Michael made a face at the idea of surprises ever being considered romantic, especially to Alex. He turned sweetly toward Alex’s palm, kissing the center as Alex pushed a stubborn curl out of his eyes. “Are you sure that’s all it was? He wasn’t testing you, was he?” 

“I don’t think so.” Alex couldn’t pull his hands away from Michael, and leaned in to kiss him again. It started soft and shallow, trading breaths with Michael, lips against lips, licking deep into his mouth as his previous weariness disappeared now that Michael was here. “He saw you watching us. Now that I’m back, he’s worried about losing my attention to you. He hasn’t hidden his jealousy that I asked you to watch my house last year.” 

“Did I look sufficiently broken-hearted?” The question was light, but Alex could hear the grain of truth under it.

“You did.” Alex closed his eyes, the guilt of the situation flooded back inside. The statue of his father looking down on him didn’t make him feel nearly as sick as having Michael’s eyes on him as he let Forrest kiss him in front of the town in a cinematic homecoming moment. It was a cruel reminder to Alex that he had never been able to give Michael that, a public welcome that spelled out who they were to each other, not once in ten plus years of deployments and duty station assignments. Trading a glance across the Wild Pony was as close as they came. “I wish it wasn’t like this, sneaking around, pretending-”

“Hey, I agreed to this, right at the very beginning when I was your only back-up. Remember?” 

“We were just friends back then, you couldn’t have known that things would end up like this.”

Michael laughed, his head tilted back against the door, casting an attractive line of his throat to his collarbone. “We’ve never been just friends, Alex, but I knew what I was signing up for when you told me what you planned to do to smoke out Deep Sky. We’re in this together.”

*** to be continued... here

[ohnococo]

Need You | Daddy!Reiner x F!Reader

Summary: Reiner loves feeling needed, and you certainly do need him.

Notes: A request for some soft!dom Reiner with praise! This is the version where Reader calls Reiner “Daddy,” the version without this (but still with strong soft dom and praise elements) can be found here.

Warnings: daddy kink, dom/sub elements, soft dom, pillow princess reader, praise, marking, cunnilingus, overstimulation, size kink, creampie, sliiiight breeding kink if you squint, references to aftercare

MINORS DNI/18+ ONLY UNDER THE CUT

Reiner had a way of always knowing just what you needed. He knew when too much was truly too much, and when you needed a little push to be his very best girl. Just like he knew without you saying that you needed him tonight. You’d been quiet, withdrawn, and just generally distracted as he was talking to you on the phone. He asked if you wanted to be left alone. You said no.

“What do you want then, angel?”

The way the pet name floated through the phone to your ears sent a shiver down your spine immediately. With just that one word tacked on at the end, leaving the soft way it came off of his tongue echoing through your mind, you knew just what he was asking, and that the answer was undoubtedly yes.

That was all he’d needed to hear from you to immediately tell you to undress then sit and wait on your bed, surrounded by your comfiest pillows - that you’d need to do nothing but lie back and let him take care of you tonight. He’d be over soon, and it was as if you could feel your every hair standing on end as you knew he was drawing closer and closer to being there with you.

The sound of the key you’d given him long ago turning in the lock, and then your front door opening is enough to make you jump. It’s as if your entire apartment is filled with electricity as he steps through the threshold and softly shuts the door behind him. His footsteps are heavy as they come towards you, and once you finally see him entering your room you can’t help the sigh of relief you let out.

“It’s okay, baby.”

And you know it is.

“Daddy’s here for you.”

And you know he is.

In no time at all he has you exactly where he wants you, surrounded by a sea of pillows on your bed, not a muscle needing to be used as you lie back and let your Daddy take care of you. He’s the most pleasant weight on top of you - keeping you safe, keeping you warm as he rests his hand gently on the back of your neck while he presses his lips to yours. You part your lips, already desperate to have the taste of him. He doesn’t give it to you just yet, instead moving his attention downward to press wet kisses along your neck. You laugh and pull away instinctually when he begins sucking a mark into the sensitive skin between jaw and neck and he leans back to look at you with adoring eyes.

“Be still, angel. Daddy’s got to mark his pretty girl up, alright?”

You let out a small whine, wanting him to hurry up and get to the good part - but deep down you knew it was all the good part, every move making you more and more of a pliable little thing, soaked and needy and more than ready to finally have him inside of you. Besides, he’d given you an order to be still, and you had to follow it.

As he leans back in he presses a small kiss on your cheek, voice low as he gives you an appreciative whisper of, “Good girl.”

The words practically sparkle coming from his lips and send another wave of that familiar warmth spreading through you straight from your core. He continues his work, decorating your soft skin with an array of marks as he licks and sucks and ever so gently bites a path from one side of your neck to the other. It’s never too much, but always just the right amount of kindling to have the fire building within you roaring brighter and hotter in never ending waves while his lips and hands and words reminded you of who you belonged to, who you needed. As Reiner leans back to admire his handiwork, he hums happily, and you swear you feel his cock twitch through his slacks - pressing insistently against your thigh.

Your thoughts suddenly drift to how hard he gets when he treats you like this, and how much you love having that fat cock throbbing in your hands, so you reach down to feel him through the fabric keeping him restrained.

“Ah ah, baby, I told you to be still.” he pulls your hand away by the wrist, firmly but gently, settling it back to your side. “Daddy’s going to take care of you.”

You leave your hands where they are, but can’t help grinding up the thickly muscled leg pressed between yours. Reiner gives you a chuckle, and you’re lucky that today he’s feeling quite charmed by your antics. “Aw, don’t worry. I know just how bad you need it.”

“I’ve really missed you, you know?”

“I know. I’m here now though, angel.” He begins moving down your body, trailing soft wet kisses as he goes until he stops to leave another mark right on your hip in the spot that has your stomach clenching as you grab onto the blankets beneath you.

Reiner spreads your legs to allow his broad frame space to settle between them, spreading your pussy with his thumbs and pressing a soft kiss to your entrance. You keen, and Reiner pulls back, licking his lips and pleased to be able to taste the wetness from just a chaste peck on your entrance, clenching involuntarily in desperation for him to touch you in the ways that only he can.

“Listen baby,” you lean your head up, making sure he knows he has your full attention and he smiles at your heavily lidded attempt to concentrate on his words, “you can put your hands in my hair, grind on Daddy’s face if you want, but don’t pull away.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Now be the good girl I know you are.”

You hold onto those words, knowing you’ll need them soon, as he keeps his eyes on yours while he licks a long, slow path up your slit. “Mmm, always so sweet for me…”

An attempt is made to thank him for the praise, always grateful for how much Reiner loves and appreciates every single part of you, but he’s quick to silence you with his tongue lapping at your folds, your thighs, all as if trying to reclaim every drop of your slick he’d helped create while kissing his way down your body. Just as you struggle to keep your eyes focused on watching him lick and suck at your folds, not quite focusing on the spot you need most, he’s trying to keep his eyes on your face - to see all the pretty expressions you make while you take your pleasure from his tongue. He gives in though, prompting you to do the same as his eyes flutter shut while he is lost in the taste of you and your head falls back against the pillows to brace yourself as he finally focuses his tongue exactly where you need it.

He’s gentle at first, tip of his tongue running circles around your clit, working you up slowly, and he slides his tongue down every so often to dip into your warmth - hot breath sending shivers through you as he sighs happily at all the slick gathered each time he delves deeper into you. Finally the back and forth between entrance and bundle of nerves culminates in him finally brushing over your swollen clit, then rubbing his nose against it as he moves back down to slide into your pussy with his tongue. You remember the permission you’d been given earlier then as you reach down and run your fingers through his short blond hair, pulling him closer to you. He groans into you as his tongue fucks into you deeper and deeper, reaching for the sweet spot inside of you and you grind against his face to give him the angle he needs to have you seeing stars. Your mewls are music to his ears as he presses his nose against your slit, wiggling from side to side to give you the additional push you need to cry out to him, asking for permission like you know you always should.

“Daddy! I’m close!”

You look down at him, face buried in your pussy, and his eyes flick up to yours as you moan for him, giving him all of your prettiest noises in between attempts to beg.

“Please, can I cum?”

He nods, movement only pressing his nose against you harder as you grind against his face, riding him til you reach just a bit higher towards your peak and finally cum on his tongue - still wriggling against your sweet spot even as you clench around it.

Once your hips slow their rocking against his face and you’re letting out breathless whispers of, “thank you,” Reiner pulls his tongue out and presses gentle kisses all over your pussy. When those kisses make their way back to your sensitive clit, and turn to him lightly sucking on your folds in between soft licks, you can’t help the way your body jerks at the overstimulation.

“It’s too much…”

“No, baby, it’s not enough yet.” his warm breath tickles at your wet folds, making your stomach tense, and your body almost has you involuntarily pulling back from him as he slides a finger into your pussy. You hold steady though, instead closing your thighs around his head as you let out a little squeal as he’s back to working at your still sensitive and pulsing walls. Not wanting to have any of your sounds muffled by your thighs covering his ears, his free hand comes up to force one of your legs back down against the bed, where you try your hardest to keep it as his tongue moves more insistently against your clit.

This time it lacks the same feeling of having the tip of his tongue flicking directly at your bud, as he instead rubs the whole of his wide tongue against it, reaching a hand up to tug lightly above your pussy and keep the hood of your clit from obstructing his wet and warm work against you. He angles his finger inside of you, giving you a constant drag of his thick digit over your sweet spot as he slides in and out at a slow, steady pace. Adding suction to your still sensitive and already throbbing clit has you tugging on his hair, so lost in the bridge between orgasm and overstimulation that you forget doing this only ever spurs him on more.

