#but you know that THIS was where it was headed from the beginning

[partiallysame]

Ghost Gets No Bitches pt. 3

Word Count: 2300

Content warnings: smut, Sub!simon, unprotected sex, P in V, this got a lil freak nasty 

(ahhhh this is my first smut im big nervous)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 2.5

Simon followed you up the stairs to your apartment, palms sweating, pants tight. The second the lock clicked and the door swung open you grabbed Simon by the belt pulling him inside, immediately leaning up against the now closed door he had to put his hands out to stop from crashing into you. Caged between his arms you tugged his shirt bringing his lips to yours. Your hands began to roam all over his defined chest while one of his gripped your hip pulling you into him. “Couch” you mumbled between kisses, barely pulling away enough to speak the word. Feet fumbling, both refusing to separate enough to look where you were going. Once the back of his calves touched the couch you pushed his chest forcing him down onto the couch, taking a moment to look at the way his pupils were dilated, chest heaving and arms reaching to bring you back to him. Lifting one leg on either side of his lap, you straddled him, lips finding their way to his neck. Leaving a wet trail of bites and kisses on his neck you began to tug at the hem of his shirt, prompting him to take it off. The moan that left your lips at his exposed torso made his grip on your thighs tighten. Simon had never been ogled like this. You were looking at him like he was a full course meal that you were going to eat and lick the plate clean. Your lips found his again, body beginning to grind onto his. His large hands pulled your dress up enough to expose your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh helping you grind onto him. The friction of his jeans on your clothed crotch had you letting little mewls in his ear. His hands began to tug a little more at your dress until you pulled away from him. 

“Use your words.” Your lips were puffy and the way you were looking at him, Simon didn’t think any coherent thoughts could come out.

“Off.” You cocked your head to the side slightly, not moving to follow his request. 

“What was that?” Your voice dripping with innocence but he knew it was anything but.

“Take this off.” You just raised your eyebrows at him. “Fuck take this off, please.” The last word came out more of a breath than an actual sound. 

“Good boy.” You pulled the dress over your head exposing the matching lingerie set you had been wearing. Fuck you were wearing this all night? Simon took a deep breath, groaning at the sight in front of him. You started to remove yourself from him but his hands slid from your thighs to your hips keeping you in place. “Just taking this to the bed, thats all.” you reassured him.

“Tell me where, love?” His grip tightened as he stood with you still attached to him, legs wrapping around his thick torso. This time his lips found your neck trailing their way across the vein there until he found a spot that made your breathing pick up. As he neared your room, your hand found its way into his hair. A hard tug at the roots of his blonde hair pulled his mouth from you and the whimper that he let out was a noise he didn’t know he could make. You moved his head to the side to give space to bite down on his neck, sucking and leaving a deep purple mark. Fuck his legs were gonna give out if you kept doing that. He walked the two of you further in until he could set you down on the bed. Leaning back onto your hands, you looked at him with hooded eyes. Simon never thought he’d get into heaven but here he was, staring at your almost naked body, sitting waiting patiently for him. “Off” your foot trailed up his thigh before putting the smallest amount of pressure on the outline of his cock over his jeans. 

“Yes Ma’am.” The words left his lips before he knew what he was saying but the phrase went straight to your core. His pants fell to the floor and you licked your lips, staring shamelessly at his fucking huge cock pressed against his stomach. 

“You know Simon,” You slid from the bed to drop to your knees in front of him, “You’ve been so good today. Do you think you deserve a reward?” Hands sliding up and down his thick thighs, feeling the way they would tighten and flex under your touch. He started to nod but stopped himself. Words Simon.

