#but he’s as Not Normal and Fucked Up as the rest of the crows

[basedonconjecture]

is this a safe space to confess i don’t really vibe with father figure/big brother viago to crow!rook? like can i say that without being shot? my crow rook doesn’t want to sleep with him either but i see the vision for all of you whose rooks do. like ur so valid for that. i don’t want to upset the hive but also that is a man with deep psychological issues whose primary ambition is being more powerful than the king and— *is dragged offstage*

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

[cybershock24601]

More Rook de Riva is Lucanis' annoying little sibling agenda but everyone's chilling in the kitchen waiting for diner and Lucanis goes to check something on the stove before coming back to the table. Lucanis takes one sip of his coffee, immediately spits it back out, and then shoots Rook the most annoyed look as he goes "Really?" Rook immediately starts cackling and goes "I just wanted to see if you'd notice!"

Neve asks, "oh, did you put salt in his coffee?" because that's a totally reasonable assumption to make and Lucanis replies with "Adder's Kiss actually" super casually as he gets up to dump out his coffee and make himself a new cup. Emmrich in a polite but clearly bewildered tone goes, "correct me if I am wrong, but that is a poison, yes?" With a casual shrug Rook says "yeah" and continues to sip their own drink like just admitting to putting poison in one of your friends drinks is a perfectly normal thing to do. And to Crows it is, not so much for everyone else.

Dead silence descends onto the room because why is Rook is poisoning people's drinks and why is Lucanis so casual about almost getting poisoned. Everyone's just looking back and forth between Rook and Lucanis until Taash finally breaks the quiet by saying what everyone else is thinking, "What the fuck?!"

The room then descends into chaos with Taash practically interrogating Rook because who slips poison in their friends drinks with Rook getting really defensive and going "Viago and I do this to each other all the time!" and Harding's going "What do you mean by that?!" because by now everyone knows Viago is practically Rook's older brother, what are they doing poisoning each other?? Bellara is very concerned and keeps asking Lucanis if he's okay and he's so confused because of course he is, its not like he hasn't developed an immunity to most poisons and besides Rook didn't even do much to try to disguise the taste so it's not like he actually drank any of it. Neve and Davrin are mostly just concerned because they didn't even see Rook move. Emmrich is the one who finally manages to calm things down because that man absolutely has a Teacher Voice to whip out whenever the team is getting too unruly.

The night ends with Rook and Lucanis agreeing not to start poisoning each other's drinks in the Crow equivalent of an escalating prank war because of the risk of people not immune to poison accidentally consuming it because it's not like everyone else can detect the subtle notes of poison and Lucanis and Rook thinking everyone is just being super weird and overreacting to this because this is just normal Crow behavior (in all honestly it probably isn't, it's just these two were raised by freaks named Caterina Dellamorte and Viago de Riva who needed to make sure they knew how to handle their poisons).

The rest of the team is left thinking that actually this is starting to explain a whole lot about what the fuck is Wrong with those two. I'm sure everyone is now having secret meetings behind the two Crows backs to figure out the best way to explain to them that These Are Not Normal Behaviors, You're Just Traumatized.

[luvyeni]

p. lee know x 9thmember!reader | warnings: unprotected sex, doggystyle, degradation | words: 0.5k ~ (511) 🐰ㆍ₊⊹

request: can you write something like lee know and a female 9th member who are supposed to flirt with each other? Like they are always throwing pickup lines at each other and rizzing each other up, and one day on stage lee know says an outrageous pick up line (like a nsfw one) and the reader is shocked. After the performance, she asks him if he rly meant that and hes all like “what if I did” and then bam! Smut 🥵 and after all that tht realize they rly like each other a lot!!

authors note. here uu go my love , i hope you like it 🫶🏾

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“yn!!” a male fan yelled out, gaining your attention, you smiled at the fan; he held a ‘lets get married yn?’ you laughed. “should we get married?” you joked, the fan cheered. “yes!” you laughed— lee know jumped in. “yah, yn is mine.” he spoke into the mic.

“am i?” you teased, tilting your head smiling. “i don’t remember that.” lee know smirked, getting closer to you; a little closer than he should’ve, your eyes widened at his next words— “should i show you when we get home?” the crowed gasped, even the boys were bit shocked, they were used to you both “flirting” but this was new; and it shocked you too. “y-yah , stop it.” you coughed nervously.

that shocked you so much, it stuck all the way home; because tone in his voice wasn’t the playful one like it normally way— he sounded serious. “im going to bed.” the rest of the boys dragged their sleeping bodies to their respected rooms, doors closing for the night. “yah.” Minho pushed your shoulders. “get to bed, we have a early schedules.”

“did you mean what you said earlier?” you said, he furrowed his eyebrow; it finally came to him, he smirked. “you still thinking about that?” he slowly back you against the wall, his eyes low as he spoke up— “what if i did?”

that’s how you found yourself, face down ass up; he hand holding the back of your neck as he fucked into you. “sh-shit, what a tight fucking cunt.” he grunted, his hips smacking against your ass, his other hand gripping your ass. “minho fuck!” you bit down on the pillow trying not to be so loud. “ha-harder.”

he let your neck go, grabbing your hips; fucking you harder, your ass bouncing against his abdomen. “look at how your pussy takes my cock, all those times you’ve teased me.” he hissed. “fu-fucking teasing me constantly.” he slapped your ass, fucking into you deeper.

“yo-you tease me too.” you whimpered, he was using your body as his personal toy. “o-on stage, in front of everyone.” he scoffed, pulling out of you. “why— fuck!” you screamed as he pushed back inside of you. “i wasn’t the one flirting with fans was i?” he hissed. “you’re mines.” he slapped your cunt. “this pussy is mines.” you nodded dumbly. “fu-fuck minho im gonna cum.”

“cum then.” he rubbed your clit harshly. “cum all over my cock.” you let out a loud pornographic moan as you came. “fuck you’re tightening around me— fuck im gonna cum.” he cursed pulling out, his cum spurting on onto your stomach. “shit.” he squeezed his cock, tapping the tip of his cock on your clit. “mine.”

before you could even get a word out — there was a bang on the wall. “we get it already, you two finally fucked, now you can stop eye fucking each other on stage.” You heard seungmins face, minho smiled down at your fucked out face, you laughed.

“now shut the fuck and go to bed — we have a schedule tomorrow.”

©️LUVYENI

[acmelxvr]

An Excellent Pairing (18+)

Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte x Viago de Riva x Rook

Summary: When Lucanis discovers that Rook and Viago's relationship goes beyond that of a normal Crow and her Talon, he throws caution to the wind and indulges himself for one night only; surely that will be enough to satiate him for the rest of his days. However, he's surprised when he finds that they want to indulge him too.

Genre/Tags: Explicit, FMM Threesome, Not Canon Compliant, Out of Character, Dom/Sub, Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Orgasm Denial, Orgasm Control, Slight Humiliation, Crying, Brat Taming if you squint, Face-Fucking, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Pussy Play, Aftercare, Creampie, Double Penetration, Overstimulation, Talk of Premature Ejaculation, Cum Eating, Gagging, Hair-pulling, Masturbation, Mild Choking, Clit Slapping, Begging, Slight Breeding, Virgin!Lucanis, Bottom!Lucanis, Top!Viago, Viago cannot SHUT UP during sex, Rook is a Cis Female

Word Count: ~12,000

Notes: Entirely self indulgent and a beast to finish. Good lord, just take a look at those tags.

Tagged as Not Canon Compliant because it doesn't really follow that whole "crow families are like real families" BS. Also tagged as Out of Character because I think Lucanis and Viago would (probably) rather gargle rusty nails than ever have non-monogamous sex. And Viago is definitely not cool enough to do half of the things he does here. But this is MY fic and damn it I want these three to fuck!!!!

I'm on Twitter and AO3 as @acmelxvr

You can read this on AO3 if you'd like to here

MDNI!!!!

When Lucanis wakes up, he finds himself in the Eluvian Room with a hand already through the mirror. He jumps, cursing out loud as Spite fills his head with his incessant yammering. “I want. To leave!” The shriek pulses in his ears, causing Lucanis’ headache to worsen with each passing second.

“I have a contract.” Lucanis starts. He turns to go back up the stairs, but Spite rages against his prison inside Lucanis’ head, causing him to fall to his knees.

“LEAVE!”

“You are impossible!” Lucanis says through gritted teeth. “We will leave. As soon as the contract is completed.” The idea of being away from Rook makes Lucanis’ heart drop, but he pushes the feeling down as he stands back up. He expects the demon to argue, but only hears a snarl as Spite retreats to the deepest recesses of his mind. He sighs, in relief and in exhaustion, knowing that Spite will simply try again once Lucanis falls asleep.

He resigns himself to walking around The Lighthouse for the night, although day and night are indistinguishable here. There are moments where everyone feels the call of sleep around the same time, but the light of The Fade does not change; a mutual agreement between all parties to leave each other alone for a few hours, one that Spite violates frequently.

Lucanis thrums his fingers against the many book spines in the library. Some are clearly from when Solas was the main inhabitant of this place, the pages thinned from wear and centuries long use, with writing in the margins from the same signature, “F”. The newer books, placed amongst the shelves by Bellara and Emmrich, brightly stand out against the old tombs. Lucanis is about to grab one, a pirate romance on the high seas, that Emmrich graciously found for him when he notices how the light from Rook’s room seeps into the library from the ajar door. 

Lucanis wants to go inside and talk to her under the guise of avoiding sleep, but thinks better of it. “I won’t disturb her. She might be doing something important.” He whispers to himself. Spite appears again, much to the chagrin of Lucanis.

“I want. To talk. To ROOK!” he snarls. Lucanis tilts his head to the side, trying to block out the demon. Once Spite starts chanting his request, Lucanis holds up a hand.

“I will indulge you this time. If you allow me to sleep after. Deal?” Spite nods excitedly.

Lucanis approaches Rook’s room, the light seeping from the door dancing around, so at least Rook is actually awake. His crow training demands that he never makes a sound as he moves, even in the supposed safety of The Lighthouse. Lucanis has noticed Rook does the same; the steps are different, but the crows move to the same waltz. 

Lucanis pauses his approach when he hears Rook’s groan muffled by something. He quickens his step, his heart hammering at the thought of Rook being in danger, but his voice catches in his throat when he realizes that Rook is not alone willingly. 

“You get to breathe when I say. And I swear, if you touch yourself I will make you regret it.” Viago’s tone is stern.

Viago.

Viago?

Lucanis’ head swarms with a million questions all at the same time. While he knew Rook and Viago were unusually close for a Talon and a regular crow in the same house, this goes beyond that. Talons do not fuck their crows, lest the opportunity to be lethally replaced presents itself. Not only that but Viago is…Viago. Uptight. Particular. Ruthless. Most rumors about each of the talons are exaggerated, but Lucanis knows that Viago’s reputation is rightfully earned. Everything said about him is completely true. So how has Lucanis not heard of this yet?

He reflects on the moments spent in the Cantori Diamond as Rook, Teia, Viago, and Lucanis worked to free Treviso from the Antaam’s grip. Were there stolen glances that Lucanis wasn’t privy to? Is this why Viago seemed more offended than the others when Rook’s slip-up was mentioned? How long has this been going on? 

Can he join?

Lucanis cringes at the last thought, his sleep deprived state allowing him to think things he otherwise wouldn’t dare to. He’s interrupted again when he hears a wet pop, and Lucanis can’t help but take a step closer to the door. “Please.” Rook moans, only to be silenced again by a growl from Viago. 

“Begging is a good look on you.” Viago says. Lucanis can hear his tip hit the back of Rook’s throat as she gags. The embarrassment that sat in Lucanis’ stomach has now dropped lower, melting into ashamed arousal. “You haven’t earned it yet, though.” Lucanis knows he should turn around right now and head back to the pantry, before he hears even more sounds he’ll never erase from his head. But as he takes another step towards Rook’s room, he’s palming himself through his pants and almost groans at the unreleased tension.

Lucanis has only dreamed about this situation, although never with the two objects of his desires together. He can’t decide if he’ll want to be in Rook’s position or Viago’s when he recalls this in private later. There’s the added layer of jealousy, too; that the two people he’s only ever flirted with can somehow fuck each other so easily, but not him. Is that what he wants from them? A quick fuck, one without feelings? Is that what they’re doing right now, or is it something more? A stolen moment between two lovers or two friends relieving stress?

Viago lets Rook up for air once again. “Viago, please…” Rook trails off, moaning as she takes Viago into her mouth again. Lucanis is a foot away from the door now, his cheeks burning hot as he presses against the wall, not daring to break the final barrier of actually looking inside and searing the visual component of this encounter into his head.

Viago hums in thought. “You look so beautiful like this. On your knees, crying with your lips around me.” Another growl, and Lucanis can discern that Viago has grabbed Rook by the hair and pulled her off. “Have you learned your lesson?” Lucanis can’t remember when he lowered his pants, but now his cock is firm within his grasp.

“Yes, sir. I have.”

Sir? Lucanis twitches at the title. His brows knit together in concentration as Viago chuckles. “Good girl.” Lucanis twitches again. “On the bed, on your knees.” 

This is a side of Viago that Lucanis can’t even fathom exists. Viago usually has the disposition of a wet cat: a bit scary from afar, but pathetic and charming in his own way once you get close enough. Lucanis always thought that the man was extremely talented in what he did, but similar to himself in that they usually killed targets first to avoid having to turn on their lacking charms. He loses his train of thought when he hears Viago’s whispers meant only for Rook’s ears. Clearly, Lucanis had read the man very wrong.

He’ll watch just this once. One time will be enough to sustain him for the rest of his days. He rationalizes it by noting that two crows should know to at least close the door if they don’t want to be interrupted. He’s walked by Rook’s door dozens of times in the hopes she’s standing outside only to find it closed. She knows how to close doors, right?

LOOK. Spite whispers in the back of Lucanis’ mind. He smears the pre cum leaking from his tip onto his palm, snarling at Spite’s interference. He hears a smack from inside Rook’s room and she whimpers.

LOOK!

Lucanis tears his eyes open and moves to occupy the small opening from the door. As he focuses his sight despite the dim lighting, he finds Viago and Rook on the small chaise in the middle of the room. Viago has one hand on her hip and the other wrapped around her neck, pulling Rook up against his chest. Lucanis examines Viago’s bare fingers, the first time he’s seen them without a pair of gloves on. They’re long, and covered in slick. Lucanis is unsure whose. His hair, which is usually brushed back neatly, has curled back to the look Viago had in his younger days, the thick black strands slightly stuck to his forehead with sweat. 

Rook whines as Viago rubs her clit with his tip, which earns her another slap to her ass. Her breasts are covered in purple splotches, some peeking through Viago’s hand on her neck. She’s also sweaty, but the sweat is mixed with her tears, her makeup running down her face and leaving black streaks in their wake. Viago’s grip tightens, his fingers pressing against her windpipe as he begins to slowly stretch her cunt. 

If this was the last thing Lucanis ever saw, he could die happy.

Lucanis matches his strokes with Viago’s pace which is achingly slow. He pulls all the way out, stops for a moment, then takes his time filling Rook up again. She covers her mouth with her hands as her moans increase in volume, but Viago is quick to tut at this. “Let them hear you.” He’s the perfect picture of control, the only indication of his impending orgasm being how his stomach tightens whenever he’s fully inside of her.

“What about–”

“Lucanis?” Viago draws out the assassin’s name as he moves the hand that occupied Rook’s hip to her clitoris, beginning to rub small circles around the bundle of nerves. She yelps, her eyes rolling back into her head in pleasure. Lucanis almost retreats at the mention of his name, but can’t bring himself to as his own hips buck into his hand. “I bet you’d like it if he watched us, wouldn’t you?” Rook nods, but Viago stops completely and begins to pull out. “Use your words.”

She whines at the sudden lack of movement, her eyes welling with tears again. “Y-yes, I would. Sir.” Viago nods approvingly, and resumes his agonizing pace. Lucanis’ heavy stare flits back and forth between the two, watching as Rook’s face contorts just so as Viago hits a spot inside her only he is aware of, his hips snapping against her. Viago is relentless; his middle and ring finger making Rook gush around him even as she begins to shake and attempt to swat his hand away. “It’s too much, Viago–”

“You can take it.” Viago’s other hand lets go of Rook’s neck, making her lean against him for support. He pinches her nipple and rolls it between his fingertips. “Just a bit longer till we can come together. You want that, right?” Rook incoherently babbles, nodding her head back against Viago’s shoulder while he smiles. “Of course you do.” 

Lucanis surmises that they’ve been at this for hours, at least. The way Rook is practically fucked out of her mind, tears streaming down her face while Viago pleasures her, has Lucanis’ thighs flexing in anticipation of his own orgasm. Viago looks down at his fingers that seem to be moving with a mind of their own and bites his lip, emitting a low groan into the crook of Rook’s neck while he kisses the bruised bite marks. Lucanis’ speed picks up along with Viago’s, both men beginning to lose control.

When Lucanis returns his attention to Rook, he gasps when he sees her eyes blown out wide looking back at him. 

The arousal that teetered into release flips into shame, his perverted viewing caught by the one woman he tried to keep away. He refuses to look or run away, at least giving her the grace of facing the consequences of his intrusion head on. Viago is blissfully unaware, completely lost in the crushing warmth of Rook’s insides. Rook is silent for one moment, her half-lidded stare holding Lucanis’ as Viago pistons away.

Then, she smiles, raises an arm to grab Viago’s hair, and tugs.

Viago growls, making Lucanis’ cock jump on its own. Rook nods, slight enough so Viago won’t notice, but perceptible enough that Lucanis’ heart flips when he starts touching himself again with Rook’s approval. “You are impossible.” Viago slaps Rook’s clit, making her jump and pull on his hair again.

“Please, Viago–” The way she whines makes Lucanis and Viago shake their heads at the same time, trying to put off their orgasms for a bit longer.

“Say my name one more time, and I swear to the Maker I will breed you till you see stars.” Lucanis goes slack jawed. Viago’s rhythm becomes erratic as he finally, finally, reaches his release. Rook’s entire body is shaking, and she draws blood from her bottom lip as she bites down.

“Viago–” She doesn’t even finish her sentence, the fifth talon moving his hand to her stomach as he adds pressure underneath her navel. It’s enough to put the trio all over the edge at the same time. 

Lucanis spills into his hand, his hips rutting into the air as he lifts his shirt over his abdomen to avoid a mess. It takes everything in him not to join the pair in their cacophony of moans, Viago especially as he twitches deep inside of Rook, making sure not a drop of his cum drips out of her. Rook’s thighs press in as her own orgasm rushes over her, Viago’s fingers slowly bringing Rook down from the edge. When the drum of his blood pumping finally subsides, Lucanis can hear the pair once again.

Viago still has not pulled out, but moves both hands to Rook’s waist and slowly leans her down, allowing her to rest her head against the back of the chaise. He supports her weight fully, his arms flexing as he holds her up, and Viago bends down momentarily to press a kiss between her shoulder blades. “Good job.” He murmurs against her skin, his usual stoic disposition returning and becoming the man that Lucanis thought he was. Rook lazily opens one eye towards the door, and has to hide a smile when she sees that Lucanis is still watching them. 

Viago’s arms wrap around Rook’s stomach, and she giggles. “You should know by now that that tickles.” Viago doesn’t move, his beard and mustache rubbing against Rook’s back. “And that does too! I’m very sensitive right now, you know.” Viago relents and pulls out, earning a content sigh from Rook as she lays down, out of Lucanis’ view. He moves to Rook’s bedside table, still naked, and retrieves a towel. They’ve done this before. They’ve done this before, here.

“And whose fault is that?” Viago wipes some of the sweat away from his forehead and then Rook’s. Here, in the perceived privacy, his shoulders drop some of the tension he seems to be holding all the time. He smiles more easily as he banters with Rook, and doesn’t get dressed immediately as he sits down on the cushions near Rook’s feet and lazily drapes an arm over the couch. Lucanis hears Rook groan and sees her stretch her arms out, then her legs, moving them over Viago’s thighs. “Have you heard of a thing called personal space?” Viago asks.

Lucanis zips his pants up and slowly steps away, careful to not alert Viago of his presence. “You just came inside me! You don’t get to complain about me violating your personal space!” The last thing Lucanis hears before he escapes back to the library, and then to the pantry, is a shared laugh between the crow and the talon.

The morning after, Lucanis leans over his breakfast and stirs his coffee absentmindedly. His mind keeps flashing back to Viago and Rook. How they looked so good together. How their bodies fit together perfectly, how Lucanis could fit in between.

“Lucanis?” The assassin jumps and drops the spoon he was holding. Bellara is quick to pick the utensil up for him and wipe it on her pants.  “Oh, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have– You seemed so–” 

“It’s alright, Bellara. Just tired.” He waves her concerns away, trying his best to remain in this moment and not last night’s.

“Right, well, Rook needs us in Treviso today.” Lucanis’ flexes his hands, his cheeks flushing pink. “Andarateia– Sorry, Teia, and Viago found a lead about the gaatlok. Could be our big break up against the Antaam!” Bellara is excited at the new discovery, but dread floods Lucanis' veins at having to face Viago knowing what his dick looks like. How can he look at Rook and not see how her tits bounced with every thrust from Viago? He goes through the motions of getting ready, grabbing his daggers and then his back-up daggers, but his mind is somewhere else: back in Rook’s room.