Reiner groans against your pussy, sending pleasant vibrations right to your bundle of nerves and your hips have decided your orgasm will be coming sooner rather than later as you lift off of the bed to rub hard against his mouth. He laughs against you, only producing more vibrations as he does not release the grasp his lips have around your clit, sucking and lapping at it in alternating motions as he looks up at you.

“Please!”

“Mmhmm,” he hums against you, and that alone sends you over the edge, aided by the quickening pace of his fingers inside you - fighting to keep pace against the fluttering of your walls as you coat his face in your slick.

He is gentle to bring you down from this high, steadying his finger inside of you, pressing soft kisses around, but not on, your clit. You try to catch your breath, and he’s happy to let you as he lies there drinking in your love-drunk expressions, feeling the remnants of your orgasm as you occasionally grip lightly at his finger with your tired walls. Eventually, you decide to be bold, and hope Reiner knows how badly you’re hoping he’ll appease you.

“I need it.”

Finally, his thick finger leaves your wetness, and you feel an emptiness that his loving smile lets you know will soon be gone. He sits up, grabbing one of the many pillows surrounding you, and lifts your hips to slide it under. “You want me deep don’t you, angel?”

“Yes, Daddy, as deep as you can go.”

The warmth of him leaves you for only a moment as he finally strips down, and you feel blood finally leaving your aching pussy for the first time since he came in, then traveling up to heat your cheeks as you take in Reiner’s beautiful body. You spread your legs wide and reach out your arms to him, needing to touch him, needing to feel him, and he settles between your thighs and takes one of your hands to kiss your palm tenderly.

Reiner’s cock twitches in his hand as he positions himself, slipping the silky head of his cock through your folds, “I’m always happy to do that for you, you know that? I love keeping you nice and full.”

You nod, already rocking your hips against his movements to try and help him slip in, but he only continues to tease at your slit.

“Use your words, angel.”

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.”

He hums his approval as he begins to slide into you, torturously slow, as if it were still your first time taking him. It’s a merciful choice from Reiner, as with his girth it always feels like the first time as you squirm with every slow adjustment to him stretching your walls to their limits. He places a hand on your abdomen, rubbing gently as he makes his way to bottoming out inside of you.

“Good girl, taking me like this.”

The praise has you moaning outright, and he looks away from your spread pussy to give you a lovesick smile. The hand on your stomach travels down to rub at where your labia are spread wide by him, warmth soothing the soft stretch as he finally bottoms out in you and groans as you squeeze him gently. His hands move to your thighs, thumbs massaging them as his cock twitches inside of you.

“So tight… You make it hard not to fill your pretty pussy.”

“I want you to, I want you to cum deep inside me.”

He groans again, and you feel a little pride swelling inside of you - alongside the fat cock buried deep - at being able to make Reiner’s composure falter like this. Another smirk from him, eyes already unfocused, as he leans forward to cage your body with his, making you gasp at the new deeper angle. He nuzzles and kisses at your cheeks, nose, and forehead as you wrap your legs around his waist to accommodate him. Finally, he presses his lips to yours and you open your mouth for him immediately. This time he does let his tongue slip into your mouth, sliding against yours lazily as he allows you to taste yourself on him. He pulls back with a smaller parting kiss and holds your face in one hand.

“Not until I’ve worn your pussy out, baby.”

It won’t take long, from the way his hips are suddenly sent into motion. A long, slow pull out until he’s just anchored by the head of his cock and leaving you feeling incomplete without the entirety of his length. Then a hard, fast thrust forward until he’s sheathed within you fully. He does this again, and again, each thrust forward punctuated by your cries, each drag backwards accompanied by his low groan at how your pussy seemed to grip him with such intensity that it takes the utmost of his self control to let any bit of himself be freed from it.

Slowly, that control dissipates, until he’s pulling out as quickly as he’s pushing in, and barely rocking his hips backward at all lest more than an inch of him be without your warmth. Still, his hips piston forward with as much power as he’d begun with, pushing your body with every thrust forward, leaving you keening, clutching at his back like he might just carry you away with his power.

“So good for me… and so tight for me…”

You try to thank him, loving every bit of praise he can send your way, but it’s as if you don’t have room for breath with the way his fat cock is reaching for your depths, searching you for everything you have to give. Instead you mouth words helplessly, hoping he understands but unable to tell through your pleasured haze. He moves his hand from your face and you want to protest but are left with no chance of that as he brings it down to rub tight circles into your clit. Finally your lungs find air as you begin crying out his name with every thrust.

Reiner places his mouth over yours, breathing in your moans, pressing kisses to the corners of your open mouth between his words. “I’ve got to cum, baby… got to fill you… Cum for me. Cum now!”

There it is, the permission you’d been too lost to remember you were waiting for as his hips stutter, though his hand on your clit does not, and he shakes your whole body with hard thrusts as he paints your walls with wave after wave of his warm cum. You’re right along with him as the heat inside of you reaches a blinding peak and your pussy clenches around him rhythmically, sending each spurt of his hot load gushing out around his cock and down onto the pillow below. Once he’s emptied himself inside of you, he continues his thrusting, but more slowly, gently, as if making sure you’re filled deep until you begin shivering against him.

He covers your face in kiss after kiss, his panting breaths hot against your skin as he continues his praise even as his cock softens inside of you. “You’re so good for me, I’m so proud of you, you know that? Proud to have you as mine. Proud to be yours.”

You’re not ready to speak yet, your body feeling like a cloud of static has situated itself within you as you come down, but you know you don’t need to as Reiner reminds you of how much you mean to him.

Eventually, when you look at him with tired, but slightly clearer eyes he pulls out gently. “Do you want me to clean you up, or lay down with you first?”

You wrap your arms around his broad frame, pulling him close and giving him your answer. He laughs, and adjusts so he’s lying next to you, rather than on you - pulling the soiled pillow from beneath your hips and tossing it to the side before rolling you onto him. He hums happily as you settle your head on his chest, and he presses another kiss to your forehead.

“A nap first?”

“Yes.”

Reiner shoots you another smirk, running his finger tips up and down your back. “Thought so.”

[criminalmindzjunkie]

I Carry Your Heart With Me (Part One)

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Summary: Spencer and the reader are reunited for the first time in fifteen years. 

A/N: Very excited to get the ball rolling on this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Message me if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 4.5k

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Damien mutters from the passenger seat, his icy blue eyes wide with fright. He pulls his gaze away just long enough to point at a lone cow grazing to the left of the road. “Look! That cow is just like… standing there. No fence around him or anything. What’s stopping him from stampeding into us the second we get out of this car?”

Damien sounds so genuinely horrified that you almost feel bad for laughing. Almost.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Dee. Besides, that cow didn’t even look up when we drove past. We’re not even on its radar.”

“Oh, yeah? Ever heard of a little thing called mad cow disease?” Damien persists, in typical dramatic flair. You roll your eyes at him and he curses underneath his breath. “You know, when I agreed to go with you to this wedding, I pictured something more akin to a five-star resort with a minibar and a heated pool. Not rogue livestock and shitty cellphone reception.”

“You didn’t agree to anything – you practically begged me to take you with me.”

Damien waves his hand, dismissive, his eyes still roaming over the pasture. “Because I wanted an excuse to take a week off work. This is not the controlled environment I expected.”  

“If you don’t quit complaining, I won’t hesitate to push you out of the car and leave you here with the cow,” you retort. In your periphery you’re able to make out Damien raising his middle finger to you. Rude.

You chuckle and fix your attention back on the dirt road. You’re driving almost painfully slowly, because the very idea of having to pay extra for damages to this already astronomically expensive rental car makes you feel nauseated. Despite your efforts, the car is covered entirely in dust. Its once pristine, white paint job has transformed into a muddy color.

There goes my deposit.

You shake your head at the thought. You had more pressing matters to concern yourself with; i.e., the fact that you were approximately five minutes away from coming face to face with the one person you swore you’d never speak to again. Two months seemed like ample time to prepare yourself in theory, but now that it is no longer some far-off thing, you know that your attempts at preparing yourself were in vain. With each day you crossed off the calendar leading to your departure date, your anxiety grew and grew until you worried your poor heart would give out under the stress. Getting onto the plane bound for Montana felt like the proverbial nail in the coffin, and a hefty dose of Dramamine was the only thing that kept you from spiraling as the plane ascended into the air. You slept through the entirety of the trip and, much to Damien’s chagrin, there is a sizeable puddle of drool on his left shoulder to prove it.

The lengthy nap helped. The tight band constricting your chest had loosened, and you pulled out onto the highway feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You had Damien by your side and five vacation days to enjoy. Your best friend was getting married to the love of her life, and you were hellbent on standing by her side through it all. Spencer Reid can kiss your ass, as far as you are concerned. No way is he going to ruin this for you.

You are still very much clinging your take-no-shit mentality when you breach a hill and the ranch comes into view, effectively expelling every single positive thought from your head. Aforementioned anxiety reappears in full-force and you stomp down on the breaks.

“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” you squeak out, casting a look at Damien, whose eyes are trained on the sprawling expanse of the house ahead of you. “We can still turn around – no, we should turn around. There is no version of this that won’t end in me getting embarrassingly drunk and crying in front of everyone. I’m turning around.”

Damien’s hand on yours, strong and steady, is the only thing that keeps you from whipping the car around and retreating with your tail between your legs. His fingers pry your white knuckled grip off of the wheel slowly, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles across your skin. Its sweet and so overwhelmingly gentle that you’re a bit stunned. You glance at him in a silent question, as if to ask who are you, and what have you done with my friend?

He gets the message loud and clear, because of course he does. Damien fixes you with a smile, grip tightening on your hand.