“Yes Please.” Simon Ghost Riley couldn’t remember the last time he used the word ‘please’ but here he was whimpering it for the second time. His breath was shaking as you got closer to him. Simon’s cock twitched, your breath fanned over it, but you hadn’t touched him yet. Lowering yourself so your face was centimeters away from the base of his cock, teasing him with your warm breath, lips so close to doing what he needed you to. His hands were in fists, trying so hard to keep composed, to let you tease him, to not put his hand onto your head and pull you closer. Looking up and locking eyes with him, your tongue traced a long line from the base of his cock to the tip, eliciting a long moan from him. Hands gripping the base, adjusting the angle, you took him into your mouth fully, without warning. You hummed, tasting the salty precum, the vibrations making his legs shake. His hand found its way to your hair so gently, scared to make the wrong move. Your mouth worked up and down his length, tongue pressing into the prominent vein on the underside of his cock and swirling around the tip. It only took a few seconds for his grip on your hair to tighten. He felt like a fucking teenager, about to cum this fast. 

“wait not yet” He tried to pull himself from you but you pulled the back of his thighs, cock hitting the back of your throat, you swallowed around him and he was a goner. A broken moan left him as he shot his load down your throat. Slowly removing him from your mouth, you stood up and pulled him down into a kiss, making him taste himself from your lips. You spun the two of you, hands pressing onto his chest pushing him down onto the bed.

“I’m not done with you yet, Lieutenant.” His cock twitched hearing you use his rank. Pressing into his chest until he laid flat, your legs wrapping around to straddle him again. Your hand found his jaw, gripping and moving his head slightly so your lips could brush against his ear, “the first one was your reward. But you’re going to beg for the next one.” Lowering your hips enough, Simon could feel your soaked panties slide across his already hard cock. His hands tried to slide their way up your thighs, but you gripped his wrists, pressing them above his head. “No touching without permission, Lieutenant.” He nodded and kept his hands above his head, gripping the pillow when you let go of him. You pressed your lips onto his and Simon tried to lean into you as much as possible, loving the feeling of your control over him. He let out a disappointed whine when you pulled your body from his, clothed pussy no longer dragging against his cock. A wet trail of kisses were left from his neck down to his chest, tongue swirling over his nipple, his hips bucked up involuntarily at the sensation. Your hand found his jaw again, grip tighter than the last time, “Behave.” 

“M’sorry fuck please.” His accent thick as he began to whine. 

“Please what Simon?”  You started the trail of kisses again, moving down his stomach getting so close to his cock again. 

“Please can I touch you?” His knuckles had turned white from the death grip he had on the pillow. Your lips were now hovering over the tip of his cock, teasingly you blew air over his slit and his hands shot down to you. Before they could reach you, you made a “tsk” noise and his hands found the sheets next to his thighs. You hadn’t given him permission yet. Fuck he can do this, he can be good for you. 

“Good boy.” You smirked as you moved further from his cock, nails dragging lightly up and down his muscular thighs, watching as this giant man twitched under you. Removing yourself from the bed just long enough to slide your panties down your thighs, Simon couldn’t look anywhere but at your glistening core. Straddling him again, you leaned back against his thighs, giving him the perfect view of your body and your dripping pussy. 

“Please let me touch you, please.” His hands lifted slightly trying so hard to behave for you. 

“No.” He wanted to let out a groan but the sound stopped in his throat when he watched you trail your own hand down your stomach and further down until your fingers spread your folds open, coating themselves in your slick. “Open.” It was an order and Simon oh so happily obeyed, opening his mouth as you leaned forward, pushing your wet fingers into his mouth so he could taste you. His tongue wrapped around your fingers and you bit your lip at the sight in front of you. Removing your fingers from his mouth, you slid your pussy across his painfully hard cock. How wet you were and the pressure on him had his head spinning and pleads pouring from his mouth. 

“Fuck please, need to touch you.” His eyes had started to get glossy from all the teasing.

“Go ahead Simon. Touch.” Large hands immediately found your tits, palming at them for a moment before one hand slid down to find your clit, rubbing soft circles. The moan you let out almost broke whatever resolve he had left. Lifting your body just enough, you reached down to grab his cock and line it up with your slit. You lowered yourself slightly, the tip of his cock pressing ever so slightly into you, but stopping there. “Do you want it?” Simon’s eyes were pulled from where you two were connecting to your eyes, head nodding fast. “Then beg for it.” You pulled your body up until his cock was no longer touching you and Simon had never felt more desperate in his life. 