When Bellara and Lucanis walk down to the Eluvian Room, Rook is already there, stretching her limbs in common Crow warm up exercises. She waves to both of them, refusing to stop her mission preparations for anything. “You alright, Rook? Did you hurt yourself?” Bellara asks, offering a hand to help Rook stand.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.” Rook accepts Bellara’s offer, who yanks the crow up off the floor. “Neck’s just a bit sore.” Lucanis coughs in surprise, and both women look at him. He can’t make eye contact with either of them.

“Sorry, it’s just…I had some almonds earlier.” Bellara raises an eyebrow.

“...That’s nice!” She responds, and Lucanis almost kicks himself for making the situation somehow more awkward.

Once they’re in Treviso, each step further into the Cantori Diamond feels heavier and heavier. Bellara and Rook chat away, as they’re used to Lucanis’ silent brooding at this point, but only one of them is clued into exactly what he’s brooding over. “Rook! Lucanis!” Teia hugs the both of them once they’re standing in front of the Seventh Talon. “Thank you for coming.” Lucanis blinks and he relives the moment he came the same time they did.

“You’re late.” Viago snips, and Rook scoffs.

“If you were able to do this without us, you would’ve done it already.” Viago crosses his arms and sneers while Teia sighs and presses her fingers to her temples, a headache already coming on from these two.

“Right, because your reputation for finishing jobs precedes you.” Viago says, making Rook throw her hands up. Bellara laughs behind her hand, even being polite enough to turn away from the group. Lucanis watches them bicker, Teia even getting involved at one point to step in between them, and wonders how they can be so normal. How can their hearts not sing whenever they see each other after being so vulnerable?

“Please, ladies, let’s get to the job!” Teia exclaims, pushing them away from each other. It’s enough to pause their jabbering for now, and the group moves to the table to discuss the finer details of the talons’ plan. Rook leans in over Viago’s shoulder to look at the map. He points to a particular corner of the Drowned District, his gloved index finger tapping the parchment. Lucanis looks at Viago but doesn’t see anything more behind his usual harsh demeanor. Lucanis’ brow knits in confusion, considering the possibility that perhaps what happened last night was a dream.

But then, he spots it: a purple splotch peeking underneath Rook’s collar. The armor wasn’t high enough to hide everything. The bite mark is especially visible when Rook tilts her head. When Lucanis watches Viago, his eyes are unflinching, immovable as Rook speaks.

The slightest glance. Viago’s gaze roves down to Rook’s collar too.

And his lips quirk into the smallest smile.

Lucanis gasps, grabbing the attention of everyone at the table. Rook, Viago, Teia, and Bellara all turn quickly to him. “Something the matter, Lucanis?” Teia asks. Lucanis stumbles over his words, his palms quickly turning wet under the scrutiny of everyone. Rook’s stare is even when he attempts to answer. It’s almost a challenge, a way to say, “Did you see what you think you saw?”. Viago squints, studying Lucanis and how nervous the man suddenly is.

“Well, um…” Lucanis thinks for a moment. “If we’re heading to the Drowned District, we have to be careful of the infrastructure. Detonating the gaatlok could be detrimental to the people living there.” Teia raises an eyebrow while Viago tilts his head and purses his lips. “Load bearing walls and such.” There’s a moment of silence as everyone considers what Lucanis has graciously added to the conversation.

“I think Lucanis is right.” Rook says, turning the table’s attention back to her. “We don’t want the Butcher to blame anything that might happen on the Crows instead of the Antaam. Could lose us valuable support amongst the people.” It’s a good enough excuse that everyone moves on, and Lucanis lets go of the breath he was holding. When he’s brave enough to rejoin the conversation, he finds that Rook is already looking at him. She winks.

After the mission they return back to the Cantori Diamond to debrief. Rook has a small scrape on her cheek from when a Venatori member managed to move in close enough on her flank before Lucanis could stop him. It’s just a flesh wound that’ll heal with time, but Viago sighs as soon as he sees her anyway. “You got hit.” He deadpans.

“Your observation skills continue to impress me.” Rook says. “Yes, I got hit. It was fine, Lucanis took care of him. Look at how great I am!” She puts her arms out and spins, making Teia laugh. Viago remains unconvinced; He steps forward and grips Rook on the chin, turning her face to get a better look at the cut. He hums, his stature towering over the other crow when they’re this close.

His crow.

“De Riva crows don’t get hit. Dagger, or arrow?” Viago asks Rook. Teia pulls Bellara aside to talk more about the mission. Lucanis can’t peel his eyes away from the pair.

“Dagger. You know how the Venatori are.” Rook responds, almost leaning into his touch.

“I do. You should– need to be more careful.” Viago examines the wound closely. “They like to move in close like that so they can use blood magic on you.”

“I know.” Rook huffs. Viago pulls her face straight on so that way she has no choice but to make eye contact with him.

“Do you?” Viago hisses. Lucanis shifts, hoping his armor is thick enough to keep his erection hidden. Rook glances at Lucanis, then smiles up at Viago.

“Don’t worry. I have the Demon of Vyrantium at my side, right Lucanis?” Viago also looks at the master assassin, and drops Rook’s chin. Lucanis laughs uncomfortably at the heat radiating from them.

“You’re going to kill me.” Is all Lucanis says. He isn’t sure who he’s talking to.

Back at The Lighthouse, Lucanis adds some items to the grocery list. The dinner table is completely empty, tonight’s meal leaving most people too full and tired to socialize like they usually do. The dim light from the candles lulls Lucanis, whose eyes close wearily. When he blinks them back open, it feels as though no time has passed, but then he looks at the note.

Flour

Cocoa

Pastina

Tomato

rookrookrookrookrookROOK

vvvvvvviago TOGETHER

inbetweeninbetweeninbetween

Lucanis angrily crumbles the note up and stuffs it into his pocket. “Get out of my head.” He grumbles, and although there’s no response, Lucanis swears he can hear the demon laugh. He heads into the pantry for a moment of attempted privacy, leaning his forehead against the wood once the door is closed. He shuts his eyes, breathing in the scent of aged oak and lingering spices.

“For an assassin, you’re easy to sneak up on.” He jumps and quickly turns.

Rook sits at his desk, her feet resting on the bottom of the chair while she’s firmly planted on the table top. 

“Most people expect visitors from outside their bedroom, not inside.” Lucanis says, heading to his cot and sitting down, facing Rook.

“You’re not most people, though.” Rook responds, which makes Lucanis blanche in surprise. “Also, for an assassin, you lack subtlety.” Lucanis averts his gaze to anywhere in the room but Rook. She laughs, making Lucanis smile despite himself. He loves how her laugh rings clearly, unabashed in her joy. “Ask your questions. I know you have them.”

Lucanis sighs, leaning back against his bed and resting his head on the soft sheets. “So many.” Is his first response. Rook hums, much like Viago does, in acknowledgement. “Does Teia know?” Is his second.

“I’m not privy to what Viago shares with Teia about his life when they’re not together.” Rook chooses her words carefully. “But I haven’t had any conversations with her about our arrangement.”

“So Teia and him aren’t together right now?”

Rook laughs. “No, not right now. Though, you know them. That can change at any given moment.” Lucanis is quiet, his chest rising and falling steadily. He likes that Rook doesn’t attempt to fill silences.

“If they were together–”

“No. It’s one of our rules.” At this, Lucanis raises his head to look at Rook. “We have rules. For when we’re allowed to…” She waves her hand around. “If either of us are in a relationship it doesn’t happen.”

“It being…?”

“Sex, Lucanis.” Rook laughs as he looks away. “It might surprise you, but Viago and I do enjoy each other’s company without the added benefit of sex.” He chortles, which makes Rook roll her eyes.

“When did this start?” At this question, Rook looks up to the ceiling as though truly pondering it.

“Well, I had only heard about Viago before he became Fifth Talon. But we first met because of a contract, actually.” Rook cracks her knuckles. “We were on a mission, about six years ago; the client specifically paid for Viago to tag along on the job. And you know him.”

Lucanis nods. “He’s kind of…”

“A stick in the mud?” Rook laughs. “He wanted everything to go well. To prove himself to Caterina. So, we went to Orlais.” Lucanis props himself up on his elbows.

“Did you have to pretend to be a couple? And then everything that was fake turned real?” Rook leans over to shove Lucanis lightly on the shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were a romantic, Lucanis.” She shakes her head. “No, the job was terrible. It was raining the whole way there and back. The weather made for inclement traveling so we were stuck in Orlais for longer than we expected.” Rook rolls her shoulders, as though recalling the job is stressful enough. “And we missed the mark. Several times, actually.” At this, Lucanis laughs so hard his stomach begins to hurt.

“I cannot imagine Viago missing.”

“He can’t either. So, both of us were pretty unhappy. Unhappiness turns to anger, and both of us were way too prideful to admit our own shortcomings, so we became angry at each other.” Rook smiles. “Put two crows who hate each other and are constantly drenched to the bone in the same room for seven weeks…”

“...And they’re bound to have sex.” Lucanis finishes the thought. 

“Exactly. It became an outlet. And then, when we got back to Antiva…” Rook shrugs. “It became routine. Viago likes his sex in a very, very particular way. There’s not a lot of people who are willing to do what he asks.”

“May I ask…” Lucanis blushes. “How does Viago like his sex? Because it seemed…” Lucanis stops himself, realizing that they now have to talk about that night. “Focused.” Rook nods. 

“Viago is very tightly bound. About everything, even simple pleasures. Like wine and art.” She gets up to pace as she talks. “He desires control over every single aspect of his life. He usually doesn’t get it, because being an assassin means that he has control over everything except his own life. I desire to let go. To trust someone enough to completely dominate me for one night and come out okay. It’s a reciprocal relationship.” Lucanis rubs his beard.

“So I’m assuming the bickering is part of that?” Rook furrows her brow in thought.

“Yes, and no. We bicker because I think it’s funny to wind him up, and he thinks he’s allowed to say everything that comes into his head.” Rook seems to recall something and blushes. “But winding him up, making him mad and pressing his buttons, that is part of it.” 

Rook stops to stand in front of Lucanis. “Is that what he meant by ‘learning your lesson’?” Lucanis seems too shy to even speak the words. She just nods, with a wry smile. “I see. Well.” He rubs his hands together awkwardly. “Thank you for being honest.”

Neither of them speak at first. When Lucanis looks up, he finds Rook already looking at him. She uses her calf to bump his legs apart, spreading them wide and allowing her to take a step closer to him. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?” Her voice goes low, acknowledging the tension that's been here since they started chatting.

“I–I want to…” Lucanis seems to form several sentences all at the same time. Instead, he breaks the barrier between the two of them and plants both hands on Rook’s hips, looking up at her. “There’s so many things I want to say.” Rook nods, taking the opportunity to rake her fingers through his hair. The same way she did with Viago.

“Maybe it’s my turn for questions?” Lucanis nods eagerly, grateful that she understands his inability to explain himself. “Did you like what you saw last night?” Lucanis groans, leaning forward to press his forehead against Rook’s abdomen.

“Maker, yes.” 

“Did you like me, or Viago?” Lucanis sucks in a breath. He closes his eyes, his fear of Rook realizing his silly little crushes. Plural. “...Did you like both of us?” All he can do is nod. Rook laughs, but doesn’t move away. “I understand. Watching attractive people have sex can do that.” Another beat of silence, both of them listening to the gentle waves of the surrounding fade.

“Did you want to join?” The question barely comes out as a whisper but it’s enough to make Lucanis go crazy. His loins tighten from the sexual line of questioning, remembering every single moment where he wondered how things would go if he were there. “I figured. Viago told me about the time you sent him a dagger. Both of you are incapable of reading inbetween the lines, it seems.” Lucanis blushes, hard. “I have a proposal for you.” At this, his grip on her hips becomes stronger in anticipation.

“Viago will probably come by again in a couple days. You can stop by, see how things go. See if there’s anything you’re interested in.” Rook is quick to add on, “But no pressure, though. Do whatever you feel comfortable with, I don’t want you to–”

“Would you like me there? If I…stopped by?” Lucanis slides his hands up, roaming over Rook’s back. She sighs listlessly, leaning into his touch. Lucanis’ hands are different from Viago’s; rough calluses, fingernails bitten raw, his touch yearning instead of easy. It makes Rook’s heart hiccup, wondering how long he wanted, needed something like this.

“Nothing would bring me greater pleasure.” She says matter-of-factly. It takes a large amount of effort, but she untangles herself from him. “Let me talk to Viago. I can’t imagine he’d have any reservations.” She leans down and plants a chaste kiss onto Lucanis’ temple. When she turns to leave, Lucanis grabs her hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the knuckles he saw her kill with just a few hours ago.

“I await your call.”

Four days later, Lucanis paces around the library. It’s late, but time doesn’t mean much to him these days. He glances over at the charcuterie board he’s made, the wooden cutting board covered with brie, goat cheese, fontina, chocolate, and crackers. He looks up, towards Rook’s room, and his heart starts racing again like it did a few days ago. Is he really doing this? He could just leave, head back to the pantry, and forget this ever happened. Rook and Viago would continue on normally, like nothing ever happened, because they’re professionals. Lucanis supposed he was too, before all this. 

He picks up the tray and goes up the stairs, taking his time approaching Rook’s door to calm his nerves. When he looks down the hallway, he sees that she’s closed it this time. “Now they make me knock.” He sneers. As he gets closer, he can hear snippets of the conversation happening inside.

“I just think that…”

“Well, you usually…”

“...my fault?...”

Lucanis takes a slow breath out, completely emptying his lungs. This is real.

He knocks twice, a bit softly, and all conversation inside ceases. There’s some moving around, and a giggle that definitely belongs to Rook because Lucanis doesn’t think Viago has it in him to giggle before someone comes and opens the door. Lucanis thought Rook would have the grace to open the door herself.

She does not.

Viago’s in his casual wear, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he holds the door open at the top of the frame with one hand. “Lucanis.” He remarks, completely stone faced. Neither of the men say anything, but this close, Lucanis can smell Viago’s cologne. It’s more woody than Lucanis was expecting, with a lingering undertone of vanilla. 

“Viago.” Lucanis says. He holds up the charcuterie board, and Viago quirks an eyebrow. “I brought food.”

“I can see that.” The other man responds. Maker, this is awkward.

“Lucanis!” Rook remarks from inside the room, granting him entry despite Viago’s supposed disinterest. Did he not want him here?

“I brought food.” Lucanis repeats, and Rook smiles warmly. The chaise has a multitude of blankets spilling over it, and some pillows are on the floor too. The aquarium casts a deep blue light over everything, making Viago’s eyes seem black. Viago examines the board as Lucanis sets it down onto Rook’s table, next to his wine.

“Is that brie? And goat cheese?” The taller man questions. Lucanis shrugs, attempting to appear nonchalant. “Those pair well with pinot noir.” Viago adds, and again Lucanis shrugs.

“Rook mentioned it was your favorite.” She watches the two men talk with interest. Viago seems genuinely taken aback, picking up a cut of chocolate and brie, and then smelling it. Once he realizes that the heir apparent to First Talon gains nothing by poisoning him, he takes a bite.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Dellamorte?” Viago suddenly asks. Lucanis blushes, and looks away. He takes a moment to steel himself.

“That depends on if it’s working or not.” If he wanted, Lucanis could be suave. Perhaps he chooses not to. Viago doesn’t answer, but pours Lucanis a glass of wine and sits down on the floor near Rook. He motions to a cushion in between them.

“We were gossiping about other crows.” This is Lucanis’ last chance to leave and still have some semblance of normalcy with the two of them. He glances between them, noting how Viago loosens his collar and leans back on one arm. Rook’s smile is wide as she speaks to them, motioning excitedly at the latest news she’s heard about her fellow crows.

Lucanis cracks his neck, then sits down. He pretends not to notice how Rook’s smile widens. “Who were we talking about?” He takes a sip of wine, the warmth spreading down from his mouth all the way to his stomach. It’s dry, but the hints of fruit and acidity make up for it.

“Illario.” Viago grumbles, gesturing towards Rook. “She was recalling how they actually did meet once before, she just didn’t remember.” Lucanis turns towards Rook, who looks a bit bashful.

“You’ve met Illario?”

“Only once.” She responds, swirling her glass and taking a bite of cheese. “It was at a party, the Arainai one a decade ago. He looked so different!” She exclaims, and Lucanis chuckles.

“I believe that’s when he was curling his hair, correct?” Rook gasps and nods.

“Yes! Maker, it was awful. And he used so much product, I could smell him from a mile away. Everyone still followed him around, though.”

“Well, Illario has that effect on people.” Viago chimes in, leaning closer in towards Lucanis so that way he can fully take part in the conversation. “He could walk around in a potato sack and still get attention.” Rook laughs, snorting. 

“Viago, did you not use the same products in your hair?” Lucanis suddenly asks. Viago closes his eyes, his brow furrowing at Lucanis being able to recall something about him he’s pretty sure everyone else has forgotten.

“You did! I remember because it would take you hours to get ready when we were in Orlais!” The Orlais mission. Where this all began. Lucanis coughs as he tries to get the image of Viago and Rook together out of his head.

“My curls are natural.” Viago holds up a finger to both of them. “Illario faked them. It’s different.” Rook giggles so hard that she falls back onto the pile of blankets as Viago comes up with another defense. He’s passionate as he argues, gesturing wildly but never forgetting about the wine nor how he needs to take more sips of it. 

“If your curls are natural, then how come your hair is straight right now?” Rook asks, and Viago groans, bringing a hand to his forehead.

“Keeping it neat is good for appearances. As Fifth Talon, I can’t afford to appear messy.” Rook nods, but she remains unconvinced. 

“It is natural.” Lucanis chimes in, making Viago and Rook turn to him. Viago waves in Lucanis’ direction, moving in closer as he gets more and more heated.

“Well, I’ll believe Lucanis. But not you.” She sits up, propping herself up with one arm and leaning on her side.

“His hair gets curly when he sweats.” Lucanis adds, and this makes Viago pause in the middle of a bite. Rook says nothing, but smirks into her wine glass as the cogs churn in Viago’s head. “Not that I’m only looking at you when you sweat, it’s just–Maker, are we arguing about Viago’s hair?” Rook’s smile is easy, here. Perhaps with these two she can pretend to be just a crow, and not the leader of their small pack against the world.

“It’s a good head of hair.” Rook whispers, sitting up and moving closer to the men. There’s a distinct shift in the air, one that makes Lucanis put his wine glass down and pull away at his vest that suddenly feels too tight. Viago doesn’t initially respond, only taking another bite of cheese. She gasps. “Don’t I get a compliment?” It’s mocking him, but Viago allows himself to fall into the trap; he chuckles.

“What would you like to hear?” Viago asks, tilting his head and teasing her. Lucanis is a spectator to this dance they do, the push and pull of “will they, won’t they”. 

“Hmm…” Rook dramatically thinks, tapping her chin. “Don’t you think I’m funny?”

“Only when I’m laughing at you.”

Rook pouts. “Well, what about my charm?” 

Viago laughs. “That was actually funny.” 

Lucanis can’t help but smile at how Rook crawls even closer, shrinking the distance between the trio. “Surely you must like something about me.” Lucanis is completely enamored with her. He likes everything about Rook, but he’s not the one answering the question. When he looks at Viago, he’s shocked to find his expression has completely changed from when he first entered the room. His eyes are full of spark, his smile sideways as he carefully considers Rook’s flirting. Somewhere along the way, he’s even unbuttoned the top of his shirt, exposing a scant amount of chest hair that makes Lucanis’ stomach do somersaults. 

Viago moves a hand onto Rook’s thigh and pulls her closer, onto his lap. “I like your collarbones.” He finally answers. Rook rolls her eyes, but doesn’t move away as Viago’s hand slips under her shirt to expose his aforementioned favorite part of Rook. He ghosts his hand over her skin, and both of them notice how Rook shivers underneath his touch. “Lucanis, what is your favorite part of Rook?” 

An invitation to join. Lucanis seriously considers the question for a moment, but realizes Viago is giving him an in. He sits up and crawls behind Rook, between Viago’s legs. “I like her neck.” He simply answers, and Viago hums, nodding. Lucanis presses his palms into Rook’s trapezius muscles, noticing how she relaxes under the pressure and leans back into him.

“I’ve noticed.” Viago responds, smiling at how Lucanis gets nervous once he recalls their last visit to the Cantori Diamond. “It seems you have a knack for observation, Lucanis.” Viago leans forward, planting a kiss onto Rook’s chest, looking up to watch how her brows knit just so when his lips touch her. His eyes fall to Lucanis, pupils blown wide and hands massaging Rook. Viago pulls back, making her whine from the sudden cold. “Our safeword is saffron. Use it when you need to.” Viago says, and Lucanis nods. “Good. Now kiss.” He doesn’t ask, he commands.

Rook turns to look over her shoulder at Lucanis. Her lips are pursed and glossy, her shirt falling off of one shoulder. Lucanis has to hold himself back from absolutely devouring her completely. He hesitates, unsure what to do with his hands, but settles for cradling Rook’s face. He presses his lips to her’s, gently like they have all the time in the world. Rook is not surprised by Lucanis’ softness, allowing him to lead and take his time doing whatever he wants to do. Viago intently watches, studying how Lucanis seems to shake a little when Rook places a hand on his arm. He can feel Rook’s core heating up in his lap, how her hips buck whenever Viago shifts underneath her and his erection rubs against her thigh. 