“I’ve seen you hold your own against some of the biggest names in journalism on an almost daily basis – looking damn sexy while you do it, might I add,” Damien chuckles, and you can’t help but give a weak laugh of your own. Damien’s smile grows at this, and he continues, “If you can handle your business against those conniving pricks, I’ve no doubt that you can tough it out for this. You’re not the type of woman that lets some guy dictate what she does or doesn’t do. And you sure as hell aren’t the type of woman that would let some guy rob her of the opportunity to stand by her best friend on the most important day of her life. As the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on the planet, my opinion of you is pretty rock-solid, if I do say so myself. So, unless I’ve completely overestimated the extent of your badassery, I suggest you rethink that plan. What do you say?”

You avert your eyes and swallow against the lump in your throat.

“Spencer’s not just some guy. For a long time, I was convinced that he was the guy,” you whisper. The car is silent, save for the quiet crooning voice of George Michael flowing through the speakers. Damien squeezes your hand, prompting you to continue. You blink up at him with wet lashes, lips pulled into a sad smile. “Have you ever been in love?”

Damien shakes his head and rubs his thumb along the top of your hand. “I can’t say that I have, babe. Haven’t been that lucky.”

You let out a shaky breath and bring your other hand up to wipe at your eyes.

“Maybe you’re better off. I’ve only been in love once,” you gesture to your pitiful appearance and choke out a wet laugh. “Look where that got me. He fucking crushed me, and fifteen years later I’m still broken up about it. It’s pathetic.”

Damien frowns and shifts in his seat so that he’s fully facing you.

“I don’t want to hear you say that self-deprecating shit again. You were hurt by someone you gave your heart to, and I can only imagine how devastating that must feel. Being upset about seeing him again does not make you pathetic. The fact that you’re here, about to spend a week with the guy just so you can be there for Cassidy, is pretty damn admirable as far as I’m concerned.” Damien ends his monologue by pulling you into a tight hug, and you couldn’t be more thankful that he’d come with you. Not only was he a secret sweetheart, he also gave the very best hugs.

By the time he releases you, the tension in your chest has eased significantly. You nod once, and Damien’s rewards you with a smile.

“I am pretty cool, aren’t I?”

Damien snorts rather unattractively and rolls his eyes.

“I take back everything. You suck, and I don’t know why I bother with you, you narcissist.”

Now that the mood has lifted significantly, you reluctantly press your foot against the gas pedal.

“Too late. No takesies backsies,” you singsong. “You think I’m sexy and badass, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Damien mutters something undoubtably snarky underneath his breath, but it’s drowned out by the sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires. That, and the sound of your blood roaring in your ears as you inch further down the driveway.

The house, a beautiful log cabin with stone accents along the underside, is massive. Standing at two stories tall with a large wraparound porch and more than a dozen large windows, it’s a far cry from the modest little cabin in the mountains that Cassidy had made it out to be. Even Damien is slack jawed at the sight of it, sitting pretty against a back drop of rolling mountains, and you can’t help but feel a little smug.

“Still want to complain about that five-star resort?”

Damien shakes his head dazedly, “I retract my earlier complaint.”

All too soon, you roll to a stop and put the car in park. Several other cars are parked haphazardly in the grass around you, and that annoying voice inside your head wonders which one belongs to Spencer. It’s not that you care – you totally don’t – it’s just that you are kind of hoping that he hasn’t arrived yet. A few hours to acclimate to the environment before having to deal with him would be nice.

“You’ve got this, babe,” Damien murmurs. “And I’ll be with you the whole time, just in case you need a reminder.”

You flash Damien a nervous smile.

“You’re a really good friend, Dee. I’m really glad that you’re here,” you say, before narrowing your eyes at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Damien snorts and pushes open the door.

“Get your sassy ass out of the car. I’m ready to mingle.”

As soon as you set foot on the porch, the front door flies open and a flash of curly red hair precedes a collision that nearly sends you flying back into the railing. Ecstatic squeals rip through the otherwise serene evening air and two boney arms envelop you into a tight hug.

“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Cassidy laughs as she squeezes you tight. Her enthusiasm has you joining in, the two of you laughing happily and pulling back to examine one another. Cassidy places a sloppy kiss to both of your cheeks before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I fully expected you to just blow off the whole thing, if I’m being honest.”

You cast at Damien, who’s watching on with an amused grin on his face.

“Believe me, she tried.”

Cassidy turns her attention to Damien and extends her free hand.

“I take it you’re the infamous Damien that I’ve been trading emails with?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “Wait, what? The two of you have been emailing?”

Damien accepts Cassidy’s hand and gives it a firm shake, all while smiling smugly.

“Yep. Me and Ms. Cassidy go way back.”

“I mean, that’s cool, I guess, but why?”

Cassidy and Damien share a look, both of them shrugging.

“Mainly to talk about you,” Cassidy admits, not even bothering to look apologetic. When you frown up at her she waves her hand dismissively at you. “All good things, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Cassidy punctuates her words with a patronizing pat on your shoulder.

“I knew letting you two meet was a bad idea,” you grumble.

Cassidy simply drops her arms from its place on your shoulder in favor of tugging on your hand.

“Come on, sour puss. I want you to meet my husband. He’s a real sweetie – you’re gonna love him.”

A flash of white-hot panic shoots down your spine and you dig your heels into the floor.

“Wait,” you squeak out, eyes wide. “Is… Is he here yet?”

Cassidy’s eyes shine mischievously, briefly flitting up to Damien before returning to you.

“He is. And you’ll be happy to know that pictures do not do the Good Doctor any justice.”

Salt, meet wound.

“Don’t know why you’re telling me that,” you mutter.

“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friend,” Cassidy singsongs as she begins tugging you forward. For someone so tiny, she makes easy work of forcing you through the threshold.

The foyer is just as impressive as you expect it to be – beautiful cedar walls and a grand staircase that leads to the second floor. If you weren’t horribly on edge at the current moment, you would definitely comment on the fact that the foyer alone is probably larger than your entire apartment, but you’re too busy scanning the immediate area for tall skinny white guys with stupidly curly brown hair to comment on the grandiosity.

Cassidy leads the two of you to double doors to the right, and just as she’s about to push them open, the shrill ring of your cellphone offers you an out.

You slip your hand from Cassidy’s grip and give her a faux apologetic look.

“I should probably take this – it might be work.”

Damien narrows his eyes at you. “I thought you left your work phone at home.”

You ignore him and begin taking a few steps backwards, “Is there somewhere private I can go?”

An indiscernible look flashes across Cassidy’s face and then her lips pull up into a sugary sweet smile. “Follow the hallway to the very end. Leads to the back porch,” she says. “No need to rush. Take all the time you need!”

Okay, weird, you think to yourself, but the idea of putting off the inevitable for a few extra moments is too tempting to pass up, so you continue your retreat. You make it to the back door in record time and let out a relieved breath as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi, baby. I was just calling to make sure the two of you got there safely.”

You push open the back door and the breathtaking view of the ranch prompts you to take pause; sprawling fields and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, grazing livestock congregating near a lazy stream at the far end of the property, and several horses running across the expanse of the left field. It was wonderfully serene and vastly different from the bustling rat-race that was New York.

You smile to yourself when a loud moo rips through the otherwise quiet ranch. I could get used to this.

“Yeah, we made it,” you murmur into the receiver. “You would love this place, Mom. It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever been. I’ll send you a picture when I hang up.”

“How’s Cassidy? Still a little spit-fire, I assume?”

You lean against the railing and let out a snort, “Oh, absolutely. Don’t think that’ll ever change.”

“I’d hope not,” your mother hums. “How does Damien like the ranch?”

“He’s not exactly a fan of the livestock,” you chuckle. “Damien’s never even seen a real cow before. City boy through and through, that one.”

You and your mother share a laugh that dissolves into a comfortable silence. Comfortable, until the telltale clearing of your mother’s throat warns you of the impending inquisition.

“So,” your mother begins. “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you going to leave an old woman wondering? “

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Fortunately, I have yet to run into him. I may or may not be hiding out on the back porch as we speak in an attempt to avoid just that.”

“Y/N,” your mother chastises. “Prolonging the inevitable isn’t going to make this any easier.”

“I know, I know. I’ll go in there soon. It’s just a lot, you know? I needed to take a breather, first.” Just until my hands stop shaking. Or until Cassidy comes hunting for me. Whichever comes first.

“I know, baby,” your mother coos. “I’m proud of you for trying. Just don’t drag things out, okay? You’ll only make yourself sick with nerves.” Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. The rolling in your stomach can attest to that.

           You laugh a humorless laugh, “I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

           A tiny movement at the very corner of your vision and a loud creak makes you whip your head around, and what you see has your heart falling to your ass.

Spencer Reid, looking absolutely stunning in a pair of khaki dress pants and a white cable-knit sweater, sits in a porch swing with wide eyes and a book clutched tightly in his hands. Soft, caramel-colored curls frame his face and a five o’clock shadow runs the length of his jaw, adding a bit of grown-up flare to his otherwise boyish features.

He looks every bit as beautiful as he did on the day he broke your heart.

--

Spencer knows that he should have spoken up as soon as you walked onto the porch. It was immediately obvious that you hadn’t seen him, and he swears he’s one second away from clearing his throat and launching into the introduction he’d been planning for the last sixty days. But the words die on his tongue as he drinks in the sight of you.

You’re so close to him for the first time in years and it’s more than a little bit dizzying. And yeah, he’s used his very limited knowledge of how the internet works to Google you on more than one occasion, but the version of you leaning against the porch railing is a far cry from the pixelized one. A light breeze rolling through the air lifts your hair away from your face, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he surveys every perfect inch, from the curl of your lashes to the smattering of freckles on your nose. He indulges himself, eyes settling on your cherry red lips, fascinated by the way they move as you talk on the phone. Spencer is intimately familiar with those lips – can recall the way they felt pressed against his own. The years spent apart have done nothing to dull the memories. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

It amazes him how you’ve somehow managed to change a lot, but also not at all. You stand before him as an oxymoron personified, and it’s a lot for Spencer’s poor heart to take in. Your hair is a bit lighter than he remembers, as well as a little longer, but it still looks just as soft and he can recall with startling clarity how it felt when he used to run his fingers through it. You have a few more laugh lines than you did, as well as a scar on your left elbow that hadn’t been there before, but everything else about you is so painfully familiar that Spencer could almost pretend that no time had passed – that he still knows your body as well as he once did.