“Fuck please. Need it. Need you Please lovie. I just… please” Hearing his gruff voice whine and beg for you made you lower yourself again but just enough to how you were, his tip barely in you. “Please please please let me make you feel good. Please use me.” Tears were threatening to spill at the feeling of your walls gripping him but knowing you could pull away at any moment. 

“You’re so good for me Simon.” You slowly slid down until he was fully sheathed in you. Your hands placed heavy on his chest, nails digging in as you tried to adjust to his massive size, eyes rolling back in your head at the sensation. Beginning to bounce at an agonizingly slow pace, his hands found your ass, wanting to urge you to speed up but knowing he’d be in trouble if he did. Fuck you’re so tight around him. Whimpers had been falling from his mouth the second you slid down on him. Bottoming out, your pussy clenched around him and he bucked his hips. Fuck he didn’t mean to. He was scared you were going to pull off of him but instead you let out a pornographic moan at the action, his cock hitting that spongy spot in you. 

“Again.” You said trying to keep control but fuck did he feel good, you were losing your grip on reality too. He thrust again and again, your hands planted firmly on his chest holding on for dear life. “Make me cum Simon.” Fuck you didn’t have to tell him twice. He brought one hand to your clit again rubbing messy circles as you bounced up and down on his cock. He could feel you tightening, he could tell you were so close. Fuck he was trying to keep his own release at bay. A few more thrusts from him and you were falling over the edge. He didn’t think you could get any tighter but the feeling of you cumming on his cock was nothing less than pure bliss. His thrusts started to get sloppy and you could tell he was getting close. One of your hands slid from his chest to his throat, hand gripping his neck with just enough pressure to capture his attention. “I told you, you’re gonna have to beg for this one.” You slid off of him slightly, once again only keeping his tip inside of your velvet walls, backing up your statement. Not letting him get too close without following your orders. 

“Please fuck please I’ve been so good. Been a good boy.” His cock could feel you tighten around him, clearly liking the way he was begging. “Let me be your good boy. Fill you up. Please, please please.” The ‘please’s continued as you sunk back down onto him. Leaning down to whisper in his ear. 

“Fill me up then.” Moving back to look at his fucked out face, Simon pulled you into a messy kiss, needing to feel your lips on his, a few final thrusts he emptied his load in you with the most pathetic sounding moan of his life.

He could never tell the 141 about this.

Tag list: @zoexme @booboobear-12 @pileofmoss77 @monnikashui018 @jovialwerewolfarcade

[gojosprettyprincess]

TOJI FUCKING YOU WITH HIS GUN ૮꒰ྀི⊃´ ꒳ `⊂ྀི꒱ა

Tw - gun play, dubcon. Don’t take this seriously, I was like half asleep while writing it :( Not proofread.

“You’re so disgusting baby, can’t believe you’re getting off from this” Toji scoffs in a condescending tone. He callously digs the nuzzle of his gun further into your bare cunt with brutal force that made your legs tremble.

The foreign sensation had your toes instinctively curling in the air because of the startling touch of the cool metal pressing into your delicate core.

“N-no, g-get it out!” You pleaded fearfully, your voice quivering as you desperately tried to wiggle yourself off his lap. His strong grip on your thighs only tightened, preventing your escape. You could feel the warm pool of slick gradually welling up around his gun as it slowly sank deeper into your drooling cunt.

“No? Then why’s this pussy so wet, you’re soaking up my gun like a pathetic little slut, baby” he chuckled wickedly at the irony as he peered down to where you’re seated on his lap, your back is flushed against his taut abs— feeling the warmth of his body enveloping yours.

He unawarely licks his scarred lips at the pretty mess encircling between your plush thighs. An evident wet patch is forming around his gun and he can’t help but coo at how messy you are, despite how dangerous it is.

Or maybe that’s why you’re so messy to begin with.

“You know I can pull the fucking trigger right now and you’ll die but I bet that didn’t cross your mind, did it?”. He taunts mockingly, starting a slow pace in your cunny and watching how the inviting little hole happily swallows the gun deeper in. “As long as you have something stuffed in this greedy pussy, that’s all you care about, huh?”.