Viago unexpectedly moves his hands to Rook’s waist, rubbing affectionately and steadying her, making her moan into Lucanis’ kiss; it’s enough to completely break him. He removes his hands only for a moment to rip off his vest, but his lips never leave her’s. Rook takes a risk, and opens her mouth slightly allowing Lucanis in. He accepts the offer, fervently and needily, their tongues moving with each other and becoming more desperate by the second. Without opening her eyes, Rook uses her free hand to grab Viago by the shirt and pull him up, mere inches away from Lucanis’ face. Rook, sandwiched between the two men, tilts her head away from them. “Your turn.” Her voice is hoarse. Lucanis looks at Viago, whose harsh stare stokes the fire inside him even more. When his brown, doe eyes flick between Viago’s lips and hard glare, unable to be the one who makes the first move, Viago shakes his head before diving in.

Viago kisses like it might be his last night alive. He takes instead of gives, keeping one hand on Rook’s waist and moving the other to the back of Lucanis’ neck to pull him closer. One of them groans, Rook isn’t sure who, but it’s enough to make her roll her hips against Viago and her backside against Lucanis. Lucanis shudders when Viago presses his tongue into his mouth, unapologetic in getting what he wants. Rook unbuttons Viago’s shirt for him, her hands roving over his hard chest as he breathes in Lucanis like he’s his only source of air. When they break apart, it’s only so Lucanis can do the same, exposing his abdomen and how the hair that covers his muscles travels down, to his happy trail, and then disappears under his trousers. 

Viago and Rook take the opportunity to get reacquainted with each other, her arms stretching over his shoulders as he turns his attention to her. Their kiss is immediately all passion, tongue, and teeth; Rook even bites his lip, making Viago’s brow furrow. Lucanis watches as Rook wraps her legs around Viago’s waist, how his large hands grab onto her back. He begins to palm himself through his pants, his thighs tightening from the slight pressure. Viago peels Rook’s shirt off, exposing her naked chest, and he tilts his head, frowning. “No bra?” Rook shrugs.

“I always get what I want.” When she looks at Lucanis, her smile is deadly. “Stand up. Both of you.” Viago huffs, not used to being the one that takes orders, but obliges her. Rook kneels in front of them and uses both hands to stroke their clothed erections, making them tense. Viago takes her hand off of him, and whips his belt off, shimmying out of his pants and briefs in one fell swoop. He’s already leaking pre-cum, his tip red from the lack of stimulation.

“Stop teasing.” He tangles his hand into Rook’s hair, pulling her face towards his cock. Viago uses his hand to push her back and forth, occasionally making Rook gag as he hits the back of her throat. Lucanis slowly strips, distracted by the two of them completely. Once he’s naked, he guides Rook’s hand to him, gasping as she grips onto him. While she swirls her tongue around Viago, she pumps her hand over Lucanis, using her thumb to swipe over his tip occasionally just so she can hear how he whines. Viago steals a glance over at Lucanis, watching how his stomach flexes with every stroke from Rook. To his credit, he allows Rook to come up for air. 

She turns her attention to Lucanis, raising her eyes to his as she slowly takes him entirely into her mouth. He stretches one hand behind his head, every muscle in his arm contorting. He notices how Viago hisses in pleasure at this, and breathlessly laughs. “Are you a fan of my arms, Viago?” Rook flattens her tongue, licking a long strip from Lucanis’ balls to his tip. 

“I’m a fan of watching a beautiful woman go down on a beautiful man. The muscles are a nice side benefit.” Lucanis can’t deny that he blushes at the compliment, still shy in spite of his current station. He uses his other hand to brush Rook’s hair out of her face, holding the few strands that stick back with a loose grip. Rook nods, out of appreciation or arousal Lucanis can’t tell. With a satisfied sigh, she pulls away, Lucanis grunting at the sudden lack of warmth. But ever the gentleman, he offers a strong grip when Rook decides to stand. Wordlessly, she moves past the men and sits on the small bed, slipping out of her pajama pants along the way.

She spreads her legs, using her index and middle finger to spread her lips too, giving them a full view of their very near future. Lucanis bites his knuckles to stifle the noise that escapes him. “I want to watch Lucanis try.” She dips a finger in between her folds, bucking at the stimulation. 

Lucanis aims to please; he turns to Viago and gets on his knees, practically drooling at his length. “He can certainly try.” Viago drawls, running his fingers through Lucanis’ mullet. “I won’t play nice, though.” Viago grabs himself and pumps a couple times. “Open.” He commands. Lucanis tentatively agrees, sticking his tongue out; Viago slaps his tip in Lucanis’ mouth, smearing pre-cum onto his lips. He thrusts shallowly into Lucanis’ mouth, allowing him to adjust to his size. Lucanis doesn’t think he’s ever been as hard as he is right now, but knowing Viago he denies himself the pleasure of masturbation. Instead, he rests his arms on his thighs, arching his back for a better angle. 

“He follows instructions well.” Viago pulls Lucanis’ head back, forcing him to look up at the man. Lucanis chokes at the new angle, Viago hitting the top of his throat and momentarily cutting off his air. “Just a bit longer. You can do that, right?” Lucanis nods eagerly, spit dripping out of his mouth and tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Good boy.” 

Rook isn’t even touching herself anymore, just enjoying the show these two are putting on. She watches in awe as Lucanic copies her, circling Viago’s tip with his tongue and even flicking the sensitive slit. Viago’s stomach clenches, twitching into Lucanis’ mouth. “Just like that–doing such a good job.”

“You know, I think you’re nicer to him than me.” Viago laughs at Rook’s remark, sliding an eye open to the woman on the couch.

“Because I don’t have to worry about Lucanis the moment he leaves Treviso.” Rook stands, moving behind Viago to try and gain some semblance of his point of view. She slides her hands over his abs, tickling him as they settle where his thighs and stomach meet. The touch makes Viago thrust harshly into Lucanis’ mouth.

“You worry about me?” Rook murmurs against his skin, using one hand to join Lucanis in pleasing Viago. She grips the base of his arousal, lewdly spitting onto her palm and rubbing, occasionally dipping her fingers underneath to tease him. The added help allows Lucanis to focus on Viago’s head, where he’s the most sensitive. Viago’s jaw clenches at the sensation, his hands tangled in Lucanis’ hair flexing with every move from the man beneath him and the woman behind him.

“In my own way.” Viago admits, rolling his eyes at how he can feel Rook smile against him. “If you actually completed any contracts, I wouldn’t have to–” He falters when Rook slaps his tip against Lucanis’ tongue the way he did. 

“You talk too much.” Rook lets go of Viago, moving to stand over Lucanis as well. He glances up at Rook, his eyes grazing over her naked form so he can remember each curve and dip. He’s unsure if this will happen again, if Rook would ever want him without the added benefit of Viago. Would she give this up just to have him, entirely and by himself? He moves without warning, shifting his body to kneel in front of Rook instead, resting his chin against her and bringing a hand up in between her thighs. He dips a finger into her folds carefully, unsure of what exactly to do but hoping that his adoration for her will outshine his lack of experience.

Rook gasps at the sudden touch, her arousal coating Lucanis’ fingers. He’s careful yet curious, watching how her mouth forms an “O” shape at certain places, or how her little gasps turn to moans when he places just the right amount of pressure in other places. He presses his thumb against her clitoris, making Rook keen over and grip his face, pulling his mouth closer to where his fingers dexterously work. “Lucanis, please.” She moans, his name on her lips making his heart soar.

“Nothing would bring me greater pleasure.” He mumbles, dipping his mouth between her legs and tentatively taking a taste of Rook. It’s everything that he dreamed of, the way her fingers pull his hair, how her legs tremble around his face, how her eyes tighten close when Lucanis laps at her sex. Lucanis grips her thigh and lifts it, draping her leg over his shoulder and granting him further access. Unconsciously, Rook starts grinding on his face, his beard and mustache rubbing against the inside of her thighs softly. He takes a risk and moves his tongue lower to her entrance, teasing the inside of her hole with his mouth. Rook bucks even harder, chanting Lucanis’ name like how he used to chant the Maker’s in the Ossuary.

Lucanis has made the unfortunate mistake of letting Viago out of his sight. He’s unsure when, but the other man has crouched down behind Lucanis on his knees as well. He feels Viago’s long fingers trail the expanse of his back as his mouth latches onto Rook’s clit. Viago’s hands travel lower, then lower, until they’re cupping Lucanis’ ass. Lucanis’ brow furrows in pleasure when Viago spanks him, hard. Viago rubs the red, hand shaped welt beginning to form on Lucanis appreciatively before he moves in between Lucanis’ legs. He spits on his index and middle finger, creating some form of lubrication for Lucanis because Viago knows the man will need it.

With a surprising amount of care, Viago circles Lucanis’ hole. Lucanis isn’t unfamiliar with the sensation, but it’s another thing entirely for Viago to be the one performing this on him. Lucanis arches his back at the pleasure, pushing himself further between Rook’s legs. Viago takes things slowly, only rubbing the rim and adding a very small amount of pressure when Lucanis presses back against his fingers. The stimulation makes Lucanis moan wildly into Rook’s pussy, those vibrations in turn driving Rook even crazier. “Tell me if it’s too much.” Viago whispers, leaning over Lucanis and kissing his shoulder.

With as much restraint as he can muster, Viago pushes a finger inside of Lucanis. It’s enough to make Lucanis pull his mouth away from Rook and start kissing her thighs, the pleasure from both ends almost being too much for him. Viago winces against Lucanis’ skin, the tightness almost being enough to drive Viago to the edge and fuck him right now. Rook pets Lucanis’ hair lovingly, her touch enough to calm him down and focus on how the pain slowly ebbs into just pleasure. Viago works Lucanis’ hole for a while, giving him time to adjust to the idea of being filled, his tongue and teeth lapping at Lucanis’ neck. 

Lucanis returns his attention back to Rook, his passion for learning how to eat her out reignited by Viago’s fingers. The tip of his tongue circles her clitoris, noting how Rook enjoys more attention to the bundle of nerves than she does to any other part of her anatomy. She sighs with relief when Lucanis follows Viago’s guidance and drives a finger inside of Rook, his mouth still working her outer folds. Viago adds another finger inside of Lucanis, stretching the man to prepare him for the inevitable. It takes everything within Lucanis to relax and loosen up, as he expected this would happen, but actually having to practice to take Viago wholly is a different beast.

Viago’s pace quickens, the tension within Lucanis’ loins making his chest heave under the pressure of his impending orgasm. Rook is clearly close too, her hips snapping as she starts to fuck Lucanis’ face to chase her release. Lucanis relents, sticking his tongue out so Rook can use him however she wants. His nose bumps against her clit, and when Lucanis is finally able to open his eyes since Viago started fingering him, the sight of Rook is almost enough to push him completely over the edge. She’s sticky with sweat, her hands steadying Lucanis to give her more leverage and her nails digging into his scalp. Her pupils are blown out from arousal, making her eyes appear almost black. Her attention is entirely on Lucanis, the way he looks underneath her, how he moans partially from his own pleasure but also from her’s. “Lucanis, I’m so close–”

And just like that, Viago pulls out completely from Lucanis. The lack of stimulation makes Lucanis groan in frustration, turning around to glower at Viago. Rook, also denied of her orgasm, glares at Viago. While the looks from both assassins could probably kill most people, Viago is not most people. “Rook, lay down.” He commands, standing up briefly to grab a condom from her bedside table. She obeys him, grabbing a cushion and placing it underneath her lower back. Lucanis has yet to move, and with this view of Rook, he’s not sure he’ll ever want to leave. She instinctively wraps her legs around Lucanis’ hips, their two cores at the same height. He remembers something Viago did when he watched, and lowers his cock to Rook’s heat, slowly rubbing the shaft in between her lips. She squirms, her ankles latching together against Lucanis’ back. He presses his tip to her clit, adding just enough pressure to not completely slip inside, but enough so Rook’s back arches off the ground and her hands fly to Lucanis’ arms.

Viago rejoins them, slotting himself behind Lucanis between his legs while he slides the condom on. Lucanis moves to stand to grab one himself, but Rook stops him. “Don’t worry. Viago’s just a clean freak about certain…” She turns her head to the side. “Holes.” Lucanis blushes with understanding, and continues rutting against Rook. Her nails leave marks in his flesh, and she groans in anger. “Any day now, Viago!” He looks over Lucanis’ shoulder and tuts at Rook.

“So desperate.” Is all he says while removing Lucanis’ hand from his own cock. Viago grabs Lucanis’ member, now rubbing it against Rook. “May I?” He asks, and Lucanis enthusiastically nods. Viago guides Lucanis to Rook’s entrance, sinking Lucanis into her walls at an agonizing pace. Lucanis and Rook moan at the same time, his palms gripping her thighs just to pull her against him even more. 

He’s never felt this before, and although it’s probably obvious to Rook and Viago, they’re gracious enough to not say anything as he bites his bottom lip to hold the moans that threaten to spill out of his mouth and closes his eyes in fear of ejaculating early. It’s hot, hotter than his hand during the late nights spent in the Lighthouse where he’d lay there and think of Rook in this exact position just to get a few hours of rest. And tight, tighter than his collar when he’d look at Viago all those years ago across a banquet table and find his hard stare already fixed onto Lucanis. “Gracias a Hacedor–” The Spanish tumbles out from Lucanis before he realizes, his babbling more incoherent the deeper Viago moves Lucanis inside.

When he’s fully sheathed in Rook, her thighs plush against his, he stills for a moment, his brow knit in an emotion unreadable by Viago or Rook. He breathes in through his nose, out his mouth, Viago letting go of Lucanis and moving back behind him. “Lucanis? You okay?” Rook asks, worried.

“Yes.” Lucanis still has not opened his eyes.

“Are you sure? We can stop–”

“Please, no.” Lucanis whines. Viago chuckles from behind him.

“Is it everything you imagined, Lucanis?” Viago whispers into his ear, his own cock prodding against Lucanis. 

“It’s–” Lucanis gulps, every twitch of his body sending shocks down his spine. “It’s better. So much better.” Rook shifts underneath him, her own arousal mounting along with Lucanis’. 

“Rook usually likes to hear how good she feels.” Viago’s breath against Lucanis’ ear has him spinning, but he’s still grounded enough to catch the obvious hint. Lucanis cautiously opens one eye, then the other, returning to the situation at hand. He looks at where their two bodies meet, his shaft disappearing inside her, and almost comes right there. His eyes roam over Rook’s body, memorizing how she looks underneath him now, how her lips tremble at the smallest movement from Lucanis. Moving a hand to her face, he strokes her cheek with his thumb and brushes some of her hair out of the way. She smiles up at him, small and soft, like even now she’s afraid that he won’t like what he sees. Or maybe it’s that, in this moment, she sees Lucanis for who he is completely and won’t look away, despite everything.

“You’re beautiful.” Lucanis says, ignoring how absolutely wonderful she feels wrapped around him. Rook glances away, tilting her head as though her beauty and grace are something to be ashamed of. Gently, Lucanis uses his thumb to guide her gaze back to his, and he leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead. “May I?” Lucanis asks for permission to move. Rook nods, her hands moving to his and intertwining their fingers together.

When Lucanis first pulls out and thrusts inside her, he’s almost certain he won’t last longer than two minutes. He’s unsure how he’ll live without this for the rest of his life, Rook’s whines and gasps making his head spin. His hips slap against her’s, trying to find a comfortable rhythm that won’t make him come without warning. “Don’t start without me.” Viago grumbles, lining himself up with Lucanis’ entrance and finding a grip on Lucanis’ hips. Lucanis stills once again, completely inside Rook, knowing that if he was moving while Viago first pressed inside him he would surely release his arousal in mere seconds.

Viago’s tip presses against Lucanis’ hole, and he slowly moves past Lucanis’ rim to his warm insides. Both men let out guttural moans, Lucanis more so, Viago taking as much time as he wants to completely fill the other man. Lucanis’ hands tighten within Rook’s, squeezing her so hard that her fingertips turn red for a moment. “So good, so good for me…” Viago mumbles, beginning to move back and forth inside Lucanis. While Lucanis has more girth than Viago, Viago is long, longer than anything Lucanis has ever put inside himself. His thrusts push and pull Lucanis inside Rook, doing all the work for him, the overstimulation almost too much for Lucanis. 

Viago finds a rhythm more quickly than Lucanis, the experienced man laughing at the state of the one sandwiched between him and Rook. “Can’t take it Lucanis? You can always tap out, you know. Settle for watching, like you usually do.” The challenge is enough to make Lucanis rise to the occasion. He matches Viago’s tempo, the sound of skin slapping skin almost drowning out how all three moan lewdly. Viago takes control, angling his hips up to hit Lucanis’ prostate, attempting to break Lucanis’ concentration on not coming. Lucanis cusses, out of arousal and anger.

“You’re not–not being fair.” He whines, pressing his face into the crook of Rook’s neck and biting down. She gasps, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

“Hard to be, when you look like this.” Viago traces Lucanis’ back muscles, watching how they go taunt with every touch. He briefly interlocks his hand with Rook, squeezing her palm in appreciation before increasing his speed. “How does it feel, Lucanis? Use your words.” Lucanis is silent, the only thoughts he’s able to comprehend fully being Rook and Viago, earning another spank from Viago. He pulls up, away from Rook, leaning against Viago’s chest and tilting his head to make eye contact with him.

“Incredible. You–She–Both of you feel incredible.” Viago looks down at Rook, raising an eyebrow, asking if she deems his answer acceptable or not. She smiles and nods, lifting her legs so that her feet rest on Lucanis’ shoulder. Viago is relentless; he kisses Lucanis, his tongue moving in tandem with his and growling when Lucanis moans into his mouth. Rook reaches a hand down between her own legs and stimulates herself, her core tightening in pleasure not only at the sight of Viago and Lucanis but also at how her fingers rub against her clitoris perfectly. Lucanis stutters at the new sensation, breaking the kiss to moan her name. “I’m…I’m close–”

“Just a little longer, Lucanis.” Viago’s teeth are gritted, his own orgasm now imminent as well.

“I can’t–” Lucanis’ hips stutter again. He starts to imagine how it’d feel to completely empty himself inside of Rook, what it looked like when Viago did the same, how he said he’d breed her–

Viago pulls out completely. Lucanis gasps at the sudden feeling of emptiness, how it’s almost painful, and stills inside of Rook. Viago uses his strength to pull Lucanis out of her, and stands over the other two, taking the condom off. Maker, if this is what Rook went through every time she had sex with him, Lucanis could see why she was hell bent on annoying the shit out of him everywhere else. Tears form in the corner of his eyes, his cock being so sensitive from his two denied orgasms that it hurts. “Lucanis, lay down.” If Viago feels bad, he certainly doesn’t let it show. Rook wipes Lucanis’ tears away, sympathetic to his plight, and helps him lay down on the chaise. Viago grabs another condom and slides it on while Rook shifts on top of Lucanis, resting on his upper thigh to give him more time to rest. 

No one speaks, but they move as one, Viago coming up behind Rook much like he did with Lucanis, and picking her hips up so that her core rests on top of Lucanis’ member. She gasps with Lucanis, his hands coming up to grab at anything, eventually finding her thighs. Rook and Viago look down at him, watching as she raises her hips and tantalizingly lowers herself onto Lucanis, his moans increasing in volume as he finds himself back inside of her. Lucanis’ eyes flit between the two of them, how Viago kisses Rook’s neck, how his hands grab her breasts from behind. Viago licks a long strip from her shoulder to her neck, making Rook shudder. 

Maker, this is addicting. They’re addicting.

Rook bounces on top of him, the sounds from where their bodies meet so obscene that Lucanis blushes at the idea of anyone walking by her room at this hour. She leans down and kisses Lucanis, her whimpers against his lips making him grunt in anticipation of his orgasm. He wraps his arms around her and begins to pound up, taking control for the first time since the night began. Rook wails in surprise, biting down onto Lucanis’ lip so hard she draws blood. 

Viago presses against her other entrance, only giving a few seconds of warning before he sheathes himself inside of her completely in one motion. It’s enough to knock the air out of her, her arms tightening around Lucanis’ neck for support as she puts her entire weight onto him. Viago would never admit it, but he’s as sensitive right now as the other two are. The way his cock feels inside Rook, how he can feel Lucanis move in and out of her, how Lucanis’ and Rook’s lips move against each other sloppily is almost enough to make him come right now. He holds onto the last shred of his self control, his hands gripping onto Rook’s ass and spreading her cheeks apart to get a better look. He makes a noise in between a chuckle and a moan, watching how Lucanis’ and his cocks move in tandem with each other, one pulling out while the other pushes in.

“How are you feeling, Viago?” Lucanis mutters, breaking his kiss with Rook briefly to speak. Viago’s eyes roam up the expanse of Rook’s back to Lucanis’ face, where he sees a string of spit connecting the two of them. Lucanis’ lips are red and glossy, his entire face scrunched up in concentration. Viago laughs at Lucanis’ question, the tables now turned on him as he struggles to find the words.