Spencer knows this isn’t true. Every seven years, the body resets; old cells destroyed and replaced with new ones. You’ve both spent enough time apart that your bodies have reset twice over. You’re as much of a stranger to him as he is to you.

Spencer positively abhors the thought.

The sound of your laughter pulls him from the depths of his mind, and while the laugh isn’t warm or inviting in the slightest, he relishes it. What was once one of his favorite sounds has existed in his head as only a memory for far too long. Hearing it in person is jarring in the best of ways.  

The euphoria he feels dies a horrible death when you speak again.

“I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

Fucking ouch.

Spencer cringes hard, too hard, because the porch swing screeches out an angry creak and you whip around and holy shit, have your eyes always been that entrancing?

He watches as your entire body goes rigid, tensed as if you’re about to bolt. You blink hard, eyebrows drawn together to form an adorably bewildered expression as you assess him. Spencer hopes he doesn’t look too disheveled. He hadn’t even thought to freshen up after his trip, an oversight that he’s regretting terribly as your eyes flit over him.

Spencer isn’t sure why, but he stands up. Maybe it has something to do with feeling vulnerable. Maybe he just wants to close the distance. The two steps he takes towards you support the latter. He’s thankful that you don’t move away, but the blank expression on your face worries him.

The two of you stand five feet apart, but you feel worlds away. Spencer refrains from speaking for as long as he can stand, which is only about thirty seconds.

“Hi.”

Your lips part, and Spencer holds his breath.

“Hi.”

More silence. Spencer gulps.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, cautious. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up within the first five minutes. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth seem to have some sort of disconnect, and Spencer continues against his better judgment. “It’s been a while.”

It’s been a while? That’s seriously the best I can come up with?

Spencer contemplates drowning himself in the nearby stream.

“It certainly has.”

“Five-thousand, five-hundred and seventeen days.” And roughly thirty-six and a half hours, but who’s counting?

Muted noises flow out of your phone speaker and you pull your eyes away from Spencer. He’s both relieved and devastated.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just ran into someone. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

Spencer agonizes over the fact that he’s been reduced to someone while you and your mother exchange goodbyes. You’re smiling when you look up at him again, but Spencer’s seen what a genuine smile of yours looks like, and this isn’t it.

“I didn’t see you sitting there. My apologies.” Your formality makes the situation all the more excruciating.

Spencer lets out a nervous laugh, “I suppose avoiding me is out of the question now, huh?”

It’s hard to tell who’s more horrified by the words that tumble from his mouth, you or Spencer. A fierce flush spreads across your cheeks. It’s the first crack in your otherwise calm and collected exterior thus far and Spencer relishes in it. Maybe you’re not as unaffected by him as you seem.

“I… I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you stammer, blinking up at him with guilty eyes. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can’t say that I’m undeserving of your anger,” Spencer whispers so quietly that he worries you don’t hear him over the gentle flow of the stream. The hardness that returns to your eyes lets him know that you heard every word.

You clear your throat, signaling your unwillingness to discuss that particularly painful topic. “You’re still partial to Cummings, I see.” You gesture to the book clutched tightly against his chest.

Now, it’s Spencer’s turn to blush. The book in his hands, tattered and worn from years of use, is incriminating. The two of you both know what lies just beneath the binding. The fact that Spencer has it with him now makes him think that he might as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads, I’M STILL NOT OVER YOU.

Spencer raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.” His eyes scour your face for a sign of anything that might clue him in to you feeling the same way. A flicker of something dances across your face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure if he imagined it. He forces a nervous smile. “If I remember correctly, he was your favorite.” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke.

You exhale a shaky breath and to his absolute horror, your lower lip begins to wobble. He wishes he could reach up and pluck his words from where they hang heavy in the air.

“Not anymore,” you murmur, and fuck if that doesn’t absolutely wreck him.

Spencer shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. “Oh. Why not?”

He holds his breath, anxiously anticipating your next words. You seem to be battling with yourself, mouth opening and closing several times. Spencer is content to wait as long as it takes for you to answer, but the universe is much more impatient than he.

The door leading onto the porch swings open and out walks an honest to God Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or at least, a man who meets the qualifications and then some. Long, flowing blonde hair and a crisp white dress shirt makes Spencer’s unruly brown mop and dumpy sweater look pitiful in comparison. Spencer frowns.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been out here for like ten minutes,” the man chastises as he closes the distance between you and him. Spencer watches him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you to him like someone might watch a car wreck happen; with equal parts horror and morbid curiosity. “You can’t hide out forever.”

All traces of rigidity leave your body and you melt into the man’s side. It happens in such a way that screams familiarity, as if the pet name hadn’t already driven that point home. The awful, gut-wrenching realization slams home and Spencer has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.

“Uh, sorry,” you mumble, before nodding your head in Spencer’s direction. “Damien, this is Spencer Reid.”

The man’s – Damien’s - eyes go almost comically wide as they settle on Spencer’s dejected frame, before schooling into a cool indifference. He offers him a polite smile that’s a little tight around the edges, but doesn’t outstretch his hand.

“Ah, Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Spencer swallows hard to keep himself from barking out a crazed laugh. He’s heard of me! That’s certainly something, considering the fact that no one thought it necessary to tell Spencer that you have a –

Spencer’s eyes dart down to your left hand. Thankfully, mercifully, your ring finger is bare.

“Uh, y-yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” The words burn as they roll off his tongue.

Damien nods at him before turning back to you. There’s an unmistakable fondness in the way he looks at you as he speaks. “Cassidy wants everyone back inside. They’re about to serve dinner.”

You smile up at him, not even casting a parting glance at Spencer before Damien leads you back inside. Spencer stands there long after the door closes behind the two of you.

The book feels heavy in his hands.

-

-

-

-

taglist:  @is-this-even-important @evelyncade @usuck​ @m0rce1ddd​ @bauhousewife​ @whxt-to-write​ @spencerwaltergubler​ @lovesicksofi​ @idgafayiowf​ @shadyladyperfection​ @mercy-burning​ @sapphic-prentiss​ @itsmytimetoodream​  @m0rce1ddd​ @bauhousewife​ @whxt-to-write​ @spencerwaltergubler​  @enchantedcruelsummer​ @no-honey-no​ @inkstainedwritergirl​ @tnoh13​ @xxconfettiitsaparade​ @calm-and-doctor​ @muffin-cup​ @fortheloveofcriminalminds​ @arcticrory​ @holl2712​@themanwiththreephds @blameitonthenight21​ @stellabelle​ @me-a-hopeless-romantic​ @musicxlover97 @anightflower​ @andiebeaword​ @annesauriol​ @haylaansmi​ 

[madaraxwbu]

pairing: dabi x fem!reader

warnings: smut, degradation, rough sex.

☾ ☾ ☾

You're cuddled up to your boyfriend on your sofa, he has a long arm wrapped around you with a bottle of beer in his other hand. There's a movie that you chose playing on the tv, giving the two of you some entertainment. Well, Dabi wasn't as entertained as you were. but, this was what you wanted to watch, so he was willing to sit through it.

The two of you have had a rough relationship, to say the least. It started off well, as all things do. Cute dates, pretty words and promises with fond touches. His hands held the promise of happiness, his lips took away all of your issues.

But then one night, there was a news report whilst you were cleaning the kitchen. You had put down the utensils you were using to devote your full attention to what the news anchor was saying. It seemed that there was a helicopter cam, giving the live news. On the screen, your boyfriend. He was fighting against a hero from the back of a van. At first, you weren't entirely sure if it was him. But when his name was announced, that was the final confirmation for you.

There was an anger that bubbled within you. You felt betrayed and lied to, you couldn't comprehend it. There was never anything he did that gave you the impression that he was a dangerous criminal.

You were infuriated, but you didn't know where to direct the emotions. Were you angry at him from hiding such a pivotal piece of information? Or were you angry at yourself for being naive enough to fall for his lip service? At the time, you weren't entirely sure. You were majorly conflicted, because you adored him. But did you? Or had you fallen in love with the facade that he had put up?

"Babe," he shook you slightly with the hand wrapped around your forearm. You snapped out of your trance, thinking back. When you came back to reality, you saw the ending credits of the movie playing. You blinked twice, shifting to pry yourself out of his hold.

"You wanna watch something else?" You asked him as you leant forward on the sofa, about to stand up. He scoffed affectionately at your question, a half-smirk finding its way onto his mouth.

"Nah," he breathed, "I had a better idea in mind," he pulled you back, manoeuvring you to hoist up onto his lap.

His hands add pressure to your hips a few times before rubbing small circles with his thumbs over them.

You grinned down to him, "oh yeah? What's that?"

"Hmm," he hums whilst tipping his head back, "How about I fuck your brains out? Make you a whimpering mess and fill you with my cum, does that sound good?" He cockily declared. You cocked a single brow, parting your lips to answer.

Before you could, he nipped at your neck and then swiped his tongue over the agitated skin. His hands slid down from your hips to underneath your pyjama shorts.

He gripped your ass cheeks and ground you down onto him so that you could feel the growing erection that he was packing for you.

His hands are deftly operating to keep you grinding against him, the clothed friction working the both of you up.

His azure eyes fixate on the point where your crotches meet, sighing deeply. He jerks you forward to keep you on your toes but then continues with his slow and agonising tempo.