You immediately released a delicious moan when the gun’s trigger brushes against your throbbing clit, rubbing against it and creating a new wave of pleasure. You felt a rush of embarrassment as your body betrayed your own resistance.

Toji’s eyes lit up with pure satisfaction, taking pleasure in your helplessness.

“Fuck— you’re so sick Toji!” You exclaimed before thrashing your head back against his hard chest, a shuddering sigh escaping your lips as your eyes clenched shut tightly. Your heart thundering in your chest as the cool metal invaded your most intimate part.

“Awe but you love it, don’t you baby. s’why your little cunt is drooling everywhere”. His breath is hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine because of how it gave you goosebumps.

You wanted to deny it, to fight against the forbidden pleasure he was forcing upon you but the way your eager core was clenching with need around the unfamiliar object wasn’t making it even slightly possible.

He pressed his gun further, inch by inch until you were fully impaled by the steel. The metal widened the entrance of your cunny, forcibly stretching it open as he fucks in and out. The sight of his muscular forearm tensing and bulging with his motions didn’t help your cunt from soaking the object one bit.

He deftly maneuvers the arm that had been holding your thighs, positioning it underneath to allow him to bring his hand up to delicately tease your hard nipples, gently rolling it between his rough fingertips. You arched against his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. “Need you to cum f’me baby, cum on daddy’s gun yeah? You can do it”.

His words are like fuel to the fire, igniting a need deep within you. You can feel the tension coiling tighter, the gun’s trigger teasing your sensitive bud with every thrust and working against your favor.

“N-no…I..fuck!” You struggled to form coherent words as Toji’s skilled movements pushed you closer to the edge. You can feel the way his clothed erection is throbbing underneath your ass, poking against you like it’s trying to bore a hole into your body.

“Come on baby, y’can do it, cream on it f’me” his voice is commanding, leaving no room for refusal. The gun was repeatedly hitting your sweet spot, prodding and poking against it for your arousal. It made your resistance crumble, your body surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Mmph! Toji— stop–fuckk!” You cried out, your nails digging into his hefty forearm as you rode the wave of ecstasy. Your juices was steeping out and soaking both him and the weapon. The sticky cream decorating his gun and leaking onto his lap. He licks a long stripe of your face with a proud grin as he keeps plunging it in and out of you.

“Fuck yes, that’s a good girl, baby. Look at that fucking mess, shit” he groans as his hardened cock twitches with desperate need to be buried inside of you.

He quickly pulled the gun out of your soppy pussy and brought it up to your face for you to witness. Your essence was leaking everywhere as he showed you the mess. “See that? You’re nothing but a fucking whore that wants always something buried up your cunt. But s’okay baby, that’s why I love you”. He hummed contentedly with a warm kiss on your temple.

“Clean it” that was all you heard before he stuffed the gun into your mouth, making you gag around it as you tasted the sweet remnants of your own essence. The taste melts on your tastebuds, making you whimper. You swirled your tongue around the metal, sucking off your cum.

“That's it, baby,” he growled in a hoarse tone, thick with desire, urging you to continue. “Keep sucking it, get it all wet, and soak f’me so I can bury it in your other hole next”.

[keferon]

Part 2 of Golem!Prowl AU!

_____________________

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Part 1.

The fic under the cut⤵️

Orion looks...sick. Worried. Scared.

“Prowl, do you know what the Great Hunt is?”

Prowl tilts his head keeping up with the lists he received from the Council.

“Traditional raids on monsters made to consolidate control over the land holdings of regular Mechs.”

Orion rubs the bridge of his nose

“It's a massacre.”

Prowl twitches his wing.

“It is a measure of intimidation against creatures that cannot be negotiated with. Brutal, I don't deny that, but experience shows it works. The destructive activity of monsters lessens considerably if they know their actions can be followed by punishment.”

Orion stares at him. For a long time. Silently.

Tensely studying him, as if seeing him for the first time.

“You think killing them instead of finding a compromise is...right?”

Prowl thinks he must be treading on unstable ground.