“Never better.” Is his response, each word punctuated by a particularly hard thrust. “Rook? You okay?” He asks. She doesn’t speak, merely groaning in affirmation against Lucanis’ shoulder. Viago decides to let it slide for now. All of his thoughts are dominated by this moment: the sound of their bodies moving against each other, the taste of Rook and Lucanis’ lips against his, the feeling of Rook’s body being able to take both of them. Lucanis seems to be a natural at this, his hands finding Rook’s hips once again and moving them for her when she can’t. She is completely fucked out of her mind, which is exactly where Viago wants her. “Perfect.” He whispers, low enough that even Lucanis can’t hear.

It’s only a few more thrusts from both of them when Rook chimes in. “I’m gonna–” She pauses when Lucanis winces in pleasure, her voice enough to bring him to completion. “–Gonna come.” Viago pushes his hair out of his face before leaning down over the other two. The motion presses his cock inside of her against Lucanis’, whose eyes roll into the back of his head.

“I’m close too.” He stammers out, nerves almost getting the better of him when Viago’s hard stare flicks to him. “Please, Viago…” His heart flips when he remembers how Rook said the exact same thing just a couple days ago. It feels like a lifetime ago now. Viago considers the both of them, his abdomen tensing as he also comes close to the edge. While he could go at this for hours, unfortunately for all three of them they have lives to return to. He moves his lips mere inches away from Lucanis’, teasing him with the promise of a kiss. 

“Come for me.” He murmurs, pressing his mouth against Lucanis’ as the other two practically sigh in relief, finally being allowed to orgasm. The way Viago grunts into Lucanis’ mouth is enough to tip him over, spilling himself into Rook’s messy cunt. The feeling of Lucanis’ seed being released in her makes Rook clench hard around the both of them, her orgasm washing over her in waves. Her thighs tremble as Lucanis continues to fuck her through his own orgasm, ensuring nothing is wasted. Viago is the last to finish, pressing a final harsh thrust into her as he comes. Lucanis’ tongue moves with Viago’s, his cock still shallowly thrusting into her as her release starts to subside. 

There’s a long, long break before anyone moves. Viago pulls out, careful not to hurt Rook, pressing a kiss against her ear. “You were perfect. An absolute dream.” He mutters, tasting the sweat that sticks to her body. Lucanis picks Rook up for a moment, only to also pull out, before setting her down gently on top of him. The only thing he can hear is Rook’s breath against his neck, and her heart beating against his chest. It hammers loudly although her breathing is slowed, a cheap shot at calming her entire body down so that way she’ll be able to actually stand tomorrow morning. Lucanis’ hands stroke through her hair, pulling her so close that their bodies could almost meld into one.

Viago bends down, pressing his knee into the chaise, and spreads Rook’s legs, using his thumb to slip inside her vagina and groaning a long chain of curses when Lucanis’ cum drips out of her. Rook jumps at his touch, still sensitive after being rutted against by the two of them. When Viago removes his fingers from inside her, Rook sighs in relief, but cries out once more when Viago attaches his mouth to her core instead. His tongue digs inside her, pulling more of Lucanis’ seed out of her and into his mouth.

She pushes herself up onto her hands and arches her back, moaning deliciously while Viago grips her backside and spreads her even more. While he grunts into her, his mouth against her wet cunt creates such crass sounds that Lucanis breathlessly laughs in equal parts embarrassment but also arousal. Viago swallows everything he can get, uncaring whether it came from Rook or Lucanis. He laps at her outer folds, his mouth sucking on her sensitive bud and forcing Rook to cover her mouth so she doesn’t scream.

Finally, Viago relents, pulling his mouth away from her core with a satisfying pop. Lucanis gazes at him in amazement, the other man standing over the two and his icy stare meeting Lucanis’ wide eyed face. He notices how some of Lucanis’ release drips down his own chin; and without breaking eye contact, swipes his thumb across his face and licks, swallowing deeply. Lucanis’ cock jumps at the mere sight of Viago consuming a part of him, all while Rook’s body presses against him in all the right places.

Lucanis brings a weary hand to his face and rubs his eyes, sighing. “You’re going to kill me.” Again, he’s unsure who exactly he’s speaking to.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi! I love your fics!

Can you do a Snobby!Rich!M!Reader x Jason Todd where Jason sees the reader at one of Bruce’s gala, boasting about how rich he (his dad) is. Jason thinks nothing of it at first until the reader starts coming up to Jason and bragging about how much richer he is etc. Eventually, Jason gets so fed up he takes the reader to his room where he fucks the shit out of the reader until the reader is begging and whining. Kinda like brat taming.

Jason Todd x Snobby Rich Male Reader

ficlet

Might have made the reader kind of an airhead, on accident. Hes also got some muscle, but in the “I only have muscles to look good” typa way.

Trying to stretch the writers muscle, since writers block has had me in a violent chokehold for weeks now. Not proof read for this reason, and because i have a major headache.

Jason rarely attended the various galas Bruce, or rather the Wayne name or Wayne enterprises, threw. He had only been dragged along because of a bet he had lost during their last patrol, meaning he had no choice but to go, since none of the others wanted to go to this specific gala. New investors were invited, which meant new money, which meant snobbier than usual rich folk.

It wasn’t hard to see you were new money when you arrived, from the way you carried yourself to the way you dressed. You didn’t stand out much amongst the rest of the new money folk, in expensive brands that cared more about the name than the actual design. But compared to the usual old money that normally attended Wayne galas, you stood out like a sore thumb. The way you were bragging didn’t help either, though, everyone seemed to be bragging, like some kind of measuring contest.

It only became a problem when you started bragging to him. You didn’t even seem to care that he was a Wayne, and definitely much richer than you. He found himself indulging your rambling and peacocking in the beginning, it wasn’t Jasons fault his type were cocky little brats who thought they were untouchable.

The way you fluttered around, chest puffed out, hand on your cocked hip as your lip pouted in a way that made Jason want to bite it. As you grew more tipsy your bragging went from cute to obnoxious, making a heady annoyance start brimming under his skin.

Jason felt what little patience he had left snap when you were so obnoxious as to pull up your Gucci shirt, your lips in such a cocky grin as you showed him the red diamond piercings in your nipples. Seeing the red against your flushed skin made his jaws clench, and before your next brag and boast could sputter out of you, Jasons large hand closed around your bicep and pulled you his way.

You stumbled as Jason lugged you up the many stairs inside the manor, up to the upper floors that were never open during galas, down the hallways and in through a door. There wasn’t much time for you to look around, or comment about the poor looking design, before Jason was upon you like a starved wolf upon a rabbit.

His lips were dry, and this close you could feel the scars carved against them. The noise that left you was borderline pathetic as his tongue slid between your lips, the thick muscle dragging against the roof of your mouth, before Jason truly started devouring you. Grasping uselessly at his suit jacket, you felt so unsure on your feet and dizzy, like you were about to collapse against him.

A sharp gasp tumbled out of you as Jason picked you up, his strong arms flexing like you weighed nothing. It clicked somewhere in the back of your mind that those muscles of his weren’t just for show. Not like you who only worked out and ate well to have the appearance the masses only dreamed of. As you were lost in your thoughts Jason threw you down on the bed, his strong hands grasping at your shirt and jacket, ripping the fabric down the middle, resulting in you whining and crowing in the way only a spoiled rich person could.

The breath that he huffed out was sharp and short, his green eyes flicking up to meet yours, so much intensity in them that you felt your spine straighten. “Ill buy you something better” he grunted as he ripped your pants and boxers, shredding the fugly fabric and throwing the strips off to the side like useless trash.

It was habit at this point that had you whining and complaining, even going as far as to roll onto your front and kicking your legs in a pitiful way, complaining the entire time about him not respecting you or your things, and how he was just some dumb musclehead that didn’t know anything.

Jason didn’t even have the energy to act like he was listening, watching as the muscles of your back flex and pull. There was no true definition for your build, no muscles built from hard work or a rough life, like you were some kinda kendoll with the perfect muscle to fat ratio and specialized trainers. But it did give you an amazing ass, round and perky, the sight of it making Jason drool with the need to taste.

Your next protest was completely cut off as Jasons rough scarred hands grabbed your cheeks, spreading them just far enough for him to bury his mouth between them. A high-pitched squeak that melted into a watery whine rang from you, as Jasons broad wet tongue buried itself in your hole. Burying your face into one of his pillows, you tried to silence the embarrassing noises, eyes prickling with unshed tears as Jason’s hand snuck under your hips to fondle your weeping hardness.

Jason pulled back with a wet slurp, his lips and chin covered in drool as he glanced up over the expanse of your back, seeing the way your head was ducked down and hiding. “I thought you were whining, come on, tell me how much you hate it” he purred, voice deep and hot, making your insides clench as it felt like honey running down your spine.

You lift your face enough to stutter out a few half thought out protests and fussy words, none of them actually making much sense. Behind you Jason smirked, knowing what little brain you had was struggling hard to piece together your usual bravado, which also allowed him to coat his fingers in lube and warm it up enough to not be too uncomfortable.

Once again, your words were cut off as Jasons slicked fingers slid inside you, Jason crawling up enough to rest against your back. He was much bulkier than you were, his scarred torso pressed against your own blemish free back, his weight pressing you deeper into the mattress.

There were a few attempts to insult him, but the way Jason seemed to have expertly found your prostate, and how he kept rubbing against it, you found it very hard to form your lips to muster up any meaningful words. It all felt like too much, everything was too hot, too slick, too stimulating but also not enough, and Jason only seemed to enjoy your reactions more and more.

Through it all Jason made sure to press kisses against your shoulders and neck, the dirtiest but most delicious words mumbled into your ear, as his fingers twisted and turned in ways that had you tearing up. You didn’t even notice how he added more fingers, until Jason finally withdrew them completely and he sat back on his haunches.

It took more brainpower than you had at the moment to peek over your shoulder, your eyes shooting wide at his overly scarred torso, but also the weapon he was rolling a condom down onto. As if sensing your thoughts Jason crawled back on top of you, rubbing himself against you as he reassured you that it would fit, you just had to be good.

The comment about your behavior made you sour, scrunching up your brows and sticking out your lip in a pout. Instead of scolding you, Jason just hooked an arm around your upper torso, turning you enough to kiss you, just to distract you enough to keep you loose and pliant for him to slide inside. The stretch had you whining, but it didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as you thought it would, and soon Jason was seated fully inside.

It had never been Jason’s plan to go easy on you, but he gave you enough time to adjust before he started moving, drawing back before pushing back in with a strong thrust of his hips. Like his fingers Jason seemed way too skilled at finding your prostate, which made your arms give out and sending you crashing back into the mattress as his hips shoved against your own.

His tone was almost taunting as Jason lifted you up by the grip he had around your torso, his voice thick and mocking in a hot and fluid way, reminding you to breathe. It was only then that you realized you had been holding your breath, the air fucked right out of your lungs every time he shoved into you, and his fast and deep pace gave you no time to gasp air back into your lungs.

Tears blurred your vision as you panted and almost drooled, hands clawing and grasping at the sheets. You were sure you must of cum at least once, if not twice, but Jason gave you no time to bask in it or fully register it before the next jab against your prostate had you reeling.

The noises that left you might have been begs and pleas, for him to go harder, faster, for more, but you couldn’t have been sure. At some point Jason even started praising you, making sure to speak right into your ear, telling you just how good you were taking it, and wasn’t it just so much nicer to not be such a brat? A warbly whine left you in response, a full body shudder crashing through you, as you tumbled over the edge for what must have been the third time.

Jason seemed to finally have met his own end, a deep guttural groan ringing from his chest as you bottomed out, his eyes clenched and brows furrowed as he spilled into the rubber around his length. Part of him regretted not just taking you raw, but there was always next time.

You must have fallen asleep or passed out, as you were clean and in a pair of boxers when you next came too. You were even laying against Jason’s chest, one of his strong arms wrapped around your back to keep you pressed against him, ear against his pec, his heartbeat strong and even. A soft kiss was pressed against the top of your head, Jason muttering for you to go back to sleep.

And who were you to protest. Normally you would have started a fuss just because he thought he could order you around, but the way a deep satisfying exhaustion hung over you was enough to keep you quiet and compliant, for now. As you slumped back against him Jason just chuckled slightly, flipping to the next page in the book he was reading, his other hand rubbing up and down your back. Maybe you weren’t so bad as he had thought, Jason didn’t even mind your snooty attitude, since he gave him an excuse to tame the brat right out of you.

[elexaria]

Simon Riley who had been on a lookout for a particular peer of his after high school, sweet little girl who normally did all of the schoolwork for him. Even behind the teachers back. Even when their handwritings never, ever matched up; but the teachers only let her off because, at the very least, he was passing with an A.

Sweet, somewhat nerdy!Reader who actually felt bad for a guy, in general just a person, going through such a rough time when in reality school would only fuck up people into being robots for the government and absolutely do no help for the post puberty and traumatized Teenager!Simon. She tries to have sweets on her for whenever he pops in, also tries her hardest to be nice to the other Riley. Sweet young lady Reader who somehow becomes well known around their high school after winning a last minute game in volleyball, followed by basketball, tennis, track, and soccer. Medals and whatnot. Even earned a goddamn picture in the Coach’s office — the female coach, the male one who seemed to be more like a father to sweet Reader.

Sweet!Reader who is suddenly gone. Desk of hers absolutely empty. No pens, no pink notebooks mixed with pastels. Not her signature backpack in sight. No scent of hers, no constant chirping, no glances that arrived at Simon once she caught glimpse of him in the hallways right before first period. Third period feels… loud. Ironic since there’s a pin-drop silence, even breathing. He normally has the rest of the periods with her from then out, until seventh period. He could recite her entire schedule.

Simon can’t help fidgeting, biting his tongue from asking where she is. Not to be nosy, not to be teased, outwardly and fucking pushed into the lockers teased. Perhaps she was coincidentally absent?

Years pass on, evidently screaming she was, in fact, gone. Even on missions, Simon can’t help but glance everywhere. He’s more fucked up, a bitter version, working exactly for the monarchy (almost forgot he’s British, for God’s sakes) and saving his people.

And just one day, one day that everything seemed normal for Johnny and the rest of Simon’s boys, he catches a goddamn glimpse of her. Her face, specifically. Rushing around, apron around her waist and down her thighs. Appropriate attire of a waitress serving a man with a comically huge cigarette and in a suit whilst speaking to another duplicate of his.

His grip on his whiskey tightens.

(Andddddd you continue!!!)

-🍓

ohoho, strawb anon you genius >:)

simon feels his chest tighten up, his grip on his drink tightening as he glances at the mom and pop diner across the street. no… could it..?

before he can indulge himself with another thought, gaz nudges simon gently. “you alright there lt?” he asks sincerely, an eyebrow raised as he tries to figure out what simon was glancing at. he just grunts in response, relaxing his shoulders as he downs the last remaining drops of whiskey. “thought i saw someone. ‘scuse me—“ he murmurs in response, standing up from the pub booth as he saunters past gaz and up and leaves. when one of the lads asks where he’s going, simon grumbles out a ‘goin for a fag’ while lifting up a ciggie and his lighter.

simon leans against the alley wall that faces the diner, deep in thought as he exhales plumes of smoke while glaring right at the restaurant. come on, he thinks to himself, show yourself. he begins to wonder if he was just seeing things, like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert or something. wishful thinking, he muses to himself.

and just when he pushes himself up from off the wall, his lips drawn into a thin line in disappointment— he spots her.

she’s absolutely beautiful, breathtaking even. the faint crows feet around his eyes crease as his gaze softens. it’s funny how time has treated them both. one of the only friends he had considered himself to have during school has found herself working as a waitress, cute pinafore hugging her curves in all the right places— while he’s just a bigger, meatier version of the boy he once was. he’s just a husk of a man now. war’ll do that to a bloke.

he fidgets nervously with the zipper of his windbreaker, chewing the inside of his lip as he contemplates popping over to say hello. would that be weird? hell, would she even remember him anymore? his feet are itching to move, but he’s cemented right there— forced to stare at the diner, and the siren within that seemingly tempts him.

with a groan, simon pulls out his phone to text the group chat— “gonna head off, see you back on base” before shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. and with a clear of his throat, he steadily paces across the road to the mom and pop diner. simon feels sick with anticipation, a feeling he’s never really felt before in his life. even when he had found the bodies of his family, even through the torture— he’d never felt quite a strange amalgamation of emotions before. and that really freaked him out.

the diner’s door bell rings, the dulcet tones of doo wop music playing in the restaurant greeting simon when he steps inside. he waits patiently in the small foyer, calloused fingers reaching out to smooth over the creased laminate menu on display. and his heart damn near falls out of his ass when the waitress greets him with a friendly smile.

“hi there! welcome to pop’s EZ diner! my name is ____ and i’ll be your waitress today!” you greet enthusiastically, beaming up at the stranger stood in front of you, awkwardly glaring right into your soul with hauntingly beautiful stormy blue eyes. it was kind of creepy, but weirdly endearing. you just wrote it off, assuming he was socially awkward— after all, he clears his throat and struggles to find the words to say for almost a minute before finally opening his mouth.

“uh… hello. you don’t—“ simon pauses, clearing his throat again as his hands continue to fidget with the menu, his gaze nervously flitting from the menu back to you. “you don’t happen to recognise me, do ya? simon? simon riley? from st matthews?” he says, the timber of his voice itching the back of your brain in a pleasing way. st matthews? how did he know where you went to school?

you shake your head politely, nervously tucking your notepad and pen back into your pinafore pocket. “oh, um. sorry, i don’t—“ you reply, offering him a sympathetic smile. the man, simon, turns bright pink— again, nervously clearing his throat as he nods, lowering his head as he turns on his heels to head back out the diner. “oh, sorry. nevermind.” he murmurs, raising his hand politely to you before his hand reaches for the door handle.

and then it clicks.

oh. my. god.

it’s been YEARS since you had thought about simon riley, and suddenly your mind was being overwhelmed with all these memories of helping a teenage simon out in school. your eyes widen, a hand reaching out to gently grip on his windbreaker sleeve. he freezes, half glaring and half shocked as he turns to face you. but the expression on simon’s face eases when he realises that he was right, it was you.

“simon riley? oh my god—“ you gasp out, eyes wide as you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression, one that sends a shiver down simon’s spine.

what an interesting reunion this would turn out to be..

[reve-writes]

—anger; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 0,8k words. ʚ based off of this request. | kaz gets angry and finds comfort with the reader. ʚ established relationship; kaz is ok with being touched by reader. ʚ a/n i am a sucker for kaz being whipped. like this man is 100% the biggest softie for his s/o. we all remember the line from the book where he wanted to bottle inej's laugh and get drunk on it every night. if you have more kaz/grishaverse reqs my asks are open!

Kaz likes to think that he has somewhat of a good grasp of his emotions. He puts on masks like turning the back of his hand. His favourite one, though, is the one he wears the most. Cool and polished, unfeeling. Stoicity that demands respect and fear—that instills intimidation.

It's not so easy to slip on that mask when his entire body practically hums with anger, his fingers twitch underneath the gloves. The desire to fucking hit something burning under the leather.

The reason is clear, being whispered in both fearful hushes and celebratory gasps: Pekka Rollins has been released from Hellgate.

Life has a way on turning a good thing into something bad. Kaz is used to it. He has come to expect it. Hell, he expects the Dregs to eventually fall apart. Expects the Crows to eventually leave him. Expects you to get fed up with him and pack your things.

He doesn't expect Pekka Rollins to be released—after all he's done to make sure the bastard ends up where he deserves to.

“Kaz—” An unfortunate Dregs member speaks, perhaps wanting to relay the message or simply making formalities.

Kaz spins around. The desire to swing his cane in a bone-breaking arc is there. He doesn't.

“Not one word.”

That's all he says. The air in the Crow Club turns suffocating—all tension and no reprieve. Everything is still being conducted as normal: barkeeps are serving drinks, gamblers are opening tables and customers are drinking and carolling. To those who know Kaz well enough, know his tells and his history with the leader of the Dime Lions, it feels like walking across a glass bridge. Every step is followed by the anticipation of falling through.

Jesper turns to look at Wylan, who glances at Nina and Matthias. The couple turns to Inej. The Wraith stares at you. Unspoken words are exchanged from across the room, over rowdy drunkards and laughing gamblers.

The door to Kaz's office on the second floor slams shut. A tremble goes through the frame. It gets lost quickly, swallowed by the hustle bustle of the Barrell, but you notice. Of course, you do.

You stare at the rest of your friends and find them looking back at you expectantly. Jesper tilts his head towards the stairs.

You sigh, putting up a hand towards them—your first two fingers are crossed over each other. Then, you're already on the steps, knocking at the door gently.

“Kaz?”

You hear a loud sigh.

“Can I come in?”

“You'll barge in anyway.”

You let out a soft chuckle and push the door open. He sits on his desk, one leg stretching out to balance his body while the other is bent. He shakes his knee idly. Both of his hands grab the edge of the desk that over hangs, fingers tapping periodically.

He spares you a glance under the brim of his hat and relaxes slightly. Your presence alone melts the tautness in his shoulders. It always does.

“Are you alright?”

“Never been better.” Sarcasm laces each word.

You sigh, approaching him. He doesn't flinch away when you step into his personal space—something that has taken years to work towards and you're grateful for the point you've reached together.

“It's inevitable, you know?”