Fingers trail up your back and around your middle as you continue to rock on his crotch without the assistance of his hands. The pads of his fingers skim the top of your shorts.

"Are you a good girl for me?" He hushed to you. You nodded your head hastily in response, "yes."

He tugged on the sides of your shorts, yanking them up and causing the bottom seam to press up harshly against your slit, "then why are these still on?"

He bounces you with the hold on the clothing until you give in, wiggling away from him. You stand in front of him on the sofa, pushing both your shorts and underwear down in one quick motion.

He rests back against the pillows, eyes scanning you as you undressed yourself whilst he did the same to himself. Dabi decided to keep his white top on, but you were completely bare before him.

Dabi beckons you, wanting you to come back to where you initially were. You straddled his lap whilst his scarred hands started to slip under your thighs.

He easily brings you up, making you rub your slit against the smooth head of his cock. You reach your hand down to guide him inside of you, but he does nothing but put the tip in and bounce you on top of it.

"You wanna beg for it, baby?" He cooed up to you. That arrogant look on his face almost irked you, but your lust was far too strong for anything else to infiltrate your mind.

"Dabi, stop fucking around."

"Oh, that doesn't sound like begging?" He pouted up to you, then stopped moving you. A frustrated whine left you, throwing your head back.

"Please! I want nothing more than for you to fuck me with your huge cock and make me cum over and over again, please?" You spoke with a tone laced with purity and neediness, hoping the extra intonation would entice him further.

He stuck his tongue out to lick his lips, then lowering you down on his length.

Your expression twisted with relief, hips twitching in hopes to get more of his dick.

He relishes in your innocent look, thinking that it contrasted him so much. The two of you were like day and night, but you worked so well together.

Now, your facial features were all he needed to know that you were begging for him. Despite your hesitance earlier, now you were easier to get what he wanted out of.

He slams you harshly down on the final inch of his cock, making your ass smack against his hips. You choked out a moan, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tangling your fingers into the dark hair at the top of his neck.

He loves how responsive you are, how perfectly in-tune the two of you are with one another. With his grips on your thighs, he doesn't have a means to give you some form of punishment, but you don't need it when you're bouncing so willingly on his cock just how he wants it.

Each movement is minimal as Dabi tests the waters, seeing how little it would take to pleasure you. He studies the way your face contorts and body reacts to every bounce on him. It's almost making you melt with how good it feels, and you know that Dabi can give it to you even better than this - it was exhilarating to think about.

You want his long length to work every corner of your pussy, so much so that you dripping wet with desire.

"Slut," he strains as he feels your wet pool around the bottom of his cock. His right hand came left your thigh and gripped your tit, hard.

You whimpered as the mixture of rough and smooth skin rubbed against your flesh. He pulled back slightly, instead taking the piercing that went through your hard bud in between his thumb and index finger.

He twiddled it, revelling in the way your hips bucked hard against him from the unusual pleasure that it had caused you.

Dabi's eyes drift down to his cock, watching how his hips roll into you and taking you. Your eyes plead, begging him to fuck you harder. His movements aren't enough, you feel like you might explode with pent-up frustration if he didn't do something quickly.

Then, his cock snaps into your so suddenly that your body jolts up and a yelp is ripped from your throat. You chuckle breathily from how ecstatic you are from being filled, but the joyous moment doesn't last long as his hands move back down to your thigh and starts ramming into you like you were a cheap whore.

It always startled you how quickly Dabi could shift gears, how rapidly he was pounding you now in comparison to how teasing and slow he was being earlier.

"You like it rough, don't you?" He mocked you, a flare in his eyes, "you like it when I destroy this little cunt of yours, right?"

You nodded jerkily with a whine, "oh god yes!"

The sound of him fucking you seems astoundingly loud in your quiet apartment, but neither of you mind one bit. Who cares if the neighbours could hear? It was nothing they hadn't heard before.

You rock on him with nothing but lust and desire fuelling you, allowing his grasp on your legs to assist you in fucking yourself on him. It's a wonderful sensation for him, and he adores watching how much of a mess you get when you're horny.

"Touch yourself," he ordered you straightly.

Almost immediately, one hand left the back of his neck and darted down to your clit. You started to rub yourself, small but firm circles across your main source of stimulation. You were choking on spurted moans as you worked hard to keep your pace consistent. His cock filled you so nicely, it was unreal.

"D-Dabi!" you moaned as you felt your first orgasm rattle you. Your legs quivered, your head dropping to rest on his shoulder. Your fingers stopped their ministrations on your clit, which Dabi had noticed.

He thrust up into you with an anomalous ferocity, "did I say you could stop touching yourself?"

You shook your head, whimpering as you responded to him, "it's too sensitive!"

"I don't care, touch yourself or I'm going to stop fucking you."

Hou snapped your head away from his shoulder in desperation, shaking your head profusely, "no! Nonononoo, please!" You pleaded as your nimble fingers went back to touching yourself. You were so sensitive and wet that it was almost painful, but the wet made it easier for Dabi to rail you in the way he was.

Your sighs die down to much smaller ones, but each and every one goes straight to his dick. His hands trail up and grip your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to spread you wide whilst he used the hold as leverage to fuck up into you like a man possessed.

He was groaning and panting, breathless as he focused on nothing but making sure you were thoroughly fucked. He controls the pace, giving you exactly what you want so that you can cum once more.

His calloused fingers are digging into your ass as his teeth are clenched, thrusts becoming inconsistent and unexpected. The fierce grip on you reminds you who you belong to, who you forgave despite all the lies. Who you love.

Sweat trickles down your back as you thrash in his hold, letting him fuck you like you were a personal toy. Your cunt feels amazing wrapped around him, so tight and aching. One hand grabs a fistful of your hair and drags you down so that your ear is near his lips.

"Cum on my cock, do it right now, you whore," his voice is so dark that you're reminded that he is actually a villain after all.

But right now, you couldn't care less about that. His order makes you lose yourself on him, whimpers bent in your throat as his cock is soaked with your fluids. His eyes find his dick once again, now utterly covered in white substance from your orgasm.

His eyes roll back at the sight, pushing his hips up and pulling you down so that you meet in the middle whilst he releases himself into you.

You're far too sensitive as your mind goes white, eyes fluttering shut and breathing heavy as you collapse on him.

"We should... Probably clean up," he breathed as he let his muscles relax.

[brandyllyn]

NSFW Alphabet Poe Dameron

More of my work (and actual fics at AO3)

A= Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Poe is the King of Aftercare. Once he’s caught his breath he’ll wrap his whole body around you and stroke your back and hair. Or he goes to get a wet cloth to help clean you up. After one particularly fun night he managed to change the sheets while you were too boneless to move.

He just likes to hold you, to match his breathing to yours, to feel you relax into his arms.

B = Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s always thought he had a very royal looking nose. He broke it once as a kid and was more upset that it might be permanently mis-shaped than he was by the pain.

He loves your hands. Well, he loves all of you and if you asked him he’d probably say you had beautiful breasts and then distract you for a while. But the truth is there is something about your hands. About your fingers gliding across his skin, the way they look when they’re clenching against him, or holding his cock …

Yeah, he loves your hands.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He’s not really turned on or off by cum if he’s being honest. Like, it’s a thing that happens as a result of all the other stuff going on. His biggest concern is always how you feel about it. Do you want / need to be cleaned up quickly?

However, there was a time, an hour or two after a quickie, when he saw you on your shift and just knew that you still had his cum on your thighs that he found himself so hard he had to sit down and lean over to avoid embarrassing himself.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Before you two ever spent any real time talking to each other, he used to think about you when he masturbated. He’d seen you a few times - across the hangar or in Command - and there was something about your smile. Your laugh. Your eyes. Maker, something about your whole body. When he’d gone to bed that night he hadn’t done it intentionally, but when he took his cock in his hand it was you that sprang into his mind and he couldn’t make you leave. So he’d sunk into it. Imagining your soft skin and how you might taste.

The fantasy ended up falling short of the reality.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Despite what the rumor mill says, Poe hasn’t actually been with all that many people. He had a steady boyfriend in his teenage years, a couple of hookups as a spice runner, and then he joined the Resistance and there just wasn’t time to really fool around. Also, by then he’d started to really want to find a connection with someone and that was really hard to do in the middle of a war.

What he lacks in experience he makes up for in attentiveness. He takes direction well and is incredibly attuned to your body. He wants to pleasure you and is willing to do almost anything to make that happen.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Sitting face to face. He loves when you’re riding him, when he has both hands free to touch you - but there is just something so intimate of having you in his lap. Of being able to touch whatever he wants, to kiss you while he rocks inside you.

His second favorite is literally any other position you two can think of.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

To your surprise, while he is goofy during foreplay a lot - once you’re both in the homestretch he’s hyper-focused on your pleasure. The jokes, the teasing, the humor all tend to fall away when it gets down to brass tacks. He just takes your pleasure so seriously. He studies you, learns you, listens intently to every single sound your body makes and responds to it. He can’t do that if he’s joking around.

Unless he’s edging you. Then he’s absolutely insufferable which only adds to the overall frustration. And he knows it.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Despite the thick eyebrows, mass of untamed curls, and permanent five o’clock shadow above the shoulders, he’s actually fairly hairless below. A nice trail of hair from his ribcage down to under his pants - something you just love running your fingers down and he’s more than happy to let you. 

Down low he is a mess. Look, as said above, despite all the rumors he really doesn’t have sex all that often. There’s just not time for it. And he never saw any reason to waste time down there when he could be reviewing mission logs or getting hours flying.