“I think it works. That is all. Monsters do a lot of damage with their existence. They kill, destroy and pillage. If periodically reducing their numbers reduces their damage, it confirms the effectiveness of the strategy.”

“They just want to live. Primus' sake, they want to eat.”

Prowl sighs. More for appearances than for any real effect.

“I suppose I can't judge them for wanting to survive. It makes sense.”

Orion nods.

He looks oddly pensive.

“Ratchet keeps picking up wounded...” he stammers, apparently trying to find a suitable alternative to the word monster “...wounded beastformers. I've been to his house. It's generous, but I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets caught doing it.”

Prowl frowns

“He should have stopped.”

“You wouldn't understand.” sighs Orion ”Him. Shockwave. We want to help. To make things better. I don't need you to chide me for disobeying the rules, I need you to figure out how to change them. Ghosts and insecticons deserve freedom as much as we do.”

“But...”

Orion looks at him angrily.

“No. Whatever you're going to say in response to that. No. I know you're driven primarily by logic, but I need you to remember it well. All sentient beings deserve to live free. Do you understand? All of them. Period.”

Prowl rolls up the lists and interlocks his fingers in front of him. There are small scuffs on his thumbs and index fingers from constant writing. He occupies himself with running his fingers over them, feeling the difference in texture.

“Mech's freedom in such a case ends where someone else's hungry jaws begin. You can't expect monsters and Mechs to just coexist in peace if you give them freedom.”

“No” sighed Orion ”That's why I support Shockwave's idea with creating an academy for magically gifted Mechs. He's helping to show the world that so-called 'dark creatures' can be as civilized citizens as any Mech. He teaches them to find that compromise. We can't just expect centuries of hate and fear to be forgotten once the laws change. We must direct this process. To help the Mechs understand and accept each other. Guide them, you might say.”

Prowl feels a headache coming on, as it always does when Orion requires him to logically solve a problem the answer to which lies in the feelings rather than the intellect. He's not built for this. It irritates him.

Orion stops right in front of him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me what you think of this. If...let's pretend for a second that my morality fiddles don't matter anymore. That the problem of Mechs and monsters coexisting is something you alone need to solve. And solve it in such a way that the outcome is optimal for us as a society. To maximize the number of happy citizens. What would you do?”

Prowl is silent for a moment.

Orion squeezes his shoulder lightly before continuing.

“'Free from my judgmental conclusions, Prowl. From the standpoint of pure logic. What should we do?”

What to do...Prowl's thought process finally finds a direct and understandable train of thought. Monsters make up a paltry few percent of the population of all living Mechs. The numbers fluctuate depending on which region is being considered of course.

In some cities, some types of monsters are considered just fancy Mechs. Some monsters have risen from the status of savages to being respectable Mechs over the course of history. Even Orion's best friend, Shockwave, could be regarded as a mystical creature in some regions due to his gift of flight.

Nevertheless. The percentage is still minuscule.

But even that tiny percentage takes a significant toll on the economy and quality of life, because just one uncontrollable creature can terrorize an entire city.

He notes the weight of Orion's hand on his shoulder. Not judgmental. Orion promised he wouldn't judge.

“I'd get rid of the monsters.”

“Oh” Orion blinks ”Locked them in cages? Chased them away? Killed them?”

Prowl twitches his wings

“Banishment will only move the problem in terms of space, and imprisonment isn't secure enough. It would make sense to get rid of the monsters. Once and for all. It wouldn't be pretty or merciful, but it would greatly improve life for everyone, at the cost of a tiny percentage of living beings who were already of no use.”

“And you believe that would be a good outcome?”

“I believe it would.”

“But you're not a Mech yourself.” Orion reminds “Would you be willing to be exterminated along with the rest of the creatures if your plan were put into action?”

Prowl tilts his head slightly. Just to make it easier to look at Orion.

“You created me to, as you put it, help you make the world a better place. Sometimes in order to improve something you have to cut out the factors that get in the way. It's simple logic.”

“You didn't answer my question” Orion points out ”How would you feel if I decided to take your advice and destroy all mystical creatures, including you?”