Your words cut but they're nothing short of the truth. Someone as powerful as Pekka Rollins will eventually get out—it isn't a reach to conclude. Deep down, Kaz knows as well. He just likes to think that he finally is able to lock away that part of his past and throw away the key, but it always comes crawling back. Meaner than ever.

“I know, schatje,” he says, defeated.

You step closer and pull the hat off of his head. Your hand runs through his scalp to smooth out the flattened hair, combing through smooth, dark strands. He leans into the touch. One of his hands go to your arm and brings the inside of your wrist to his lips.

“Everyone was scared of you,” you tease, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. He raises an eyebrow. You add, “Well, more than usual.”

He lets out a huff—the beginning of a chuckle. “As they should be.”

“You are not-so-scary right now.”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Only for you.”

“Ever the charmer.”

His arms come to rest around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he lets you soothe the anger—calm the storm inside him.

“We'll get him again, Kaz,” you say, pulling away slightly to look at him. “Together, okay? We've done it once. What's a second time?”

He hums. “You're right.”

“I often am.”

“Well, except for that time—”

“Kaz!”

It seems that you've successfully staved him off of being consumed by his anger, once again.

[ ]

[imaginehappyhavoc]

Heya! Could i ask for some headcanons of the thh boys with an ultimate crafter reader that likes making little trinkets for them? -🔥

A/N: Naww Crow!Reader!! (◠‿◠✿)

Pairing: thh boys x Reader

Genre: Fluff!

Warnings: N/A

Makoto Naegi:

♡ Oh, this makes him SO HAPPY.

♡ He’s the type to love absolutely anything homemade. Art, cooking, you name it.

♡ It’s honestly comedic how fast his face lights up when you say “I made something for you.”

♡ Just immediately the brightest smile he can manage, and all but running to see what it is this time.

♡ Sometimes he’ll even make you things in return! Though, it normally doesn’t come out as good as he’d like. His damned luck cycle gets in the way.

♡ He keeps everything you make him, no matter how much space it takes up.

Byakuya Togami (platonic):

♡ No one’s… ever done that for him before.

♡ He was raised to recognize an item’s worth by its price tag. Mainly because no one in his life actually cared enough to take time out of their day and make something for him.

♡ He’s honestly flabbergasted every time you do this tbh.

♡ He’ll just hold whatever you made in his hands, staring at it for a just a bit too long. It’s the only time you’ll ever see him speechless.

♡ You tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to keep it. He says he won’t.

♡ He does.

Yasuhiro Hagakure:

♡ Did you mean: Ultimate Hype Man?

♡ He’ll get a gift from you and he’s bolting to the common room of the dorms to show it off to everyone.

♡ Always something along the lines of “look at what my SUPER amazing, SUPER talented partner MADE for me!”

♡ He loves anything you have to give him, obviously, but especially if he doesn’t know what the fuck it is.

♡ The things he treasures most in the world are useless lil trinkets that look funky and cool. So if you like metalworking, he might marry you on the spot.

Leon Kuwata:

♡ He loves it so much he loves you so much and no he is totally not about to cry shut up-

♡ Leon is an unexpectedly emotional guy. He reacts to everything, especially positive things, with so much enthusiasm.

♡ So when you come up to him and sheepishly give him a small trinket you made for him, his “cool guy” front just melts.

♡ He’ll like. Hop. Just bounce in place like a really excited rabbit, because that’s basically what he is in this moment.

♡ He keeps it on him wherever he goes. Either he’ll fashion it into an add on for his chain necklace, or he’ll make use of one of his many pockets.

♡ Anytime someone asks about you, he’ll smile so wide and take it as an invitation to show them everything you’ve ever made for him.

Chihiro Fujisaki:

♡ Hugs. Just the tightest, most love-packed hugs you’ve ever experienced in your life.

♡ They try really hard not to cry, they really do, but they can’t help it. It just means so much to them that you would go out of your way to do that!

♡ They’ll ask you to teach them how to make stuff like what you make, so that they can return the favor.

♡ Whether you agree or not, Chihiro’s riding the high for the rest of the week.

♡ They go to class the next day and wait so impatiently for someone to ask about the new charm on their school bag so they have an excuse to ramble about you.

♡ Another person who will keep your trinkets with them all the time.

Mondo Owada:

♡ What a coincidence! He loves making things for you, too!

♡ Only difference is that, while you love to make small trinkets, Mondo likes to make larger, wooden trinkets.

♡ It’s a match made in heaven, honestly. Biweekly gift exchanges.

♡ When you give your gifts to him, it’s kinda like watching a big dog trying to play with a much smaller animal.

♡ He’s so excited, and he knows he has to be gentle, but it’s so hard for him to contain himself! He’ll hold it so gingerly so as not to break it, but every other part of his body’s wiggling because of how happy he is.

♡ He admires your craftsmanship so much, and he loves being able to see all your little design quirks in the things you make for him.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru:

♡ He will straight up cry, and he does not care how many people look at him weird because of it.

♡ It was rare that Taka received gifts at all, never mind gifts that were so personal!

♡ That was, until he met you.

♡ Any gift that you make for him by hand will be treasured so dearly, but especially things that are related to his interests.

♡ You once made him a keychain in the form of a teeny tiny Kendo sword. He kissed you for a solid ten minutes because he was so deeply moved by your affection for him.

♡ He insists on repaying you in some way for everything you make him, though he doesn’t quite know how.

♡ He settles on: anything you need, you get.

Hifumi Yamada (platonic):

♡ The crowd goes WILD.

♡ Of all people, Hifumi can appreciate handmade gifts. He’s given so many of them before, after all.

♡ He loves your trinkets so much that he actually— and stay with me here cause this is a doozy— takes down his figurines and puts your crafts up instead.

♡ Your classmates are convinced you just triggered The End Times because of that but whatever.

♡ He shows them off just as proudly, too.

♡ Like: “Hey, Yamada, what’s all that on your bookshelf?” “I’m SO glad you asked!” *pulls up a 300 page PowerPoint essay.

♡ In return, you get any art you want. Free of charge. You lucky dog.

[watarfallar]

Desert Duo treats because it's a week until Christmas

Grian: I’m going to get so much done today. Scar: I’ll hold you to that. *8 hours later* Scar: So how much did you get done? Grian: One thing. Scar: Well, that’s one more than usual.

Scar: So my therapist was talking to me and she said that I really just need to break down my walls and let people in. Scar: So I’ve decided to break the fourth wall. Scar: *looks at camera* Hi there. I use humor as a coping mechanism.

Scar: Hey, are you alright with swearing? Asking for a friend. Grian: Yeah? Scar: Bitch.

Grian: *Gives a bouquet to Scar* Scar: You know I'm allergic. Grian: That's the point.

Grian: Is this mistletoe? Scar: Uh, no, no, that is basil. Grian: Too bad cause if it was mistletoe I was gonna kiss you. Scar: Yeah, no, it’s still basil.

Grian: What have I done wrong?! Scar: Everything. For your entire life.

Scar: If it’s any consolation, they got me here on a very misleading text message. Grian: Technically, you are about to be screwed in the biology room.

Scar: What is wrong with you? Grian: Many, many things… Grian: And most of them are your fucking fault.

Scar: Live fast, die young, leave behind a pretty corpse! That’s what I always say! Grian: You should say something else.

Grian: My back hurts. Scar, walking into the room: Take the spine out.

Scar: Everything will be ok. You can not stop it. Scar: Everything will be fine. You have no choice. Grian: What the fuck kind of pep talk is that? Scar: Ominous positivity.

Grian: Scar, what did you just do!? Scar: I took your advice. I stopped running from the problem and I tackled it head on. Grian: I meant try emotional honesty, not murder!!

Scar: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this? Grian: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.

Scar: Detective! The man belonged to some kind of cult that worshipped a divine forest creature with antlers and that’s how he met his end. Grian: Dear God! Scar: Yeah! Exactly!

Grian: You've got to act tough, Scar! Show 'em you can't be pushed around! Show 'em they can't mess with you! Scar: Right. Yes. Tough. Got it. Scar, standing up on their stool and slamming their hands down on the bar: I'LL TAKE A CHOCOLATE MILK.

Grian: Fight me! Scar: gets on one knee and pulls out a ring Scar: Fight me for the rest of our lives.

Grian: Don’t preach to me about romance, Scar. I had a three-way in a hot-air balloon.

Scar: What’s sexting? Grian: I'm not having this conversation with you.

Grian: If I ever had a child, I imagine they would be a lot like you. Scar: Aww, thanks— Grian: Which is probably why I’ve never reproduced.

Scar: What’s your greatest weakness? Grian: Interpreting the semantics of a question, but ignoring the pragmatics. Scar: Could you give an example? Grian: Yes, I could.

Scar: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time? Grian: AS ENEMIES?! Scar:

Scar: I desire moisture. Grian: Please just say "I want water" like a normal person.

Scar: Babe, you're so funny! Grian: We have 1492 days until your tragic premature death. You will break my trust three times before that happens, but I forgive you. Scar: Awwww, that's sweet of you!

Grian: I didn’t want to do it, no one else wanted to do it, so I made Scar do it!

Scar: You got a date yet Grian? Grian: No… Scar: Well you do now! Get your ass up and hold my hand!

Grian: Dammit, you ruin everything! Scar: You're welcome.

Scar: They called me the B-word. Grian: Motherfucker doesn’t start with ‘b’.

Scar, talking about Grian: WHAT THE FUCK I WAS ARGUING WITH HIM AND I SAID “OOH YOU WANNA KISS ME SO BAD” AND GUESS WHAT? HE DID. HE KISSED ME. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DO I DO.

[visceral-reject]

WRITE A STORY WITH ERIC DRAVEN PLSSSSSSS

Of course, though I am going through a bit of writer’s and artist’s block, so i deeply apologize for the quality.

A/N: Angst w/comfort, reader is depressive, something quick might expand on this later though. Eric is…eric.

Hands a bit too cold to be considered normal traced the plain of your stomach, the skin warm beneath his calloused palm. Eric was many things, a murderer, spiteful, any name under the sun one could think of, but in the current moment he was envious. Envious of you, sleeping beneath the many blankets of his bed, practically a nest for the both of you now. He was envious of your warmth, your liveliness, your mortality. There may have been a time when he’d daydream of what his life could have been like in his older years, hair graying and fading and worn band tee shirts. But those days would never catch up to him, but you still remained. Fuck if you didn’t stay glued to his side. He remembers seeing you after he was brought back, the black tears staining your cheeks as you tried to look through him, trying to rationalize the sight before you.

You sat upon the brick wall of what was once a shared apartment, bottles and cans thrown haphazardly around the creaking floors. You, a husk of the person you used to be, in the middle of the mess, eyeliner running down your cheeks and eyes hollow, eyes once so full of life and contentment, now dull, sharp even. If his heart could, it would break at the sight of you. He stalked you from his shadows, not yet ready to face you. Oh how he longed to hold you, to remind you he’d take care of you like he promised so long ago, to simply feel your skin against his would be enough. But Eric remained still, continuing to watch you gulp down more cheap vodka like it was water. Erin grimaced, he didn’t like the sight before him. He saw himself lingering within your behavior, saw his influences in your mannerisms. You, none the wiser to his position before you, didn’t even jump when his footfalls fell upon your ears. Maybe you were to drunk, or maybe it’s because you were to far gone to care.

“ Look dickhead, I don’t know what the fuck it is you want but I-“ your cold remark was cut short, far to short with a familiar laugh, a laugh you hadn’t heard in over a year, actually thats a lie. It was the same laugh that had been haunting your nightmares for so, so fucking long.

“ Such harsh words from such a pretty girl, you kiss your mother with that mouth pretty? “ Eric drawled, nearing you. You, bottle just an inch from your agape mouth. There he was, face painted a sickly white and black smeared haphazardly across his eyes and lips. It was like time stopped, only the two of you existing at once. Eyes welling with tears, you stayed silent. What could you do? You were there when they put him into the cold hard ground, there to pick up Sarah when her mother couldn’t give less than a fuck about her. You. Eric, now squatting before you, searched your face, for any sign of emotion, emotion he didn’t find. You wanted to scream, to hit yourself and down the rest of the bottle, telling yourself you were dreaming, but you couldn’t. His cologne had long since faded from everything that was left behind, but here now you could taste it. Mouth gaping akin to that of a fish out of water, the bottle fell, clattering onto the floor as your hand reached to his face. Just a touch. Just something to tell yourself this was real, that he was real. With a trembling finger, you pushed the wet stray hairs from his painted face, moving to trace his jaw. He was real this time, a tangible thing before you blessing your teary eyes with a pained smile.

That was a long while ago, he’d yet to find a real reason to pass on yet, though the Crow had quit trying to urge him now. The night was young, though the city lights didn’t make it seem that way, still, you napped, curled underneath the blankets. Eric let out an audible sign, cold fingers mindlessly tracing shapes onto your skin. He’d give anything, anything at all, just to fully feel the true extent of your warmth again, the warmth he felt when he was alive, not just a walking corpse. Eric longed to be the softer man he once was for you, but he knew as well as you did, that man was gone. But for now, he’d be content with this, relearning and healing alongside you.

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia (Part Two)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

You're a new recruit to the spider society, and you've just been sent on your first mission on one condition: Do not contact Miguel's variant in this universe. When your mission goes wrong you break that rule very quickly, desperate for help, only to find that Miguel's variant here is not what you expected. He's stoic but kind, awkward but sincere, and he's also an enormous human-spider hybrid: a drider, both human and arachnid. You decide to continue seeing Miguel in secret, with the rest of the society unaware. You really want to stay friends after all. That is, until Miguel suddenly goes into a rut. Word count: 4410

The moment you entered those woods you regretted your decision.

The trees here were ancient and old, so tall that they blocked out nearly all light from filtering through. As a result the forest floor was lifeless and cold, dark and foreboding. No grass or saplings could thrive here. It felt like you’d entered an eternal twilight.

You crept across the floor and tried your best not to make too much noise. ‘Just- follow the watch’ you whispered to yourself. ‘Follow the watch. You’re fine.’

Your watch let out a little beep as you delved deeper, indicating that you were getting closer to the variant. You could see his marker on the map was just a short walk away now.

The further in you went, the more you felt the hair on your neck stand up. Something here felt horribly wrong, but, what? It was on the tip of your tongue but just out of reach, leaving just a deep sense of foreboding. Something here was wrong. Something, something--

Then you felt it. It clicked, in your mind, and you knew instantly what was wrong.

There was no normal sounds here. No birdsong, no chirps, no scuttling squirrels or bugs flying past. This forest felt empty, almost dead, like a graveyard.

Your steps began to get shorter and shorter.

Was it just you, or did the beeping seem to be getting further and further away? You kept walking and yet it never seemed to get any closer. It didn’t help that the trees all looked the same, making it impossible to tell if you were actually making progress or just walking in the circle. You couldn’t even remember how long you’d been here for.

At a certain point you broke. You came to a stop in a small glade and sank down against one of the trees for support, struggling to calm your nerves.

‘Fuck.’ You cursed beneath your breath and watched it condense in the air. It was cold here, almost too cold. It was supposed to be summer in this universe.

You ran both hands down your face as the boiling feelings of inadequacy and anxiety in your gut began to spill over. You’d made a mistake. You were sure of it now. You’d make a mistake and you’d got yourself lost, and you’d have to portal out of here and go home in disgrace.

‘Shit… I’m sorry’ you mumbled to no one in particular. Your words echoed even when whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

Then you heard it.

Snap.

A single, heavy snap of a twig, one that echoed through the pines. You froze up like a deer in headlights.

That had to be an animal, right? Right? It was a forest after all.

But, you hadn’t heard or seen a single other animal until now, and that snap had been pretty loud. Could a deer make a snap that loud?

You spun a full circle in the glade. The ground was uneven here and seemed to rise up around you, almost like a natural bowl. You couldn’t see high enough over the ridges to see any threat beyond their line, and the trees were too thick to make out any obvious shapes that were moving.

Another crack rang out, this one closely followed by a sound that was much more unnerving. Something low, deep, groaning and old. Was that a tree creaking?

Another crack rang out. A thud, almost like a log hitting the floor, filled the air and caused a flock of crows to flee from the canopy. You jumped at their incessant cawing. Wait, had they been hiding up there? But from what?

‘Shit—shit—’

You tried to take a defensive stance but tripped, almost falling completely onto your back. Your senses were still burned out.

‘Shit! Shit, shit—’

You staggered backwards. You needed higher ground. You went to spin a web but your mechanism was still jammed from your fight with the vulture, leaving you with no way to easily scale the trees. You tried instead to crawl up them by hand but they were slippery with morning dew. You slid right back down with each frantic attempt.

‘Shit—’

Another thud rang out, and with it an enormous shadow appeared over the ridge to your left. Whatever had been making that noise was coming right for you.

‘SHIT!’

In a panic you scrabbled to hide, opting for the enormous roots of the nearest pine.

‘I need to- portal, shit—’

You scurried and fell into the roots of the tree like a mouse, scrambled to hide behind the wood. You heard the scraping above getting louder.

‘GET AWAY! I'M WARNING YOU!’

A shadow fell across the roots, blocking out the light above. All you could see was red. With a scream you covered your face with your hands.

‘NO—’

‘Hey, hey! Cálmate- ah- calm down, it’s okay. ¿Estas herido? Are you hurt?’

You froze. That voice, it sounded familiar. You shakily began to lower your hands, though you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

No blow came. You weren’t dragged out by your ankles, nor bitten by some unnatural demon. Instead, you heard that voice again.

‘Are you hurt?’

You blinked, once, then opened your eyes fully.

There he was. That gorgeous face, with that thick brown hair and brown skin and big red eyes. A face you’d recognise anywhere.

‘Miguel’ you whispered.

He was holding the roots aside with his gigantic shoulders, and his eyes were keenly fixed on you. You could only see him from the waist up but he appeared to be shirtless, showing off his rounded chest and bulging abs all coated in thick, dark hair. You noticed that the skin of his arms was decorated in red stripes.

It was Miguel all right, but not your Miguel.

‘Ay, que chula’ he murmured to himself. You didn’t catch his words but you saw well enough his eyes roaming your figure in the dimly lit hole, not to mention the subtle slip of his tongue across his fangs.

‘You… oh, you- you’re Miguel, right?’ you called up. He seemed taken aback that you knew his name.

‘Ah… yes. Who- who are you? How did you find me?’

You squinted a little as you watched him. He looked like Miguel, uncannily so, but something was different. His face wasn’t as cold and drawn. His lips were parted, his brows downturned and his eyes wide. He looked worried. He looked, shy perhaps? Or maybe curious?

You shuffled upward and held out your wrist. You saw him take a glance at your watch.

‘I was um… I’m from a different universe, I was sent by Miguel O’Hara. Another, Miguel O’Hara, that is. I-I know you are one as well. Uh- I’m from the Spider Society, if that helps?’

Luckily this Miguel seemed to recognise what you were talking about. He didn’t seem confused about the idea of multiverse travelling, in fact you saw him give a clear indication of recognition at the word ‘Miguel’. His brows knotted and his lip curled, turning his softness to overt disappointment.

‘My variant. Yes. Of course.’

With a soft grunt Miguel held out his hand. You noted the sharp claws on the tips of his fingers and froze, but just as quickly he retracted them.

‘Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.’

You allowed him to pull you out of the roots and up into the light. On impulse you let out a nervous laugh. ‘Ah- man, I’m- so sorry, I didn’t mean to be so—’ You froze midsentence as you finally looked up.

The upper torso of Miguel was staring down at you, but beneath that was something new entirely. The enormous, fluffy abdomen of a tarantula spider, it’s hide a mixture of black and red. The red tints created a pattern on his back which resembled your boss’s suit, one which matched the red stripes on his arms.

Instinctively you fell backwards again. It wasn’t his body that scared you so much as the sheer size of it.

‘W-Woah, woah—Holy shit, you’re— a-aha, you’re uh- you’re, a--’

‘Wait, don’t- don’t, panic, okay? Stay calm’ he stammered. You could sense he was getting defensive at having been seen, like he expected you to start a fight. You just gaped in surprise.

‘I’m not here to fight’ he barked. ‘I don’t, want to fight you.’ He was trying to sound intimidating but his voice had cracked, which felt strange when his body was already so intimidating on its own.

You slowly raised both hands as a show of good peace. ‘I- I, sorry, I’m not—I’m not here to hurt you, I promise.’

His eyes narrowed a little. You watched his spider legs shuffle as he paced.  

‘Then- why are you here?’

You kept your hands raised as you peered up at his face. ‘You… Have, other people come here to hurt you?’ you asked gently.

His eyes widened. Was he surprised at your question, or surprised that you weren’t afraid?

‘Why are you here?’ he repeated. His tone was sharp, like he was trying to be cold, but it just didn’t work. He had none of that ingrained anger your Miguel expressed. He seemed lonely, for lack of a better word.

With hands still raised you shuffled to your feet. ‘I- I fucked up’ you blurted. ‘I’m sorry, I- I was sent here to deal with a bad guy, ah- not you! Not you, you’re not the bad guy, it’s a um- a vulture, I was sent to deal with a vulture but it’s my first job and I got my ass handed to me and… and no one was available to help, so, I thought… Miguel said you were here, and, he- sorry, he said not to trust you, but I just… I thought, I should, see for myself. I thought, maybe you could help.’

As you rambled on about your situation, that cold exterior around him seemed to shift. He seemed to believe your story.