Once you two start seeing each other regularly he keeps things down below a lot tidier.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

One of the things Poe does, that you’ve never really experienced before, is that when he comes he doesn’t close his eyes. His jaw will drop, his brow furrow, but his eyes never close - staying locked on your face instead. He asks you to do the same sometimes, when you can, when you’re able to tell up from down at that point. He just loves the shared moment of connection - of knowing exactly who he’s holding in his arms and that all you can see in that moment is him.

For this reason, he’s not a big fan of positions where he can’t see your face. Maybe for a little while, they are fun, but he always wants to come from a position where he can see you.

Outside of bed, he’s always touching you. Soft touches as he walked by, a kiss on your shoulder when he thinks no one’s looking. And he whispers compliments to you. How beautiful you are, how clever, even sometimes a 'good job' delivered with a raised eyebrow in front of the entire Command. Those make you blush and scold him later so he only does it about once a week.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

For a long time his best friend had been his hand. He knows how to get himself off in under a minute. He would always prefer to get off with you - but when he’s away on missions or when your shifts aren’t lining up he’s more than willing to do the work for himself. 

He always thinks about you when he does though.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Poe has a competence kink a fucking planet wide. There is something about seeing you, in your element, that makes him want to throw you down and fuck your brains out. Once, he heard you use the word 'immiscible' during a Command briefing and had to leave the room before he embarrassed himself. 

You thought at first he had a praise kink but the reality is he just really loves hearing you tell him how much you love him. And if the thing you love in that moment is his body then that’s fine too. But the sound of your voice, saying his name, telling him how you want to be touched, or even just asking basic everyday questions sends shivers down his spine.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Call him basic but he likes a nice big bed with clean sheets. There’s something about stretching out with you, ducking his head under the covers, and just settling into bed that he loves. He’s not opposed to other places, certainly, but when he’s imagining the two of you it’s (pretty much) always in bed.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Laughter. Joy. There is something about the sound of your laughter, the sheer happiness that it encompasses, that makes him want to wrap you up in his body and never let you go. Seeing you smile, sharing a sideways smile with you - it takes everything to not throw you over his shoulder and put you back into his bed where you belong. Where you both belong.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Poe can be aggressive, but he’s not a dom. Not by nature anyway. If you wanted him to take control like that he could do it, but he’d be too worried about hurting you to really enjoy it. A sincere nix on anything that causes you pain - even if you were to assure him you’d enjoy it.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He’s not going to say no to a blowjob. Ever. But his favorite thing to do is to get between your thighs and go down on you for as long as you’ll let him. It’s not really about making you come - although that’s an added bonus - it’s about just wrapping you up in the pleasure of it and keeping you there for as long as he can. The way your fingers feel when they thread through his hair, how he can actually feel your thigh muscles twitch next to his cheek… you’ve never done it but he’d stay down there for hours if you so much as hinted you wanted him to.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow. Achingly, annoyingly slow. 

Oh, he’ll fuck you hard if you ask. If you beg. But most of the time his motto seems to be 'slow and steady wins the race'.

He’s not wrong.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Because of the war, you two find yourselves engaging in quickies most of the time. In the morning before your shifts start, occasionally in a closet or other out of the way place where you’re sure that you won’t get caught. It’s not his preference. He likes to take his time, run his hands over your body. Honestly, you’ve had sex more times than he’s actually seen you fully naked and that thought annoys him. He really likes looking at you.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Within reason. Poe is willing to do pretty much anything you ask for, but he’s very aware of both his rank and the overall mission you’re both here for. If he thinks it’s something that might cause people to lose faith/trust in him, or puts the Resistance at risk in any way he’s gonna give a flat no.

This is why you’ve never had sex in, on or near his X-Wing. The risk of getting caught - a blow to how his squad might see him - is too high. As well as the concern that once he’s got real memories to add to all of his fantasies he’ll never be able to fly straight again.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Poe could literally make a day of it. Just dip down into the sheets with you and only come up again when absolutely necessary. Use his fingers and his mouth and his body to make you come again and again and again until you beg for mercy.

All day, that is, until he gets inside of you. Once that happens he’s got ten, fifteen minutes tops. Usually far far less. There’s just something about how your body squeezes around his, how wet you get for him, that makes his control fly out the window.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Poe wishes sometimes he owned toys. It hadn’t really been a thing he’s thought was worth the trouble of lugging from station to station - especially considering until recently there was no one else to use them on - and he was perfectly happy with his own hand for himself. Now that he has you, he finds himself thinking of the fun the two of you might have with some more interesting accoutrements. He probably won’t broach the subject himself, but if you did you’d find yourself looking through a catalogue with him beside you before you had a chance to say "g- spot vibrator."

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Poe loves to tease. He likes to push you - likes to see your eyes narrow when he’s being flirtatious and teasing with his words. And then to immediately whisper something naughty that leaves you hot and bothered and angry. He likes the idea of you trying to go about your day wet and needy and wanting him. His absolute favorite moments are when you get him alone and just attack him. When he can laugh at your urgency and see how much higher he can drive you before you can come.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

From years in close proximity to other people in the fleet, sharing quarters with the squad, Poe learned how to be quiet from necessity. When he’s concentrating, when he’s reaching for an orgasm, you only know what he’s feeling from the speed of his breath and the occasional very soft moans.

But boy does he like to talk. When it’s just the two of you, and he knows you both won’t be overheard, he talks constantly through foreplay. Asking what you like, what you want, how you feel. When things are heating up, it often turns into quiet whispers. Short words or your name gasped under his breath.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

While he hasn’t been in that many relationships or had that many partners (No, really. Who has the time?) Poe is a fan of pretty much everyone. He’s not really bothered too much about gender or species - although he does have a preference for beings that are roughly mammalian females. That has more to do with really liking breasts than anything else.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

About six inches, uncut. Nothing amazing or worthy of comment other than the fact that it fits inside of you like it was made for exactly that.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Surprisingly, he’s generally not had a particularly high sex drive. He’s been too busy for years dealing with the First Order to think to much about sex - and finding a person he can share that with and it not become a big awkward deal has felt like too much work.

However, now that he’s found you, he finds he’s thinking about fucking you all the time. In the morning cuddled up to you from behind he considers waking you up with his tongue, at roll call he thinks about bending you over a piece of machinery, at briefings he imagines you’re in his lap or between his legs with your lips wrapped around him.

It’s frankly embarrassing. The only thing that would make it worse is if he knew exactly how often you were thinking the exact same thing. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

Poe is 10000% a cuddler. And he’s going to do everything he has to to be sure that you’re happy and content. But once that happens he’s out like a light. There’s just something about having you in his arms that makes him sleep the deepest sleeps of his entire life.

[ladyeliot]

Sparky

Valentine’s Day (Prompts)

Request: Anonymous:  #10 & #1 from the Valentine's day prompts with Tony Stark please. I was thinking of something similar to the Nat & Bruce scene in age of ultron. Like Tony & the reader are teammates both like each other

“Will you be my valentine?”

“What is a girl like you doing in a bar on valentine’s day?“ 

Pairing: Tony Stark x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the events that transpired during the Chitauri Invasion of New York you couldn't take it anymore and chose to go your own way, like the other Avengers. Now three years later you are reunited, but there are too many hidden feelings between you and Tony. (Based on the sequence from Avengers: Age of Ultron, during the party).

Warnings:  Flirting, Angst.

Word count: 3290

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

It could be said that you would never know what the word majesty means if you didn't go to a party hosted by the "Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist", Tony Stark, at his Tower. There was no other situation in the world that better described the splendor that your eyes could discover there, or at least that was what they used to talk about in the social environment to which he belonged.

It had been hard weeks of work, and surely the next weeks were going to be even harder, so there was no better excuse to revive the social life than to organize a small party among friends on Saturday night, that's what Tony had called it, although it was far from being small, and most of the attendees you didn't even know. It wasn't that you weren't sociable, well, actually that wasn't the best word to define you, but what you couldn't get rid of were all those thoughts about the events that happened the last time the whole team had met.

It had been three years since you were all together, you knew that something big was about to happen, otherwise you would not be there again, you would have continued your life away lost somewhere in Indonesia hoping to find peace and tranquility after the Chitauri invasion, but you would never refuse to return when someone asks for your help again. Besides, seen in another way, going back to meet them does not always bring negative consequences.

"[...] I fly up to the general's palace, drop him at his feet and say 'Boom, were you looking for this?" laughter began to erupt around you, as Rhodes smiled proudly at the story he had just told.

You on the contrary showed a small smile trying to interact with the people around you, but you had barely paid attention to his words, your thoughts were elsewhere, even so, you realized that your martini must have evaporated, because your glass was completely empty. You got up from the sofa, keeping your eyes fixed on a bar that was waiting to offer you the best alcoholic beverages you had ever tasted in your life. You assumed that if you were going to have fun that night, it wasn't going to be possible without a little help from inside your body.

"What is a girl like you doing in a bar on valentine's day?" Tony's words caused you to look up from behind the bar and your eyes fell on his.

"I guess drown my sorrows in alcohol," you arched an eyebrow with a small sideways smile and refilled your martini glass.

"I'm sure you'd find a better way to drown your sorrows," Tony's voice grew darker, opening the doors to the game he was best at, but you were no slouch either.

"Possibly, but alcohol knows best how to deal with me," you raised your glass to your lips and sipped some of its contents, "I'm not an easy girl to fight with."

"Then I think you're in the right place," Tony mimicked your gesture, draining the contents of his glass, propitiating a smile on your lips.

"I'll keep that in mind," you said lowering your seductive tone ending the encounter, as you watched Rhodes approach you, you just gave him a smile and walked out of the bar back into the crowd.

You knew what Tony was like, during the time you had shared with him he had shown you each one of his multiple and multifaceted facets, which as he continually acknowledged were "Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist". On more than one occasion he tried to delve into the Playboy one, but time and time again he fell flat, for as you had said you were not a woman to deal with easily, nor could you yourself deal with yourself. Besides, there was the fact that you were totally opposite people, but very similar, in terms of character, and during the time you spent together a very peculiar relationship was generated between you, that few of those present would know how to describe.