“I am not made to feel” straightens Prowl ”My job is to find solutions to problems. I gave you a solution.”

“You don't include yourself in the reckoning.” snorts Orion “Again. You talk as if you will never be affected by anything.”

As it should be, Prowl thinks. He's a conscientious worker and a ..seemingly law-abiding citizen. He does what he can to make Mech's lives better. Even though he may not be a Mech, he's doing the right thing. Why would something happen to him?

Orion removes his hand from his shoulder and shakes his head.

“'Alright. I've heard you. But I want to make it as clear as possible - what you suggested is immoral, cruel, and should never be implemented. Do you understand me? Never. If you want to build a better world, you cannot and will not build it on other people's deaths. Have I made myself clear enough?”

“Perfectly clear.”

“Good.”

-----------------

Ratchet looks...many words could be used to describe him.

He's standing in the center of the trial room with a lot of emotions written all over his face. But if Prowl had to describe - he'd say Ratchet practically radiates rage. Not violent. More of a powerless one.

The rage of a Mech who knows he's cornered, but refuses to even consider giving up and admitting defeat.

Prowl sits in a far dark corner, silently documenting the whole process.

The council is furious. They apparently discovered that Ratchet has been dragging wounded monsters to his house and healing them all this time.

Which is ... very much as expected from Ratchet.

Prowl wants Orion here, but both Orion and Shockwave are now on a diplomatic mission a few days away, so the only support Ratchet has is...Prowl. Who can't help in any way, so he just sits there and meticulously documents the whole process so that Orion can then be informed of every single detail.

The council doesn't look happy. They say that Ratchet is sabotaging the hunters' efforts to contain the monsters by his actions.They are angered by Ratchet's absolute determination to insist that he was doing the right thing.

Prowl would be impressed, if only Ratchet's stubbornness made sense.

It's simple math. Ratchet saves lives. Monsters take them.

Thus Ratchet's life has much, much more weight and is more valuable.

If Ratchet would just accept the Council's decision now and promise to stop curing monsters, the whole problem would be solved as efficiently as possible.

But Ratchet, of course, persists. Probably just because that's his nature.

Ratchet can also afford to be so stubborn because his skill level makes him incredibly valuable to the Council. Prowl knows for a fact that if any other medic were in Ratchet's shoes right now - they would have been sentenced to banishment or execution by now.

When Ratchet realizes exactly how the Council caught him, his rage is instantly replaced by shock.

This revelation is enough to startle him and make him back down. To nod and numbly swear that he will end his "blasphemous hobby."

Prowl carefully folds the scribbled scrolls into the case as the Council doors close behind both his and Ratchet's backs.

“Orion will be happy to know that you were prudent enough to avoid death.”

Ratchet shifts his gaze to him

“You knew? Knew they could see through our optics? Did you know they could find out anything about any Mech at any time?”

Prowl tucks his hands behind his back and nods politely

“Knowing things is my job.”

Ratchet sighs. Heavy. Exhausted. Doomed maybe.

“How does Orion deal with it...”

“Orion has a reputation with the Council. They consider him a decent, law-abiding Mech, so they see no point in keeping tabs on him.”

“Are you kidding?” Raetchet raises his eyebrows “Orion can't do everything he does and remain ‘decent’ in their eyes. He and Shockwave practically cuddle with every possible creature every day and all they get is a little reprimand????”

Prowl tilts his head

“Orion learned to look away in time. And he has me for everything else.”

Ratchet doesn't answer him. He rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly and starts to walk away.

His shoulders look oddly tense. He looks defeated, but not in the way a Mech would describe a slain turbofox. No. There is a deep-seated, angry determination.

A willingness to act dictated by desperation.

The news of the surveillance has thrown Ratchet off balance but not knocked him off his feet as the Council had hoped.

Prowl looks at his back and walks off in the opposite direction. The problems of living, feeling Mechs have always been and will always be mysterious to him.

Ratchet does what no one expects him to do.

He doesn't stage protests. He doesn't accept the verdict.