‘I see. So you’re another one of us, I suppose? One of us… broken, half-way creatures?’

You nodded awkwardly. ‘Ah- a new one, yeah. You- know about all of us, spider people then?’

Miguel grunted. ‘I do. Yes. Some of us… certainly come out, better than others, no?’

You looked up and caught his eye. You had to lean to see him, as his shadow eclipsed your body, but strangely he didn’t make you feel small. At least, he didn’t make you feel small in a way that felt bad.

‘Well, that’s up for debate, isn’t it’ you said. ‘We’re… we’re both, strange on the inside, right?’

Miguel grunted again, though this time it sounded more like a faint chuckle.

‘Yes. I suppose you’re right, little spider.’

He took a tentative step closer and you stayed where you were, allowing him to approach. He noted your bruised arm and slightly torn suit, signs of a fight, along with the wince you kept giving as you stood.

‘You’re hurt, little spider’ he noted. You tensed a little as one of his soft forelegs crept out to touch your ribs. It was definitely fluffy up close, like a soft paw with two hooked claws on the end. You felt the black and red fluff brush your skin and shyly stroked it with your finger.

He made no move to jump or hurt you. He was unnerving, yes, but his mannerisms were soft. He gently prodded at your ribs until you winced.

‘You’re definitely hurt.’

Miguel darted his eyes across your face as he took a step back. You could see him shifting two of his spider legs together, but he wasn’t acting on anything yet. He was searching you for consent.

‘I can help’ he murmured. ‘If you- want.’

‘Help?’

‘With the pain.’ Without any further explanation Miguel bent and began to spin a small spool of silk, twisting it tight into a thin sheet. He then raised the spool to his mouth and, to your shock, began to leak a thick green venomous fluid from his fangs. He allowed it to seep in and saturate the thread.

Once the sheet was sufficiently moist, he licked the extra venom away and bluntly handed it out.

‘Here. Press this to your ribs.’

You stared at him, mouth agape. You stared at each other until it became unbearably awkward, until his eyes began to flit from side to side as if confused why you weren’t acting.

‘What… is it?’ you asked to finally break the silence.

He seemed utterly unaware of why this would be strange. ‘It- it’s my venom’ he said, matter-of-factly.

You darted your eyes to the side then back. He realized you needed a bit more information.

‘It- my venom had paralyzing qualities, but in small doses on the skin it can just numb. It’ll numb the pain so you can get home.’

He held it out again, insistently, so insistent in fact that he nudged your chest with his big spider paws. You blanched a little but did instinctively take it.

‘Okay! Ah- alright, I’ll... try it. Just, to be clear if I start feeling lightheaded I will call for back up.’

Miguel tilted his head, perfectly highlighting the muscular curve of his neck. His red eyes glowered. ‘Didn’t you say there was no one available for back up?’

For a moment you paused. Was that a threat? Or was he just so awkward he thought that was normal? You took another glance at the sheet and then at him, and decided, on a whim, to trust him.

You shyly took the sheet and pressed it over your suit, carefully smoothing it out. At first it didn’t do anything, but after a minute or so you began to feel a warmth spreading. Within two minutes you could feel the pain starting to ease. It was numb for sure, as when you touched the spot it just felt spongey with no sensation, but the pain was gone. After four minutes you were painless but still standing.

‘Is it working?’ he asked. You gave a quick nod.

‘Y-Yeah. Yeah! Yeah, it- it’s working. Thank you.’

Miguel bobbed his head. He was so strangely polite, so stilted. ‘Good’ he mumbled. ‘Good. Good.’

‘I… shit, well, I guess I’ll have to head back. I still don’t know what to do though, my- web shooters are jammed.’ You turned and paced a little as you fiddled with your wrist contraptions, something Miguel quickly picked up on.

With your back turned he abruptly approached from behind, leaning in over your shoulder without a word. You froze up at the unexpected touch, as his size set off all of your flight or fight responses. He didn’t seem to notice though.

‘Mm.’

Without asking Miguel raised your wrist to his face. He was scanning the mechanism, his claws prepped to fiddle with the screws and bolts, all while remaining oblivious to your fear.

‘Mm.’ He let out a second grunt before withdrawing, leaving you frozen on the spot. He was too busy working out something in his head to notice.

‘I can help you with this. I can’t leave this spot, I’m afraid, as I will scare too many civilians, but I can help you here.’

You finally shook yourself back to your senses as he spoke. ‘What- what kind of help?’ you asked.

He tilted his head a little, his long legs shifting. ‘I can fix your web shooter, and re-fill it. My webs are… stronger.’

‘I have weak webs?’ you replied drolly.

‘Yes’ he said, blunt and unashamed. He gestured again to your wrists. ‘Almost all of you have web spinnerets too small to produce anything substantial. Yours are held in the wrists, they could never be large enough to produce truly saturated silk.’

‘I… oh. Huh.’

Miguel seemed to finally pick up that your body language was less than ideal as you awkwardly glanced at your wrists.

‘It’s okay’ he said, ‘we’re not all meant to be adapted to the same thing. You have other strengths, I’m sure.’

You awkwardly shrugged, unsure of how to respond. Miguel decided to drop it before he dug himself a deeper hole.

‘Would you- like me to fix it?’ he asked, hand outstretched. You darted your eyes around his body, from his clawed fingers to his face. He seemed trustworthy so far. He certainly couldn’t do anything with your shooter, right? You could still leave, it’d just be awkward. You decided to remove your shooters and place them in his waiting palm.

‘Sure. If that’s okay, I’d appreciate it.’

Miguel nodded.

You followed him through the glade to another tree, one that appeared to have had a desk carved into its side. You sat down on the roots to rest while Miguel sank his abdomen to the floor. You watched as he put on a pair of makeshift glasses and began fiddling with the shooter, carefully prying it open and tweaking it with his claws.

In the ensuing silence you had time to admire this strange man. He looked oddly cute when focused, as he kept licking his fangs or pressing his tongue to his cheek, and he kept leaning forward too far until his glasses slid down his nose. It made you smile.

As time passed, you began to feel your inhibitions lower. You became curious.

‘Do you live out here?’ you asked. Mig grunted, seemingly startled by your interruption of his work.

‘Ah- yes, yes I do.’

‘Do you have a house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it- ah, sorry, am I annoying you?’

Miguel glanced over again. His face was unreadable. ‘No’ he said, just as blunt as the others. ‘It’s nice to have company.’

‘Oh, ah- good. I um- I was gonna ask—’

‘You were going to ask where I live? You were- curious, whether I sleep on the floor like an animal, or in a home?’

You were taken aback by how accurately he’d read your mind. You saw the ghost of a smile on his face at your shock.

‘Uh… yeah. I was’ you murmured.

‘Even basal spiders have homes’ he noted. ‘I am no different. I live in a nest I wove myself, close by to here. It’s quiet out here. I get left alone, which is… I suppose, my fate.’

‘Huh. Were you transformed by the same Alchemax incident? With the, splicing?’

‘Yes.’

After his blunt response you gave up on the questions for a bit. You felt a little awkward here still, but Miguel seemed just fine. He seemed much less tense in fact.

‘You’ he said, suddenly turning to glance at you directly. You met his gaze. ‘You. Little spider. Where did you come from then?’

‘Me? Ah… I’m, incredibly generic. Bitten by a radio-active spider, became my universes spider, then- got the call from Miguel, indoctrinated into the wider society a few months ago, and… I, haven’t done much since.’

You felt Miguel’s eyes raking you. ‘You, sound like this displeases you’ he noted.

‘What, being useless? Yeah, a little.’

He slowly turned back to his work as you huffed, lowering your head to your upturned knees. ‘I wouldn’t say useless’ he murmured. ‘Just, not needed.’

‘Aren’t they the same thing?’

‘No. I’d be glad that you’re not in danger. I’d be glad that you’re safe.’

Miguel paused the conversation briefly to focus on your shooter. You saw sparks flying as he bit his tongue, utterly focused on soldering something down. When he pulled back you were waiting with more questions.

‘So… why, aren’t you—’

‘Why am I not in the society?’

‘Aha, yeah. You- cut right too it, again.’

Miguel gently stretched his neck as he thought of a response. You couldn’t help eyeing up the way he arched his powerful back muscles, the gorgeous sight of his sculpted shoulders as they rolled.

‘Spiders are territorial. Especially males. I met the Miguel you referred too a long time ago, and he was- combative, to say the least. I don’t think our DNA could handle having two of us in the same place. We talked, civilly enough, but- in the end he retracted his offer and left.’

‘Huh. That seems- unfair.’

Miguel scoffed. ‘I’m also not, fit for this life though, really. I am- unwieldy.’

‘We have a T-Rex and a horse on staff, we could make accommodations for you’ you insisted.

‘Mm. What about the people?’

‘The people? Again, T-Rex and horse. We have a damn werewolf on site. People could handle a half-spider.’

‘Mm. No. I- scare people.’

‘You don’t scare me.’

Miguel glanced at you from beneath the long strands of hair now hanging across his forehead. His almond eyes were narrowed, his brown skin dancing with reflections from his red eyes.

‘I don’t?’

Out here in the empty woods your senses had recovered enough for you to feel his body shifting. You sensed everything; the rustling of hair on his spider half, the little scrape of his claws on the dirt, the wiggle his lower abdomen did as he stared you down. His size, his claws, the little white flash of a fang behind his full lips.

You just smiled at him. ‘Nah. You seem nice.’

He stared at you blankly. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he could possibly do next.

‘Hmm. Thank you.’

You fell into another silence as he began to feed in new web to the shooter. He’d built an adapter so it could connect to your webs when you fired them, effectively making them stronger. You sighed and watched your breath condense on the air as he worked.

‘You seem- lonely.’

You blanched a little at such a blunt statement, especially with no prior context. You turned and found Miguel staring at you again. ‘I’m- I look lonely?’ you repeated back.

‘Yes.’

It still surprised you, just how blunt he was. He leaned back so you could get a good look at his torso. God, he was pretty. Perhaps prettier than the other Miguel. He was tougher from having to maintain such a large body, covered in rugged scars.

‘What- do you mean by that?’

Miguel blinked. His face remained unreadable. ‘I find it- odd. You seem so- amicable, and you come from a society of thousands. But you look lonely.’

‘Ah. Ahuh.’ You scoffed and shrugged one shoulder, trying to play off what a scathing realization it was. ‘In a society of thousands, how do you get noticed? It’s like being a grain of sand.’

Miguel grunted. He seemed to be thinking something over in his head as he rolled your half-finished shooter.

‘I see you.’

You flitted your eyes back to his face. His expression had changed, just a little. He looked sympathetic. He looked soft.

He didn’t say anything else after that. He returned to your shooter and continued putting it back together with the new webbing inside. You, meanwhile, lulled on the roots and pondered this whole experience.

What a strange man, you thought.

‘Alright. It’s done.’

Miguel blew away the little specks of dirt covering your wrist mechanism before handing it back.

‘Thank you’ you rasped. As you grasped the shooter you noticed how small your hand was against his, with your frail fingers barely reaching the edge of his palm. You tenderly brushed his calloused skin before shyly yanking it away.

‘Thank you, so much.’

Miguel gave you a ghost of a smile. ‘I hope you get home safely, little spider.’

‘Aha, yeah, little. That’s me.’ As you spoke you turned and stood, shifting on the spot. You knew that realistically you needed to leave, but something kept you here. You twisted your neck to see Miguel still watching you, unmoving in the gloom.

‘I, um… Hey, just a thought, but- I could always put in a word for you, at the society. I don’t think people would be scared of you, or- at least not everyone would be. You can’t please everyone but… I’d be there, you know. It, might be nice, having a slightly less angry Miguel around.’

Miguel’s soft smile dipped. He ran a hand across his jaw, his spider abdomen twitching. ‘I told you, little spider. O’Hara’s are… territorial’ he noted coldly.

Your heart sank. You knew what that meant. It meant he couldn’t enter the HQ, and in turn that meant you likely wouldn’t see him again.

He looked so lonely as he gazed off into the distance. His jaw was tense as if to maintain a neutral expression. Was he sad you were leaving? Or was he just sad in general? Whatever it was, you hated the idea of leaving him here alone.

As you procrastinated leaving, you remembered him pointing out how lonely you looked. You were part of a society of thousands, and yet he was right. You were lonely. Perhaps you were just projecting onto him now, and that’s why you didn’t want to leave.  

‘It was- nice to meet you, little spider’ Miguel said. It was a solemn farewell. You hadn’t even realized how long you’d been standing in silence.

As you craned your head back to see his face you saw fully the sadness in his eyes. No, you thought. You weren’t projecting at all. You were both lonely.

‘Hey… That whole, territorial thing. It means, you can’t cross paths with him, right?’ you asked. Miguel nodded and turned to the side.

‘But… that doesn’t mean I can’t cross paths with you again.’

It made you jump the way his head snapped towards you. His eyes were wide, his pupils physically dilated.

‘You- what do you mean? You- do you mean, you intend to return? Here? To me?’

He stammered as he spoke, his legs instinctively creeping towards you. You felt your smile widen at his insistent hope. How strangely adorable. Whatever, you thought, consequences be damned. You knew your answer now.

With a final wave you clicked your web shooter into place and began to walk away, though you turned your head halfway to call back five simple words.

‘I’ll see you around, Mig.’

For the first time, Miguel smiled fully. It looked good on his rugged face.

‘Yes. I’ll- I’ll see you around, little spider.’

Link to part three!

[crowandmousewritingco]

Quiet Mornings

Pairing: trans!Joel Miller x male reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Rating: R (there is no plot. Just porn)

Author: Mod Crow

Author's Note: This is the first time I've ever written a male reader so it may sound a bit awkward. Hope you enjoy sinners!

Masterlist

Warnings: Language, use of the word daddy, and LOOOOOOTS of sex

The house was quiet in the early hours of the day, or at least for the most part. There were no gentle hums of the coffee machine the two of you love to use. There weren’t any murmurs from a TV being on. There wasn't even the normal morning laughing that was shared amongst the three of the house’s occupants, Joel, his daughter Sarah, and you. 

There was one faint sound however, cutting through the silence that hung in the house. Or at least you could hear one of the sounds that were echoing through the house. The sound of skin slapping skin, and the sounds that were hidden by the sound of your skin slapping against Joel’s, the pretty little whimpers and moans that you kept fucking out of Joel’s covered mouth. 

“Fuck baby boy, I can feel you squeezing me. You want me to breed you? Is that why you keep clenching around my cock?” You gave Joel a second to try to gather words, when the only words that came out of his mouth was your name and a string of curses you chuckled darkly. Harshly grabbing onto Joel’s hips, you slammed all the way in, bending so that your bare chest was pressed to his bare back. Continuing to grind your hips against his, you grabbed a handful of hair. With hair in hand, you stood up right again, pulling up Joel in the process. The sound you pulled from Joel was one you had only heard a handful of times. Times like these, times when you were fucking him stupid and cock drunk. Reach your free hand around Joel, you plant it on his neck, and apply just enough pressure to make his head start to swim. 

Letting go of his hair, you dropped that hand to his chest where you ran your fingers along his chest scar, before allowing your hand to float up just a bit so that your fingers were ghosting over his nipples. The act caused him to whimper in need. Normally he was the one in charge, but with it being a lazy Saturday, Sarah at a friends for the weekend, you decided to let Joel rest. At least rest in the sense where you’re doing all the work, which you’d never complain about. Letting go of his neck slightly, you pulled him closer so that your lips just barely grazed his ear.

“I think you should beg. Tell daddy where you need to be touched.” You nipped his ear lobe softly, before planting a trail of sloppy kisses down his neck, starting just behind his ear all the way down his neck till you got to that lovely slope of where his neck stops and his shoulder begins. You started with soft kisses, but those kisses soon became heavier and sloppier, that was until you nipped at the flesh. The small action hearing you a whiney moan, the ones he knew you loved so much. Then, that’s when the begging started.

“Fuck, please. Please touch me, I need you to touch my,” His words being cut off by a low groan that escaped from your own lips. The sound only added fuel to the fire that was already lit and roaring in the pout of his stomach. “Fuck daddy please, please touch my dick. Fuck, I’m so hard for you. I-I just wanna feel your fingers on m-” Without letting him finish his sentence, you did what he asked. Wrapping your fingers around his dick, you stroked him slowly, but you were quick to match your stroking with your almost relentless pace. The action causing Joel to clench around you, tight, your hips stuttering slightly. Pulling your hand away from Joel’s dick, you heard him whimper at the loss of stimulation. Gripping Joel’s hips, you pull out of him before flipping him over on your shared bed. The confused look on Joel’s face quickly changed after grabbing him by both ankles and pulled him closer to the edge. 

“I wanna try something new tonight baby boy, I think you’ll love it.” Bringing his ankles up to rest on your shoulders, you stepped closer. With your knees on the edge of the bed, you smirked up at him. Climbing onto the bed, you planted your hands on the tops of his thighs. Keeping his legs on your shoulders, you climbed on top of him. Taking a moment for him to adjust to the new position, you get in a more comfortable position yourself. With some kind of awkward adjusting, your feet were planted on either side of his hips, your hands now planted on either side of his head. While you couldn’t fuck into his as fast in this position, it did allow for you to fuck him deeper and harder, and that exactly what you did. 

The sounds now coming from Joel were more of those whiny moans, and that’s what fueled you to go harder. You could tell Joel was close based on he kept clenching, and you wouldn’t be too far behind him. 

“Cum cum cum cum, fuuuuuck daddy I want to cum in me. Breed me like the good boy I am. Fuck I wanna cum with you, please daddy. I’ve been a good boy. Please please please…” His begging grew more and more incoherent as he continued talking. Nodding, your pace slows, but the same harshness was still there.

“Cum on daddy’s cock like a good boy and daddy will breed you like the good boy you are.” The words pushing him over the edge, his hole clamping around your cock, the spasms washing over him in waves, and the way he screamed your name over and over and over again. You continued fucking him, working him through his high, and not too long after you toppled over the edge after him. Slamming into him one final time you could feel pulse after pulse of cum fill him and the occasional twitch which only caused his walls to flutter around you. 

You stayed on top for a moment, panting and heart pounding, before slipping out of him and slowly lowering his legs to the bed. Climbing off the bed, you quickly made your way to the bathroom that was luckily attached to your bedroom. Grabbing a washcloth, you quickly  turned on the sink, waiting a moment for the water to warm. Wetting the washcloth with the hot water, you turn the sink off and squeeze out some of the excess water. 

Uncrumpling the washcloth, you gently grabbed your cock and cleaned it. Once done you return to your room, where you find Joel, who has climbed further up the bed and curled on to his side. Walking over, you gently roll him onto his back. Spreading his legs, you carefully clean him up. Tossing the washcloth towards the bathroom door, you climbed into bed beside him. Wrapping your arm around his waist you pulled his back into your chest.

“I wasn’t too rough with you was I? I didn’t want to hurt you, but I kind of lost myself for a second.” You hear him chuckle and you can’t help but do the same. As the chuckles grew quiet you planted your lips to the back of Joel’s head. You could feel him shake his head before he spoke.

“A bit, but I’m tougher than I look handsome. That being said, my back may be messed up tomorrow, but that’s for me to worry about tomorrow. All I need now is my morning coffee that I didn’t get a chance to have this morning.” You felt him try to nudge you, which only earned him a chuckle of his own. 

“Maybe we should let Sarah stay over at friends’ houses more often.” You joked, kissing his shoulder. “I agree though, that morning coffee does sound pretty good right about now.”

,,,,,,,

All Works Taglist

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Joel Miller Taglist

@millerstolemyheart

Pedro Character Taglist

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

@jessthebaker

[fictionalslvr]

SYNOPSIS: You always had a fear for slasher movies, but your boyfriend with a mask kink will help you with that.

PAIRING: Ghostface masked¡Leon x GN¡Reader

WORD COUNT: 2.430k

WARNINGS: SMUT/NSFW, roleplay, mask kink, Leon dresses as Ghostface, consent, fucking in the kitchen, on the counter, scream movies references! Dom¡Leon.

NOTES: Just wanted to do something for Halloween and not let it just pass through without nothing. Even if it's small, i hope you guys enjoy :)

You were gripping into the sheets of the couch. Your eyes were glued to the tv as you kept your body fumbling around to ease the fright away. The way the murderer on the screen was killing his victims with no pity was making your gut knot and a bad sensation creeping from your spine all the way up to your nape, and you swear you could hear voices screaming, pleading for your help and calling for your name as if you were the only one who could save them. Those poor souls, you couldn’t help them even if you wanted to. You closed your eyes when that grotesque man lifted his ax, ready to spare an innocent soul and just collected even more reasons to burn in the pit of hell for the rest of his post-life. The joints of your fingers were turning white as you grip tightly into the sheets, you couldn’t stand that movie not even a second anymore. And honestly, you didn’t know how your boyfriend was so normal about something that almost made you puke out your organs in disgust.

With an agonizing yelp, it was enough for you. You shut your eyes closed, feeling like you’re in the victim's skin and like you’re about to be killed. You were transported to that abandoned house of the movie, facing that assassin right in front of your eyes, you could see the lack of humanity in his eyes. Your chest was rising up and down non-stop, you looked around and saw how you didn’t have a way to escape, and the crows around were already hungry, his deep empty black eyes staring at you. The crows on the tree branch next roared. Without noticing, your boyfriend took the remote and paused the movie, finally taking note of your shaking state of fear.