You crossed that large room contemplating around you, everyone seemed to be enjoying a pleasant evening, you realized that it was the first time you associated those people with a calm situation, no surprise appearance of enemies, no screams and people fleeing through the streets fearing for their lives, only music, laughter and gestures of happiness complemented with a few glasses of alcohol. You felt the need to do the same, let yourself go and enter that parallel world, but something inside you prevented you from doing so, it was like a feeling that something was about to happen, so you opted to look for a door to the outside and enjoy the peace and quiet that your solitude, along with your martini, could offer you.

The night breeze of New York City at 1138 feet was a breath of fresh air, never better. Manhattan lay at your feet, but your eyes had no intention of looking down, on the contrary, they looked up, for you could almost touch the universe just by reaching up. Everything you'd ever wanted was up there, slinging the stars, allowing you to escape this world and discover so much more, and you'd known for years that more than one danger lurked there.

"Nice," Rhodes' presence caused your thoughts to drift away for a while.

"What's nice?" you asked quizzically, watching his figure approach you.

"Seeing that there's still love left on Valentine's Day," he stood beside you in the middle of that wide 90th floor terrace that surrounded the building.

"What do you mean?" you frowned oddly, circling the glass in your hands, but the gesture Rhodes made reminded you of the conversation with Tony. "Oh, no, no, no, that...we were joking. You know how Tony is."

"I know, I know how Tony is," Rhodes affirmed with a nod. "He was worried, when you disappeared off the map."

"I know," you said with a breath in your voice.

You hadn't really been entirely frank in telling your story, after the events in New York, you had taken the option of abandoning your complicated past life and running away, on the one hand feeling like a coward, but on the other hoping to start from scratch. The connection with Tony had been strangely special, and maybe the events affected you more because of his almost possible death, so when everyone chose to go their own way you did too, trying to disappear from the face of the earth, Indonesia was the best thing that happened to you. Eventually you discovered that Tony had made every effort to contact you, until after a few months he succeeded in doing so, thus generating an unpleasant misunderstanding between the two of you, coming to the conclusion that you had no intention of returning. But now there you were.

A new presence made Rhodes turn away from you and go back the same way he had come, but not before offering a little tap on Tony's shoulder. In his hands he brought two new glasses, this time of champagne and with a smile, the one that could get on your nerves, he approached you and offered it to you.

"Rumor has it, I make you nervous," he said raising an eyebrow and tilting his head.

"Excuse me?" you added in the same tone of voice he was putting on.

"You know, you disappeared when the conversation had gotten interesting," he took a sip from his champagne glass.

"Well, it didn't take you too long to find me either," you mimicked him, "If I had wanted to run away from you it would have taken you a lot longer to find me."

"I'll have to agree with you there," you looked down at the floor with a smile and set the glass down on a high glass table, to put his bow tie, which was completely crooked, back on properly. "Will you be my valentine?"

"Are you flirting with me Mr. Stark?" you frowned and subtly brushed the right side of his neck with the tip of your finger, causing a small spark to appear through the touch, making evident the little capacity you had in those moments of your powers. But that subtle gesture only intensified Tony's smile.

"Is it that obvious?" the tone of arrogance perched in his voice, at the same time he stroked the spot where you had given him the slight shock. "As obvious as I make you nervous."

At times that self-assurance could drive you crazy, at others it could drive you mad, on this occasion, both were fighting equally. You didn't know if it was because of the numerous martini glasses that were running through your blood, or because he was more attractive than you remembered him, or because that perfume was igniting your insides, but his powers of attraction were driving yours crazy. You felt the electromagnetism inside you seem a bit out of control, and that made you slow down that situation.

"Subtlety is not really something that goes with you," you said trying to show indifference to his words while you took the glass of champagne in your hands again and turned your face away from his, making a gesture to leave again. You felt a little annoyed with yourself for showing that you couldn't control the situation as well as he could.

"That's true, I'm not subtle," his tone also changed as he contemplated your gesture to leave, he took on a bit more seriousness, "I'd rather act up front, with everything, than hide."

"So that's it..." you said smiling bitterly stopping yourself.

The truth is that during the two months you had been back, after your emotional retreat, you hadn't had a single moment of peace to be able to address the issue at hand Tony. The meeting was hardly cold, there was really no time for reunions, as you showed up at the start of a mission to retrieve Loki's scepter in Sokovia, so that was the first time the two of you were alone, and you were using flirting to put up barriers to have a running conversation.

"What?" he played completely clueless, even though you knew perfectly well what he was referring to. "Ah, you mean I didn't decide to run away and hide in some remote location on earth after I nearly vanished in an alien invasion? If that's it, then yes."

You took a breath into your lungs and nodded to yourself taking a long sip from the champagne glass while avoiding looking into his eyes, which were looking really angry for you.

"I don't think this is the best time to have this conversation," you expressed putting the glass back down on the high table.

"Then when?" he raised his arms. "Shall we wait until this new mission is over and you're leaving again? Where is it going to be now? I ask so I don't have to spend seven months running around every corner of the planet. It would be very helpful if you could give me some clue, so I can save some time."

You threw up your hands in complete surrender and headed for the front door to the tower leaving behind you the bitter words coming out of Tony's mouth, you didn't want to start an argument, especially that night. You brought your hand to the knob of the glazed door, but in those moments....

"Jarvis, lock the rooftop exit doors," those words stopped the door from opening, leaving you ecstatic.

"Really?" you exclaimed indignantly looking back at him. "Are you going to stop me from leaving? You know I only have to stroke the glass to bring it all down."

"But you won't," Tony closed the distance to you in three steps, the melody in his voice had relaxed, as had his countenance.

"How are you so sure?" you asked, almost feeling dread at the answer he was about to offer, checking that he was still slowly approaching you.

"Because you know we need this conversation and there won't be a better time than now to have it," he kept his right arm upright holding the cup, while his left was tucked inside his Tom Ford pants, offering you a nonchalant air.

"Okay," you said giving up, and creating with a slight flick of your fingers an electromagnetic force field around him preventing him from coming any closer to you. When Tony noticed he couldn't help but express his amused feelings in a smile.

"Alright," he tilted his face to one side stopping his footsteps. "Fair enough."

"Well, how do we do that?" you asked somewhat confused not knowing what to say or how to start that conversation, it was obvious that those things were just as bad for you as they were for Tony.

"How about...with an apology?" he said unsubtly with a shrug of his shoulders, which elicited a massive gesture of disapproval from you.

"What!" you exclaimed. "Why would I have to apologize to you? I think that's already been settled since you came to Sumba."

"Well... " he put his finger to his lips as if thinking, "The truth is that during our meeting we didn't settle much, on the contrary, I think we complicated things more. Especially if we remember that you threw me with a force field into the Indian Ocean. For that would be one of the things you should apologize to me for. Among many others, obviously."

"I think you'll have to wait with your arms crossed for me to apologize to you," you explained, your tone was quite high. "Besides, I would never have thrown you into the Ocean if it weren't for you trying to block my powers with one of your damn inventions."

"Oh, yeah, thanks for reminding me, you ended up smashing it too," with a swift movement he got rid of the button on the blazer that seemed to depress him. "What about ditching me in the middle of the night at the hotel? That I think hurt a lot more than the wrecking you did to my suit."

Remember what you said about never falling for him? You did fall for him once, when he came looking for you on Sumba Island, but you hardly know how it happened, it was only one night, which you regretted, in part, and you opted to leave as soon as possible to prevent him from invading your mind to force you to return with him to America. But things got complicated when he found you again and the two of you started a stupid battle in the middle of that paradise.

"Oh, please," you said hiding under your palm. "Don't you feel comfortable switching roles? Have a woman be the one to leave in the middle of the night?"

"Not if that woman is you, " he said crossing his arms and stiffening his gesture.

You had both assumed that this conversation was not going anywhere, you were finding that out, your way of being and your character was limiting the possibilities of reaching a middle ground. You plopped down on the glassed-in wall, arms folded like he was in your lap.

"Okay, listen," he began, shoving his hands into his pants pockets, "get rid of this and let's talk face to face."

"I don't think so," you said getting rid of the heels that were grinding your feet silly that night.

"Get rid of the electromagnetic field," he warned again, but you shook it off with your face. "Okay, have it your way."

"What...?"

At that moment you checked as Tony moved steadily forward, approaching the edge of the field, knowing that if he breached it that would cause irreparable damage to his person. The alert went off inside your head you hoped he wouldn't be stupid enough to do it, but that couldn't be said for Tony, he had every intention of doing it. It was a battle you were going to lose, because at the very instant you were a millimeter away from piercing him with your foot you got rid of him, causing a smirk on his face.

"I'd kill you..." you muttered clenching your jaw, Tony smiled without stopping his steps enjoying your anger, which barely allowed you to realize that he was scant inches away from you. "I swear..."

But before you could finish his proximity made you stop your words, causing your lips to brush softly against each other. It wasn't a kiss as such. It was a subtle brush, pausing instantly waiting to contemplate your reaction to the fact. Tony barely moved a millimeter away from you, leaving you cornered between his body and the window, but he stopped his movements waiting for you to start them again. Your heart was racing, you could hear the energy coursing through your veins from one limb to the other, and you needed to take a minute to get yourself under control. He knew it, that's why he was acting that way.