—”Hey, baby…what happened?” Leon orotundly said, one of his hands making way to your shoulder. You jolted, still visibly startled, you opened your eyes to see around and see that you’re still in your house, safe. —”You don’t seem fine.”

His lips pursed as his face turned into a preoccupied frown. You took a sharp intake of air, slowly regaining your bearings.

—”I…I was…there.” You pointed to the tv, he followed your finger and tilted his head to the side. Slowly, the corners of his lips turned into a cheeky smile.

—”Oh. So is my precious angel scared?” He leaned closer, letting a sardonic chuckle escape as his biceps brought you closer to his body. —”There’s no need to be, okay? I’m right here to protect you.”

With a huff, you slapped his hand softly over your shoulder, in an attempt to push him away. That insolent smile made it clear that he was not taking you seriously at all.

—”I’m being serious, Leon.” You got up from the couch, with a sigh and looked down at your boyfriend, who’s carefreely manspreading there still. —”I don’t find it funny.”

He tried his best to vanish his smile, but he couldn’t. Instead, he got up with his hands on his thighs to help him raise his body up. His figure walks closer, his hands crawling all the way to your waist and bringing you close. Leon and his graceful pair of deep blue eyes darted to you, you always swore you could drown on them since the first time you looked at them.

—”I’m sorry, it was not my intention to make fun of you, darling.” Leon's face approached your neck, leaving a soft gentle kiss there that made you feel like levitating.

—”But you were making fun of me, I know that damn smile.”

—”Uhm, yeah. Maybe I was, just a little.” He melted into a laughter, you felt the hot air leaving his mouth and going against your skin, making your skin bristle. —”But don’t be mad at me, please. I couldn’t contain seeing you so scared because of a movie.”

—”You know that I don't like these slasher movies, they’re gross.”

—”You’re right. But they have hot villains too.”

—”Do you find those monsters hot, Leon?”

—”And who doesn't?” Your boyfriend lifted his face, he had a perplexed expression, speechless that you don’t seem to agree with him on that.

—”I don’t know how you find these…things hot.” Gesturing your hands to the tv, he gasped audibly, straightening up his stance to fight you with arguments.

—”And how DON’T you find them hot?” He shook his head in disbelief, pressing his own lips together. —”I don’t know how to explain, but the ones with masks are even better.”

—”You’re crazy.” It’s your time to giggle, finding it strange how he was defending his favorite characters.

—”Oh come on, you’re telling me that you never felt a single thing for Ghostface?”

—”I mean…was I supposed to?”

—“Of course, darling! He’s ironic and makes great jokes and plus, he has a hot voice.”

—”That modified voice?”

—”Yes, that one.” He smiled, biting his lower lip. You lifted one eyebrow at him, astonished. —”Look, I can prove to you that Ghostface is hot. You’ll see that you’re wrong.”

—”I doubt that, I'm mostly terrified by him.” You sighed, letting your body fall down into the couch again. Leon followed you, and quickly, you felt his weight above you, his hands around your body keeping you trapped into a big hug.

—”And why are you terrified by him?”

—”Look, I…I don't know exactly. But he creeps me out.” Honestly, you didn’t have exact reasons, maybe it is your (ir)rational fear of killers that made you feel like that.

—”Is it because of what is happening in the town?” Leon took one curl of your hair, playing with it whilist your body was being smashed by his weight.

—”You’re talking about all those deaths suddenly in the region? Maybe it is. The feeling that a serial killer close to us really scares me even more.”

—”But I'm here to protect you, silly.” He pouted, kissing your lips briefly as your hair curls are where his eyes were focused.

—”I know this, but what if you’re not around to protect me?”

—”It won’t happen. Now forget this thing for a moment.” Leon looked you in the eyes, kissing your lips again but this way lingering for more. You smiled at him.

—”I better trick myself into believing this.”

—”But hey…I may have a way to ease your fears right now.”

—”What are you planning to do, mister?” You giggled, not knowing what to expect next of your boyfriend plans. His smile turned wicked for a moment, he brought himself closer to your ear and whispered.

—”I bought a fantasy, and maybe this could help you out.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

That’s where you find yourself now, somehow you agreed to this and decided to give it a try at your boyfriend’s fantasy. Against the cold countertop, your elbow was slightly cold due to the contact with the wood piece in your kitchen, the sound of your phone ringing startled you, making you dart your face to the phone in your hands, the unknown number calling out made you gulp down.

—”H-Hello…?” Holding the phone out next to your ear, you heard a heavy breathing on the other side, making your hands tremble.

—”What’s your favorite scary movie?” That firm and inexpressive voice asked you, just as Leon told it was going to be before. Even if you agreed to that, the fear is unbearable.

—”I…I don't like scary movies.”

—”Oh. And why don’t?”

—”Because they’re scary. I don’t like to feel scared.” You sighed. Walking around the kitchen with the phone close, you wonder where Leon is hiding during this roleplay.

—”Too scared, aren’t you just a precious angel?” He chuckled with that strange voice, making you twist your nose. —”You never told me your name.”

—”Why do you wanna know my name?”

—”I wanna know who I'm looking at.” That was not in the script. Your heart almost jumped out of your chest in the most cartoonist way possible, your eyes roaming everywhere to find where he is.

—”Leon…this was not in the script. Stop scaring me!” You blurted out to the air, not even the breathing was heard on the phone anymore. That’s when your eyes catch a glimpse you didn’t recognize.

A masked man in your window door outside, tilted his head to the side and waved at you. You felt your eyes slowly grow bigger by the sight. The phone fell from your hands right on the ground, Leon didn’t tell you about that. The lights frickle, making everything black in a flash, you yelped, holding onto your own shoulders and shutting your eyes in hope this was just a nightmare.

But the hands that creeped in your waist showed you this was no nightmare, it was totally real. In the darkness your breath hitched as that masked man made his way behind you, pulling you close to his body by the waist. When the light comes back again, you look over your shoulder.

—”Leon! What the hell was that?!”

—”Leon? Oh no. Sorry ‘bout your boyfriend. All those…muscles didn’t help much.” You tried to step back, the danger is right in front of you, and it’s not your boyfriend. That modified voice was making you want to pass out, your mind was dizzy when your hands tried to push him by the chest with no success.

—”I’m not joking! S-Stop this.”

—”You’re so pretty…and now you’re all mine.” His masked face leans closer, sniffing the crook of your neck and holding you in place with his arms.

—”Let me go! This is not fun at all.” You heard a chuckle coming from his lips, the man slowly made his way to the hem of his mask, taking it off to show that familiar blonde hair and blue eyes. Your lungs finally rest, taking a deep relieved breath. The voice you hear next is not unknown anymore.

—”You fucker! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that?”

—”It would ruin the fright.” Leon leaned closer, kissing your cheeks gently after almost making your soul fly away from your body. —”I’m sorry, if I was cruel, I would keep going. But I don't want to make anything further without your permission.”

—”And…what do you want to do?” He pushes your body against the counter, lifting you and putting your weight down on that cold counter.

—”I love and hate to see you scared, my angel. Makes me want to protect and fuck you at the same time.”

—”You’re a kinky freak, Leon.” You two chuckle together, Leon put his hands on your thighs to caress your skin softly.

—”Maybe i am. Would it be a problem to you to be fucked by me with the mask?” Your eyes go wide with his suggestion, you make a perplexed face to him, pressing your lips together to think. —”Please, angel…I always wanted to do that.”

That alluring voice, you couldn’t deny anything to it. With a light chuckle, you shake your head.

—”Okay…okay. But only this time.” Leon celebrated it with a boyish giggle, kissing your lips deeply before putting on that mask again. —”Use your own voice too, please.”

He nodded, his face no longer visible before his hands lifted all the way underneath to your skirt. He quickly played with the hem of your panties, you could already visualize your boyfriend’s smirk behind that mask.

—”Can I, my angel?” It’s your time to nod, biting your lower lip to suppress the pathetic moan to escape from your lips. It was strange, but somehow…it was turning you on.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

You never thought about having this. The love of your boyfriend with slasher movies and masked villains was normal, at least you thought so. But after seeing Leon in that mask, something inside you changed, you were no longer scared about that stranger in the mask, because he’s not a stranger anymore. In fact, that mask made something inside you tremble, the way he had the great ability to know everything that turn you on, to know exactly that rubbing your sensitive spot while pushing his fingers inside your hot walls made you whimper, hiding your face on his chest as your hands shake on his muscled arms holding you by the waist.

As by now, you were screaming his name, craving for more and finding that mask facing you whilst his hips jerked further to push his dick even more deep inside your drooling hole, he stimulated you too much already, it felt too good. He was sure more excited this time, after all, making sex with one of his biggest kinks was only telling him to keep going even more. He was breathing heavily too, feeling in bliss to finally be able to do something he’s been dreaming about. He was scared you were not going to accept due to your fear with slasher movies, but something about the way you scream his name tells him he’s doing the right thing. As crazy as it seems, having sex with that Ghostface fantasy made something change into his lover, the fear was slowly popping out of your silly head, making way to a new…kink. All due to your hot boyfriend using that mask, but could you blame yourself for that? Not really.

—”Having fun, baby?” He mumbled in between grunts, pushing faster and faster inside you as if he’s fucking the fear out of you. You felt brainwashed, now you want to see more of Leon masked, just to watch as his dick goes inside and out of you as the mask faces you.

—”Fu-Fuuck! Yes!” Leon chuckled, finding it all very amusing. You were already so hot, but you underneath him were crying in whimpering for more with the mask on? He could never forget that.

It felt intimate, you trusted him with your fear. And somehow, was helping out.

—”Not so scared anymore, huh? Freaky.” Leon made fun of the situation, that sarcastic giggle making you want to hit him in the head, but that was not possible due to your blissful state now.

For someone who was so scared of slasher movies, this was quite hot. It sure is an extraordinary way to spend Halloween, discovering a new kink all because your boyfriend is way hotter than you expected with a mask. As though you loved to see his, not seeing was a hot mystery you’re starting to like even more. "Just this time" was all a lie now.

[mockerycrow]

Lil late but imagine the cod men comforting you after a horrible closing shift (mines tomorrow)

They just pull you into a hug and give you a lil smooch on the forehead. They most likely already made you some dinner and if you dont wanna eat. Thats fine they'll put the plate away for later. They'd just spoil you for the rest of the night and help you fall asleep

Tomorrow (Gaz x GN!Reader)

gaz masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist

Summary: You had an awful closing shift as well as a streak of bad luck all day. You come home to your boyfriend.

A/N: I decided to do gaz for this,,, and i made it an entire fic because i love him so much <3 and this surprisingly isn’t self indulgent, i get real fuckin’ mad after bad shifts lol

[WARNINGS: Angst/comfort, mentions of harassment, minor violence, panic attacks/hyperventilation, dissociation, implied unsafe driving.]

Your chest felt too tight and your clothes were sticking slickly to your skin due to being drenched in whatever drink a customer had thrown at your head. Your temple throbs from the impact of the glass cup, and there’s small cuts littering all over your face—which they sting when your face curls in pain. You know driving home in this state was a horrible idea, but all you wanted was to get out of there and hide. You’re sitting in your driveway, your car still running—although in park—and you’re gripping your steering wheel so harshly your knuckles are turning lighter than your hands. You gasp desperately for a good gulp of fresh air, but fuck, you can’t breathe—all you can focus on is the sensation of the glass colliding with your face, the way you slipped not once, not twice, but three times, the way you were late to work, and how you got screamed at by a different customer for not getting their items in time, even though it was rush hour—

You sob before harshly sucking in air, and then you end up coughing as you inhaled not only air, but also spit. The overwhelming feelings that had built up are finally crashing down, and the waves won’t stop crashing. Your throat is silently begging you to stop inhaling so harshly, and but your lungs are louder with their demands as it feels like more and more pressure is being put on your ribs and chest—There’s a tapping on your driver side window and you hiccup, turning your head and through your tears, you make out the vague silhouette of your boyfriend, Kyle. He points downwards and your brain gets the message, your shaky fingers reaching out and pressing down on the unlock button. Without a moment of hesitation, Kyle pulls on the car handle, swinging open the car door. He steps closer to you, not yet touching you. “Hey- hey hey hey, love.. Take a breath for me, hm?” His soft and comforting voice filters through your muffled ears, and he’s safe, he’s safe—your hand comes shooting out and you grab onto his shirt, feeling the material. You sob again as you feel his warm arms wrap around your body, not caring about how your clothing is damp from work.

Your head spins as his hand gently comes up and cups the back of your head with such gentleness that you can’t help but feel as if he was sent from some prayer you made earlier in the week in the back room of your workplace. “Take a big breath for me, darling. It’s alright,” He repeats softly, his chest vibrating with every word. You hiccup and inhale sharply—it hurt your throat, but it’s a start. You don’t know if your heart or his that’s pounding in your ears, but you try to focus on it, anyway. Kyle hums softly as he strokes your head again, murmuring soft praises when you get a good, full, deep inhale in. “Mhm, just like that.. Do it again, yeah?” He encourages, his fingernails scratching up and down your damp shirt against your back—if goosebumps weren’t already raised from being cold, they would raise from his touch. Your lungs burn, but no longer screaming for air, just for some normal breathing patterns. Your sobs slowly slow down to sniffles and quiet wails, and your head is still light and floaty—it’s typical after what just happened. Your limbs feels exponentially heavier than before and you don’t notice Kyle pulling away or him cupping your face gently until you hear his voice quietly calling out for you.

Your eyes flutter open and it takes a moment for them to land and focus on Kyle; you notice he’s crouching down a bit to be on the same level as you. “Hey, you.” He murmurs, his thumb stroking across your cheekbone lovingly. “You with me, now?” You sniffle and shudder for a second before nodding—but you felt so tired. Kyle grabs one of your hands and his other hand supports your elbow. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, hm?” He hums, and you allow him to guide you out of your seat—he must’ve undone your seatbelt at one point. Or did you drive home without one on? You didn’t care to think about it anymore, not when you watch Kyle collect your belongings and your keys from the car, and watch him lock and arm the thing.

You blink for a moment—and you find yourself inside, stripped down to your underwear. You panic for just a moment, but then you blink, looking around and you spot Kyle rummaging around for some comfortable pajamas. You swallow some spit in an attempt to wet your throat. “Kyle?” You croak quietly, and his head whips around to look at you. “What is it?” He asks ever so gently, as if he’s ready to fetch whatever you would need. You take a moment to put the words together as your brain doesn’t want to cooperate, and you raise your hands to shakily wipe your face off. “Hug?” You whisper, your voice nearly giving out half way through your sentence. Kyle hums for a moment before plucking out a comfortable pair of pajama pants. “Just one moment, love, gotta get you some fresh clothes, hm?” He responds, only glancing away for a moment to see a shirt, and he takes it out of the door. He closes the drawers with the side of his body before he approaches you, and he puts the shirt on the bed whilst he still has the pants in his grip. Your eyes never leave him in some form—like he’ll disappear if you look away. “Got you some pants, sweetheart. Let’s get y’dressed.”

Your body feels numb—not in the “it feels so heavy and I can’t move it” numb, but you watch as Kyle’s fingers grasp yours arms and raise them so he can pull the shirt down onto you, but you don’t feel him touch you at all. And yet, you don’t seem to panic at this fact, either. Kyle keeps looking at you with a worried yet loving look as he helps you shuffle into some dry clothes. He kisses your forehead and you blink at him for a moment, processing what he was doing. You notice his lips moving, but you don’t hear a thing he said. “Pardon?” You whisper, your eyes scanning his face—from the way the corner of his lip twitches downwards when you ask him to repeat himself, to the way his forehead wrinkles when he furrows his eyebrows. You want to tell him to stop worrying so much, but it feels like it would take so much effort to do so. “I said I made dinner before you came home, are you in the mood to eat?”

You sit there for a moment and blankly process it—food? Food would probably do you some good, but you know it’ll only taste like nothing right now and feel like rubber, so you shake your head. Despite the cringing feeling of you opening your jaw to speak, you do so anyway. “Just..” You swallow some spit to continue speaking. “Don’t ask me what happened right now.” You pause for a moment before making eye contact. “Hold me?” Kyle’s heart breaks in his chest, his stomach tightening for a moment. Without a moments hesitation, he’s kicking off his shoes and untying his sweatpants—he tends to sleep in only a shirt and a pair of boxers, maybe just his underwear if it’s hot or he wants to feel you completely. He doesn’t say yes or no, but you already know his answer by the way he’s undressing. You feel your eyes burn as they fill with hot and salty tears; without hesitation, your beautiful boyfriend always knows what you need—it’s such a weird power he has, even when he’s away on base, if you’re feeling off? Your phone is ringing with a call from him. You always ask how, and he always replies, “I just know, sweetheart.” Kyle and you lay down on the bed, on top of the sheets. Your arms wrap around each other—so intertwined, just the way he likes it. Your hand comes up and you brush your finger against his cheek and he smiles bashfully at you, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead; and you know he’s got you. He always does.

“It’ll be a better day tomorrow.”

[kydrogendragon]

Five times Dream failed at being a normal human around Hob and the one time Hob learned why (by Fall Out Boy)

Relationship: Dream/Hob Rating: Teen Words: 5641 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

For square A2 of the Dreamling Bingo. Masterlist can be found here.

1

Upon entering the cafe, Dream is met with two realizations. One, this place is, by far, the coziest place with reviews that promise excellent coffee in walking distance of his flat. The second, that Dream is never going to set foot in this building again due to the sheer beauty of the man behind the counter.

The man moves with well-worn grace, pulling shots of espresso and chatting with customers with ease. His longer chestnut hair is pulled up into a quintessential messy bun, a few strands stick out and frame his face from where they escaped confinement. Then, there is his smile, rich and wide, with lines and crows-feet at his eyes that give away how often he uses it. And when his honey eyes swipe across Dream, he can feel his heart stop in his chest.

His body moves on autopilot, queuing up in the ever-growing line as it would be socially unacceptable to leave as soon as one entered, after all. He has at least a handful of people in front of him. It gives him time to gradually coax his brain back into something functional rather than something that only revolves around rapidly growing fantasies of the man whose name he does not even know.

He watches, enraptured, as hands and arms, dusted with lovely dark hair, reaches into the case of pastries and plucks a delicate, golden-brown croissant from the shelf. There is strength in his build, yet tenderness in his touch. This does nothing but fuel images of how this man’s hands might feel upon his own skin instead. How he might wrap Dream tight in his arms, yet cradle his face with the delicacy of a freshly baked pastry.

“—can I get you?”

Dream blinks. He is standing in front of the counter and the man that now occupies every fantasy in his mind stares down at him with a friendly smile. There is a shadow of hair upon his jaw and chin and Dream wonders how it might feel brushed against the side of his face. He takes a breath. Dream was supposed to have more time to pull himself together. He swears there were more people ahead of him, when did they all leave?

He doesn’t even know what he wants. He has been spending far too long gazing at the man, who is even more enticing up close. The soft, golden lighting in the cafe reflects in the depths of his eyes and Dream feels himself falling into the pools of earth and warmth inside of them.

Then the man raises his brows in question and his smile falters. And Dream realizes he has yet to speak and this is where he is supposed to order something rather than gawk at the man like some infatuated teen.

“Black coffee,” he says.

Why the fuck did he say black coffee?

“Sure thing! What size for you?” The smile returns as his hand hovers over the stacks of paper cups of alternating sizes. Dream’s eyes are drawn to the movement like a moth to fire. Not an unfitting metaphor given how he feels he is close to burning up in the man’s presence.

“Medium.”

That is better than him saying large, at least.

“Perfect! I’ll get that right out for you. That’ll be two pounds even.” The man says, fingers lifting a cup off of the stack. His voice is, perhaps, even more charming than the rest of him. It sings, happiness in each note. And perhaps it is simply that the man is excellent at customer service, but Dream likes to believe that it is also just how the man is.

He blinks and fishes through his pockets for the cash to hand over to the man. He sets the coins in his outstretched palms and fails spectacularly at not cataloging how the pads of this man’s fingers feels against his palm.

“Name?”

“Pardon?”

“Name for the order? There’s a few black coffees so far,” the man says with another easy smile.

Again. Why did he order a black coffee? He hates black coffee.

“Dream,” he says and his heart flutters as the man smiles so wide his eyes crinkle.

“Dream,” his voice says, honey sweet. And now Dream knows how his name sounds on the man’s lips. “I like it. Well Dream, should be just a tick and it’ll be ready down at the end!”

Dream nods and slowly makes his way towards the back wall near the end of the counter and takes a breath for the first time since the encounter. His hands shake, even with their placement in the pockets of his trousers. He has, he thinks, not completely ruined that transaction. Not with the way the man smiled at him. He’d even…even said he liked Dream’s name. The only thing that would make it better is if he’d been cognizant enough to catch the man’s name.

Dream plays back the interaction in his mind when he’s dragged out of his thoughts by the sound of his name upon the man’s lips once more. He looks up and sees the man smile as he sets down his drink onto the counter before flitting back towards the nearly empty queue.

He smiles, grabs his drink and takes a sip.

And immediately spits it back into the cup. Why. Why did he order black coffee? Why couldn’t his brain panic and say literally any other drink?

Dream looks up and sees the man looking at him with concern in his eyes.

His blood runs cold as he stares back, wide eyed. Surely the man must hate him now. He’d wasted a perfectly good drink, insulted it even, and insulted him.

Dream rushes out, drink abandoned on the counter.

He can never come back here again.

~~***~~

2

It’s two weeks later before Dream dares to venture back to the White Horse Cafe again. Two weeks too soon, he thinks, as he steps through the doors. This time, for better or worse, there isn’t a line. There are a few patrons scattered in the mismatched, but charming seating. Most with either a book in hand from their own collection or freshly bought from the adjoining book store, or tapping away at laptops or tablets alike.

Dream takes a steady breath in before stepping up to the counter. The man’s back is to him at the moment, arms moving in gentle motions as he works on another’s drink. He takes this time to both mentally prepare himself to order something that’s not black coffee as well as to take in the sight of the man’s form. His clothes are dark this time around. A simple black tee is all that covers his upper body with sleeves loose over his biceps.

His breath hitches as he notices a grouping of small, black lines peaking out from both the collar of the man’s shirt as well as out of the sleeve of his left arm. The man is inked as well. It truly is as if he was plucked straight from Dream’s deepest fantasies. The universe is cruel.

Honey brown eyes meet his and part of Dream prays that he does not recognize him. But of course, he does.

“Hey, good to see you again! Decided to give us another shot?” the man calls to him with a smile. He places a lid on the cup he’d been working on and sets it on the counter before meeting Dream at the register.

“I—” He was unprepared for such a question. He’d prepared himself for what he would drink or what he may eat, yet somehow he hadn’t prepared himself for the man joking around with him. He’d thought he would have been viewed with bare minimum politeness, not…this. “No.”

No?

The man cocks his head. “No?”

“No! I mean—” Dream panics. Nothing good comes from him panicking and yet…“—Yes, just not with regular coffee.”

“Mm, that bad?” There is still a smile on his face. That is a good sign.

“Yes.”

Yes!?

“Ouch, brutal honestly. Refreshing, though. Most people just suffer through it if they don’t like it then tell me it was great. Doesn’t help me out much, though. What didn’t you like about it?” the man laughs. Dream’s eyes dart down away from the cheery gaze that’s aimed at him. Then he spots the mysterious nametag he’d missed the first time.

Hob.

The man’s name is Hob. It is a name he has not heard before, though he is not one to judge. Suddenly, he now has a name to the face that has featured in 65% of his waking thoughts and 90% of his dreaming ones. This is both a curse as well as a blessing.

“Hob,” he whispers. Which only draws the man’s attention to him. And then he panics, yet again. “Black coffee is an excellent choice to establish a baseline of quality for a business. It is hard to achieve a truly exceptional one.”

“And ours definitely didn’t meet your standards, I take it?”

“No.”

Why does he keep talking? It is not as if he is an expert in coffee. He comes more for the rush of sugar rather than caffeine. Now Hob is surely going to think he is some sort of coffee snob like his sister. Why does he do this to himself.

The man taps his fingers on the counter top in thought. “Well, any suggestions on how to improve it? Maybe a better coffee bean distributor or roastery? Or maybe you’ve some good tips on the preparation—”

“There is nothing you could do that would end in a cup of black coffee I would enjoy.” He should never speak again. While he wasn’t incorrect, it is for no fault of Hob’s nor any roastery or individual coffee bean. He is tempted to race out of the building right this instant, especially as the easy smile falls completely from Hob’s face. He has ruined this. He had come back, intending to fix things and he ruined it.

“Right,” Dream tries not to die on the spot at how the cheerful tone in Hob’s voice vanishes. “Well, anything that’s not coffee that I can offer you?”

Dream swallows against the lump in his throat. “A small vanilla latte.”

Hob nods. “Coming right up.”

Dream is never coming back here again.

~~***~~

3

Dream is back at the White Horse Cafe, though not by his own will this time. His sister insisted upon catching up—something he is not disinclined to—but she picked the location this time and chose here, due to it’s proximity to his own flat. Kind of her, in theory, though disastrous in truth. Dream could have, theoretically, asked that they meet elsewhere, but he knows his sister. Telute would not have dropped the subject as to why Dream didn’t want to meet there and then he’d be forced to explain the disaster that is his interactions with Hob. And there is no way that he is doing that. So he steps into the cafe and hopes that his sister is already there.

The cafe is empty of her presence and Dream can feel his shoulders tense. Slowly, he turns his eyes towards the counter and sighs out in relief at the lack of the handsome man. Instead, a woman with short curly hair stands in his place. Dream approaches the counter and manages to order his usual large (not small) caramel (not vanilla) latte from the woman he now knows as Peggy. The drink doesn’t take long and he grabs it from the counter once it’s ready and finds a seat, tucked back into the corner, away from the crowd and view of the register.

He waits, sipping at his drink as he stares at the screen of his phone, waiting for his sister’s arrival. Then, a few minutes later, her face appears beside a text.

Dream, so sry, work got craaazy! Raincheck? <3 — T

He sighs and rests his head against the top of his phone. He has risked yet another terrible incident (far too soon for Hob to forget Dream’s existence, at that) and for nothing.

Dream looks down at his bag and considers, given that his drink is still full and the place is currently Hob-less, that it would, perhaps, be safe to stay here for a time and work. That had been his initial plan when he’d first come here, after all. The atmosphere of a cafe, especially a quaint and quiet one such as this, is unbeatable for his productivity. Words fly from him with ease that he struggles to achieve in many other places. And, as he looks around, there is even an outlet beside this table. Such a perfect opportunity may never present itself again.

So, Dream retrieves his laptop and charger from his bag, plugs himself in, and opens his word document and the words fly.

He’s pulled forth from the world spawned to life with fingers and keyboard by the sound of a mug on his table and a shadow falling across his face. Dream looks up and freezes when he sees familiar chestnut hair and warm eyes.

Hob stands beside him, hands now resting in the back pockets of the denim he wears. His hair is set free, the longer locks falling in front of his face as he smiles. Saliva pools in his mouth (he’ll blame it on the smell of pastries later). Looking up at him at this angle was one he was wholly unprepared for. He has imagined such angles before, though in manners he is certain Hob would ban him from the premise for mentioning aloud. He hates that he knows this knowledge will feature heavily in his imaginings tonight.

"Sorry for interrupting,“ Hob says, nodding towards the newly made drink. ”Just wanted to say I was glad you gave us another shot. And to give you a refill, on the house, as a thanks. I know we're still new so if there's anything you think needs changing, let me know!"

Dream’s gaze finds it cannot move from the sight of Hob standing over him. The way the light shines behind him, casting a near halo around his head. He is bathed in the now late afternoon glow that shines in from the front windows. He is truly beautiful here. The fact that Hob works here is more than enough (if only Dream was capable of being normal then he would be a regular here), so there is very little he could imagine changing.

Though…

The thought of Hob changing, specifically how he would shed his shirt, tacky with sweat built up by working in the heat and steam of pastries and coffee, is one Dream has no problem imagining. How his hair would look splayed out on the dark sheets of Dream’s bed, how his stomach would flex under his hands. How Hob would beg for more as Dream slowly eases his jeans down further and further. Yes…the only things Dream wishes to change is—

“You.”

Fuck.

Hob’s jaw tenses and Dream can watch in real time as his face closes. This smile, this new smile, is one he has witnessed on many underworked retail workers. It is impersonal, disingenuous, and as Desire often describes, dead inside. And Dream has placed it there with his inability to be a functional human.

He is a disgrace.

Dream watches, frozen in place, as Hob simply nods and walks off without another word. If he had not ruined things before, he most certainly has now. No longer would there be a chance to fix things. No longer would he be welcome in these walls. Hob surely thinks Dream hates him. If only he knew…

He slowly turns back towards his laptop. He saves his document, turns it off, and packs his bag. He gives a look back to the offering Hob had given him. It is still warm in the ceramic mug, and wafts with scents of caramel and cinnamon and topped with a dollop of whipped cream. It looks heavenly. Dream’s stomach churns.

He slings his bag over his shoulder and leaves, vowing that this time, he will never return.

~~***~~

4

Dream is beginning to think the universe is out to spite him personally as he stands in line at the White Horse Cafe yet again.

This was, once again, not by his own choice. Rather, Lucienne had insisted upon grabbing a drink during their lunch break and claimed she knew of a lovely spot a few blocks down. By the time they turned on this street, Dream knew where she was taking them, but it was too late to suggest anything else. He spent the few sparse minutes he had left before the walked through the doors to prepare himself.

He determined—given that any other reaction would result in him needing to explain the issue to Lucienne which, like his sister, was unacceptable—that he would simply ignore Hob to the best of his abilities. It was hard, not following the man as he worked with efficiency behind the counter alongside Peggy, but he willed himself to focus on what Lucienne was saying to him instead.

He felt proud for catching 75% of what she said.

But now, they stand just two people away in the queue from the register and Hob has been primarily handling transactions thus far. This means Dream will have to speak with him. And order. And not mess things up yet again. All the while, not cluing Lucienne into his constant internal debate he’s had going since about two blocks down from here.

“—should expect to have a new shipment in by tomorrow. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind dropping by and signing a few copies on the shelves?” Dream blinks away from where his eyes were latched onto the pastry case and definitely not Hob’s backside.

“Mm.”

“You’ve been quieter than you usually are. Are you alright?”

Dream sighs and turns towards his friend. “I am fine, Lucienne. I am simply…tired.”

She gives him a soft smile as she looks up at the sprawling drink board. “Well, caffeine will do you some good, then. What are you getting? My treat as a congratulations for signing that contract.” As much as he does not wish for her to spend her money on him, Dream is glad that this means he will not need to order the drink himself.

“A large caramel latte.” He turns his gaze towards the floor. “Please,” he tacks on to the end.

It does not take them long to reach the front. Hob is there; he hears his voice directed toward Lucienne. Dream purposefully stands off to the side of her and clenches his teeth lest his mouth betray him for a fourth time in front of this man. It is a unique form of torture, forced to listen to the sound of Hob’s voice and knowing he is not allowed to see him. If Hob sees him, if Dream meets his eyes, then he will be forced to see the hatred that surely lies inside. And he cannot handle that. It is bad enough he is here in the cafe, thankfully he has Lucienne as a buffer, but the next time she asks if he wishes for a coffee, he will have to ensure this is not a repeated destination.

The order is complete and Hob directs them towards the counter as usual, though Lucienne steers them towards a table first and Dream’s heart sinks. He should have known they would stay here to drink. Part of him is tempted to ask Lucienne if she would prefer a table outside, though she would see right through him. He has never been one for outdoor dining in any form.

It doesn’t take too long before their drinks are ready. Dream stays seated as Lucienne stands and fetches them. He wants to look up, to see where Hob is, if he’s ignoring Dream’s presence as well, but he knows he shouldn’t. It would only torment them both.

And yet.

Dream looks up from the table to see Hob cheerfully taking orders as if nothing is wrong. And there isn’t, he supposes. There is only something wrong with him. Then Hob looks over. And their eyes meet. And Dream’s breath stops and Hob holds his gaze for seconds longer than normal, but he does not smile. Hob breaks contact first, looking down before turning away.

Dream feels sick. He should not have come. He should have insisted that they meet elsewhere and save Hob the trouble that is Dream’s existence. But all that is left is to get through their time here and then he will leave Hob alone in peace. As he deserves.

~~***~~

5

His sister insists he is an idiot.

This is not news to Dream. He is well aware of his faults and failures as a functioning human, but he tries. And, after listening to her hour lecture followed by constant quips at his expense for the rest of the night, Telute successfully convinces Dream that, at the least, he should go and apologize to Hob so the poor man does not think he is hated for no reason. So, after having sworn he would not go back to the White Horse for the fourth time, he finds himself inside the White Horse yet again.

There is a decent queue already, which surprises him for how late in the evening it is. With a sigh, he lines up, mentally rehearsing the apology he would give Hob. He will explain…well, maybe not why he has been as rude as he has to the man (as that would entail explaining how Hob’s charm and attractiveness has removed any shred of normalcy and logic from Dream’s mind), but he would explain how poor he is with social functions in general. And that, while he does not expect Hob to forgive him, he hopes Hob will understand.

Peggy, he notes, is here again as well as another employee. This place is growing. Or, perhaps, this employee has always been here and this is simply the first time Dream has seen her. It is not as if Dream is a regular, after all. As much as he had initially planned on being such.

The queue moves quickly. Hob handles the register while the other two handle the drinks and food. It is efficient and, much to Dream’s dismay, makes the line move faster than he wishes. Before he knows it, he is standing in front of Hob for the fifth time.

Hob gives him a weak smile—not a standard service smile, nor the bright ones he had first received from the man, but rather something close to pained or tired—and speaks. “What can I get you?”

To which Dream eloquently replies with, “I—your coffee is decent.”

Hob’s lips quiver as the weak smile he’d worn threatens to grow. "Going to attempt a black coffee again? We've changed our distributor since then and lots of people said they like the stuff better.”

"No. The black was disgusting.” Hob's smile falls once more and Dream winces. This is not going as he had planned.

"Right. No black. Your usual then?”

"I…yes…Yes, just the usual.” Dream digs for his card as Hob rings him up. The words he wants to say feel trapped behind his teeth, all mixed up and wrong. He clamps them down tight, afraid of what terrible concoction would be released if he dared speak. All that waiting and rehearsing, nothing but a waste. He cannot even apologize correctly. He should have never listened to his sister. He should have stayed far away from Hob and the White Horse. He does nothing but cause hurt.

When Hob hands him back his card, rather than a polite “thanks” his brain decides to say, “You are not disgusting,” and he proceeds to die inside.

Thankfully, Hob looks more confused instead of being offended further. “...thanks? I think. Um…your order should be ready at the end of the bar here shortly.”

So, Dream goes. He waits diligently for his order. He watches Hob smile and chat with the other customers in line and lets himself pretend that is him that Hob talks to. He watches, and catalogs, and when his drink is ready, he leaves with a final glance behind him at the White Horse.

And then is immediately greeted by the heavens opening up the moment he steps outside the door.

Thunder rolls in the dark clouds up above. Rain slams into the pavement and the chill in the air slices him to the bone. Had this been literally anywhere else, Dream would go back inside and wait the storm out. But he knows he cannot. He should not. So instead, he sits at one of the tables sheltered away from the rain by the canopy above him and sighs. At least his drink is warm.

~~***~~

+1

Hob wipes his hands off on a paper towel and tosses it into the trash. Sweat still gleams on his forehead and his legs ache from standing so long, but he’s glad to finally be off for the day. As much as he enjoys owning this place, it can get really fucking tiring.

He sighs as he exits the employee bathroom and nods towards Peggy and Jo who are currently manning the cafe. He’s grateful that Jo agreed to help part-time. Lately, they’ve been getting busier and busier and as much as Hob loves the extra business, it was getting to the point that he and Peggy couldn’t keep up. Eventually, he predicts, he’ll need to hire someone else full-time. Maybe a designated baker. He’d do it himself, but he loves chatting with the customers too much to give that up. Well, save a few. And save a very specific man who he’d unfortunately seen again today.

Dream.

Hob has no idea what he did to anger the man so much, but the contempt he’s got for Hob is plain to see. Christ, and that glare of his. Downright bone-chilling at times. And he doesn’t treat Peggy that way, either. He’d asked. When Hob had seen him in the line, he was tempted to swap out with Peggy for a bit just so he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever insult the man would spit back at him. But today wasn’t an insult…he didn’t think. He was, apparently, “not disgusting.” Which, maybe for Dream, is a compliment.

With a sigh, Hob steps out and is greeted by both a massive downpour of rain as well as the man that’s been haunting his working life for the past four months. There Dream sits, back turned to the cafe, with his hands curled around his coffee like a life-preserver of warmth in this chilly weather. He’s shaking, even. Christ, the man ordered almost an hour ago. Has he really been here the whole time? Why the hell didn’t he come inside?

He moves before his brain can think and sits himself in the chair across from Dream. He folds his hands atop the table and stares at him. Clearly Dream didn’t hear the door open over the thunder and the rain as his eyes are wide as they stare back. Fuck, he looks cold. There’s barely a hint of red in his face. Was being even in the same building as Hob so terrible?

"Did I do something to you?“ he asks, brows furrowed. ”You keep coming back so clearly it's not the place or the coffee that you hate, it's just me, so…" Hob bites his lower lip and shakes his head as he trails off. He doubts the man would even give him an answer. Probably just huff and ignore him like he had last time he was in.

Instead, Dream flounders, opening and shutting his mouth like a fish out of water. It’s so far from the stiff, almost regal air he always carried with him before that it takes Hob aback. Maybe the man’s brain was going from the chill.

He sighs as his face falls, hiding behind the drink in his hands. Hob has to strain to hear the quiet words over the sound of rain, but he does manage to catch, “It…is not you. I am…bad. With people.“ Hob blinks. “I am…sorry. For the—for everything.”

Suddenly, each past interaction flashes through Hob’s mind with haunting clarity as the missing piece of the puzzle slots into place. Christ, it’s obvious now. The man was clearly just shite at interacting with people. And knowing Hob and his overly personal manner of service, he’d probably made it ten times worse on accident. And then proceeded to worry over it, thinking it was something more personal than it was.

"Fuck,“ he says, his head collapsing into his hands. ”I'm sorry. I just…I've been trying to figure out what it was I did so I wouldn't annoy you in the future. Got so wound up in myself I didn't even think…and now I'm accosting you while you're just trying to enjoy your coffee. Christ, I'm sorry. I'll leave—"

"No!" Hob blinks in surprise. "I mean…I…" Hob raises a brow, but waits, trying to give time for Dream to speak. He gives the man a smile, hoping maybe it’ll ease any fears. Dream takes a breath before speaking again. "I would. Enjoy your company. If—if I have not made you hate me."

Hob chuckles and lets himself relax. "Not at all. Why don't we start over, huh?“ He holds out his hand and smiles. ”Nice to meet you. I'm Robert Gadling. Friends call me Hob."

Dream stares at his outreached hand, but Hob waits and is rewarded by Dream reaching out to shake it in return. “My name is Morpheus Endless. My friends call me Dream.”

“Nice to meet you, Dream.”

“It is nice to meet you as well, Hob.”

“What do you say we go back inside where it’s warm, yeah?”

Dream smiles—actually smiles—and then stands. “I would like that.”

~~***~~

+2

A year later

“Here you go, dove,” Hob says, setting his boyfriend’s favorite mug—black with rainbow speckles like stars—beside his computer, next to the half-eaten pain au chocolate. He’s since perfected the recipe after Dream had, lovingly, critiqued that the croissant suffered from not raising as much as others due to it’s fillings. Now, it’s equally as fluffy (and buttery) and filled with perfectly melted chocolate. They’re his favorites and he’s been told a few times since that they’re the best ones in the neighborhood by other customers. He may or may not have added the croissant and caramel latte to the menu as a “Dream Special” as well, in Dream’s honor. Dream pretends he hates it, but Hob has learned to read his expressions by now.

“Thank you,” Dream says, leaning up for a kiss which Hob indulges him in. It’s rather strange to think that over a year ago, Hob thought Dream had hated him, though he’s since learned that it wasn’t simply Dream’s anxiety with strangers that caused him to be as brusque as he was. No, Hob learned the truth behind their early interactions.

Apparently, and much to Hob’s chagrin, Dream had been too busy drooling over Hob to form any sort of polite response. It was a fact he lorded over his poor boyfriend for a good few weeks after, but he feels he earned it. After all, Dream made him question their interactions for days after each one. He’d earned a bit of retribution.

Now, it’s just a thought that makes him smile every time he catches Dream’s intense gaze on him as he works. And if he wears a bit tighter shirts on warm days, or makes sure to flex his muscles when he knows Dream’s watching, well, it doesn’t hurt anyone, right? And if he enjoys knowing that his boyfriend used to jack off to the idea of kneeling before Hob when he’d brought over that free refill all those months ago because he learned what Hob looked like from that angle, well…okay. Hob’s just a man. He might tease him about that a bit more than Dream really deserves, but it’s incredibly flattering, okay? Can you really blame him?

“How’s the next book going?” Hob asks, peering down (and maybe purposefully pressing his chest against Dream’s ear) at the laptop. Dream’s finger’s twitch above the keys. He hears his lover takes a deep breath and Hob can’t help but smile.

“It…is going well. I am nearly finished with the first round of edits.”

“That’s incredible, love. So proud of you.” Dream hums and leans against Hob. His eyes flutter close and Hob wonders how he manged to get so lucky as to keep this ridiculous creature.

“Does this mean,” Dream says, tilting his head up to peer into Hob’s eyes. “That I have earned a reward?”

Hob smirks. “What kind of reward were you thinking?”

Dream’s eyes narrow in that predatory fashion that gets Hob’s blood racing. “Perhaps…dinner. At the Italian place we like. And then…dessert at home?”

“Mmm, sure you don’t want dessert first?” Hob teases. He watches as Dream’s eyes darken and he thinks to himself that it’s a bloody good thing that he owns the place and can cart Dream away into the storage closet with him because he’s not sure if he’ll make it through his shift.

“Perhaps we can be indulgent and have dessert twice?” He feels Dream’s hand reach up the back of his thigh and squeezes the globe of his arse. Christ, he’s definitely going to need that storage closet.

“For you love? Anything.”