You approached his lips again, keeping your mind completely clear. The warmth and suppleness of his tongue went deep inside your mouth, again feeling his taste mixed with champagne and martini. His body imprisoned yours, making you feel every part of him on you. When his mouth pierced your lips to your neck you tried to mumble something unsuccessfully, almost warning him that it couldn't go any further, but Tony didn't seem to care. He was focusing on rediscovering how every cell inside you tensed as he brushed his tongue against your skin. You brought your hand to the back of his neck, preventing him from separating from you, channeling the energy inside you again with force preventing your body from exploding at any moment, because that was the capacity Tony had when he was on top of you. Both of you were completely absorbed by what was going on around you, that there was a party just a few meters away, and that anyone could discover you sooner or later. That's how a couple of knocks coming from the other side of the glass broke the moment, causing a lapse of your concentration that was attributed by a small sparkle on Tony's tongue.

"Ouch!" he groaned pulling away from you, but again he put on that amused grin. "That was hot, sparky."

You on the contrary looked behind you, running into Bruce's figure somewhat embarrassed that he was the one guilty of breaking the situation you were maintaining, but you also found concern in his gaze.

"I'm sorry... Can we talk for a moment Tony?" he asked pointing to the exit door, "I'm sorry."

"What the hell did you do?" you whispered to Tony, knowing something wasn't quite right, but Tony shrugged it off as if it was nothing to him.

"This better be worth it," Tony said shoving his hands inside his pockets to hide the consequences of the action you had been committing. He turned to you and stroked your bare arm. "I'll be back in two minutes, don't move from here. We have a lot of talking left to do," he winked at you and headed for the door. "JARVIS, enable the doors to the outside of the roof," there was no response. "JARVIS?"

Bruce seemed to understand why that was happening, Tony pulled from inside his jacket a device that controlled his AI, but it didn't seem to show any signs of life either. Tony focused his gaze on Bruce, who seemed to take in what was happening and fear was in his eyes.

"What the hell is going on Tony?"

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[pollenat]

“An empty lighter” | ljh.

➛ SEVENTEEN’s Indie drummer!Woozi. We’re back to Jihoon smoking, but this time after a bottle of beer, so you’ve been warned about the usage of cigarettes and alcohol.

➛ Word count: 1472.

➛ This short follows the events of “Readings done in smoke”.

The night you is a different type of person. At least so says Mingyu, someone who has had many chances to observe you in different surroundings. The night you is apparently surrounded by a dark cloak of mystery, as if your breath belonged to late hours.

“You emanate with power. I wouldn’t mind writing a song about that.” You know what he means by sweet words and longing looks. Though anyone else would find it impossible to deny Kim Mingyu, you’re an oddity. His fluttering lashes, attractive features, lower pitches – you cannot say you don’t find him beautiful. Just not in I’m-in-love type of beautiful.

“Sure thing, Mingyu.” Though you look away, his falling shoulders are visible in your peripheral vision. Disappointment, you bring him nothing but it.

Your gaze meets Jihoon’s. A second passes and he looks away, too shy to admit his curiosity. Despite a whole sea of moving people between the two of you, he still found and observed you. His act goes on for a moment, but then he turns to Jun and tells him something. Presumably asks about you and Mingyu. Your position – his silhouette leaning towards you, hand resting above your shoulder, eyes still set on you and your indifferent lack of movement – cannot be taken out of context. Jun looks at you as soon as Jihoon is finished talking, then turns to stare at him and laughs. Yeah, everybody knows, but nobody understands. It’s the case of poor Mingyu and cold-hearted you.

“I need to get myself a drink.”

He perks up instantly. “Oh, I can go get it-“

“No. Thank you.” Mingyu freezes in place as if struck by a cold breath down his neck. “I’m perfectly capable of getting it myself.”

His following gaze accompanies you until the crowd takes over. When under the influence, Mingyu can be a bit… intense. He doesn’t mean wrong, he’s just helpless when it comes to love. Your rejection gave him a lot of pain, then you didn’t handle things well and it isn’t wrong to say the guy still has some hope.

“Thanks.” The beer may not be the best anesthetic, but you’re lost on what to do with your free time. The club is full of strangers. Aside from your bandmates, nobody can charm you with company.

“You guys don’t mind the loud music?” Jihoon and Jun look up at you.

“Do we look like the library type?” The latter laughs at his own joke, turning to check whether his friend is just as amused. Jihoon just smiles and nods.

“From the distance you sure do.” A third beer bottle is placed on the small table. “Entertain me, please?”

“Mingyu looked pretty eager to entertain you over there.” Jun’s snickering has your eyes rolling. No need to make you feel even shittier.

“Save it. He’s just drunk. Give him a minute and he’ll be entertaining someone else.”

Nobody responds to that. You’re sitting in perfect silence, though your surroundings are anything but silent. People move around, twisting, jumping, licking each other’s faces off and among them sits a somber you. Mingyu’s disappointment haunts your memories. You want the thoughts gone. Swig after swig, you meticulously complete a circle of taking and putting away your beer. Next to you Jihoon nods to Jun’s comments. How nice would it be to enjoy yourself? Maybe if you’ve just done what Mingyu wanted of you – fallen for him – clubs would be a drama-free experience? Maybe-

“Want to go for a smoke?” Jihoon offers you the sight of his lighter. It surprises you – firstly, just a moment ago you were lost in thoughts. Secondly, of course, Jihoon knows you do not enjoy nicotine. You’ve told him yourself. The thing is, something about his asking gaze lets you know that the smoke isn’t about smoking.

“Yeah, why the hell not.”

“Huh?” Jun looks back at you, surprised, meanwhile Jihoon doesn’t comment on the sudden change of heart. It’s a wordless understanding between the two of you. “You’re smoking now? Since when?” Both you and Jihoon ignore the third party. “Hello?”

Outside is nice. Though the city air is polluted, it’s a mare of freshness – a change from the overused breath of sweaty partygoers.

You inhale a big swig in and watch as the smoke-like creation escapes your lips. Jihoon is silent for a longer moment, until he realizes he doesn’t have a cigarette out. He takes a moment to search pockets, slapping every single one loudly, before he sighs in victory. A paper pack is produced out of his jeans, along with a lighter he hid before leaving.

“Shit. Empty.” You offer a sympathetic smile to the discovery. “I don’t suppose… Of course not.”

“Haven’t considered keeping an emergency lighter.”

“Maybe you should start.” He answers, staring dejectedly at his untouched cigarettes. “Be a step ahead of me.”

It’s a fun thought to imagine – offering Jihoon a lighter before he can even find his. Watching surprise bloom on his cold features. Stopping yourself from smiling in answer. Feeling useful to someone. Doesn’t mean you’ll make it happen. You don’t plan on encouraging his smoking habits. Also, the possibility feels too intimate. Like a comforting kiss shared between lovers, with an exception being that you do not plan on kissing Jihoon’s lips.

It makes you wonder how desperate to escape Mingyu’s affection you must’ve looked back then, so that Jihoon, someone you aren’t in any way close to, took it upon himself to cheer you up.

“Are you alright?” He asks, fingers still gripping the sad pack of cigarettes.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

For a moment you lack proper words, so you wave hands around, doing your best to confine the meaning in your gestures. “The whole… consoling thing. Why are you consoling me?”

“Well,” Jihoon looks embarrassed. “I saw you and Mingyu and- Ekhm, you looked uncomfortable. Or bored? I’m not nosy, or anything. I just felt like you may need someone to help you get your mind off of it.”

Through his hard features and bored eyes, you can take a glimpse at a man who’s interested in people in his close surroundings. Feels nice to be taken care of.

“I’m used to it. You can’t really control your feelings, so I don’t hold it against Mingyu.”

Jihoon stands quiet for a moment, his eyes staring at your feet. You aren’t sure what’s so interesting to him in your boots. A group of drunks passes the two of you, laughing at something you lack the context of. Neither of you acknowledge the disruption.

“Here’s the thing – you shouldn’t get used to it. He needs to learn boundaries.” His words irritate you. After all, they’re an accusatory finger directed at someone who’s your close friend.

“You’re talking about him like he’s some predator.” He does nothing to correct you. “Mingyu’s just lovestruck, doesn’t mean me any hurt. I don’t need your protection, Jihoon. I’m capable of dealing with this myself.”

“I know you can deal with it, but… You need to stop yourself from putting it away. It won’t do any of you good.”

His confidence in a diagnosis that’s nothing but wrong has you fuming. If you weren’t under the influence, you’d have the strength to explain your situation. But in the current context? With alcohol buzzing, embarrassment plaguing and coldness biting? Your exterior is a fragile egg shell, about to be dropped on a hard surface.

“Fuck you.”

“(y/n)-“

“You know nothing about Mingyu and I, so- Fuck you, really.”

“I didn’t mean-“ but you’re already marching back inside. “Where are you going?” Hot tears stream down your cheeks. Why are you so mad? “(y/n)!”

The truth is, you don’t understand what does Mingyu see in the night you. They’re just clad in darkness, hoping to keep the nocturnal thoughts away. But the night brings you nothing but sadness. The power is a mask for contradictory powerlessness. You’re so lost on what to do, how to feel, you depend on wordless passiveness, along with the hope that someday the hardships will pass.

“(y/n)!” Strong arms hang on your neck. Mingyu reminds you of a small child and that’s why you know the feelings you’d want to push yourself into feeling won’t happen. “Where did you go?”

“Let’s go, you’re too drunk.”

“Too drunk on my love for you?” You choose to ignore Jihoon’s presence. He followed you all the way back. Fuck his caring nature. Fuck his stubbornness. Fuck the night and its consequences.

“Yeah, yeah.” Two pairs of eyes stare intensely at your face. “You’re suffocating me.”

Mingyu weakens his grip, but laughs. One of his hands lets go and is instantly grabbed by Jihoon who pulls it over his shoulder. Together, you lead the man out, both avoiding Jun’s confused stare.

Fuck the night.

➛ To be continued.

➛ pollenat’s list of headcanons

➛ pollenat’s list of shorts

➛ pollenat’s list of scenarios