He leaves silently, taking with him only medical supplies and an old lantern.

The council is furious, turning over every stone in an attempt to find him, but all in vain.

Prowl's daily duties now include “keeping track of any possible news related to Ratchet.“

And then, no matter what he finds, report to Orion that he's found nothing.

Put on a little regular show for all concerned. Show the Mechs in the Council that Orion remains loyal and does his best to find and bring to justice any blasphemer whether it's a friend of his or not.

He is his purpose. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes for him to trace the path to the fulfillment of that purpose. He envies the golems whose only function is to scrub floors. Their lives are understandable. A clean floor is a temporary but easily attainable goal. They are happy to fulfill the goal for which they were created. And then they're happy knowing their job is done well, until the floor gets dirty again.

Prowl is walking towards his goal, but it's not getting any closer. He knows what he needs to do to get there, but the variables are constantly changing and he has to adjust his course of action each time according to new information, conditions, and Orion's opinion on them.

Politics is infinitely more complicated than mopping floors after all.

————————————

Orion doesn't turn around on him as they walk down the hall. But Prowl can physically feel the attention focused on him.

“Prowl. Did you know I was awarded today for my ''outstanding service'' by the entire Council?”

“I did not.

“They've gone through all the reports and discovered that according to the logs me and my mechs are performing excellently when it comes to eliminating mystical threats.”

“Congratulations.”

“It's funny that you feel the need to congratulate me too” Orion continues ”Because I certainly didn't give orders to eliminate anyone.”

Their pacing doesn't falter. They continue to walk calmly down the hallway as if nothing is happening. But Prowl can practically taste the increased tension.

“Prowl” says Orion “Why is the Council rewarding me for murder? And where are the Mechs they think I killed now?”

Prowl checks the scrolls. Not because he doesn't remember. Just to buy some time to formulate an answer.

“They were the inevitable casualties. I took charge of their destruction. On your behalf.”

“You know how I feel about killing.”

“I know.” nods Prowl for some reason. Why? Not that Orion can see it “I also know how the Council feels about Mechs showing suspicious activity. They would have started watching you as soon as they noticed you were letting monsters slip away from you suspiciously often.”

Orion...sounds... conflicted. He sounds struggling.

“You killed them.”

“I gave the order. As any other hunter would have done in my place.”

Orion stops so abruptly that Prowl doesn't catch the moment and bumps into his back.

“We're supposed to be better than other hunters Prowl! How can you still not grasp that concept!!!”

Orion looks furious. Prowl discreetly looks around.

Around them is a relatively empty hall. Windows covered by heavy curtains. The cleaning golems scurrying back and forth.

“I understand” he says “But let me remind you that you cannot test their trust infinitely. Your 'being better' rests on your reputation. And it's my job to make sure your reputation lives up to it.”

Orion looks at him...Prowl isn't even sure how to describe it. Usually he has to argue with Orion's logic, proving his point but this time...Orion is the one arguing with him.

It feels strange. Uncomfortable.

He's doing everything Orion wanted him to do, but for the sake of it he has to do something Orion can't stand.

Orion clenches and unclenches his fists helplessly. Rubbing the fabric of his cloak.

“Shockwave can save lives without killing anyone.”

“Shockwave is one unfortunate act away from serious consequences” shakes his head Prowl “His academy is looking more and more like his own small army every day. His students are not loyal to the Council, they are loyal to Shockwave. And the Council knows that. And will use it. And it won't be pretty when it happens.”

“No...” shakes his head Orion, not addressing anyone in particular ”No no no no no...”

Prowl can understand why Orion is upset. But he also knows he's right this time. Shockwave may look like a fine example of mercy, but he walks on the very edge of the law and any wrong move will instantly turn him from “out of the box thinker” to renegade.

The Council will come for his head and the Council will get his head because Shockwave will have nothing to prove his loyalty with.

Orion will. Prowl made sure of that.

Orion can bend the rules, can borrow the Council's trust, can do all sorts of reprehensible things. He can stumble and fall and then fall a couple more times and find that it doesn't hurt him because Prowl caught him even before he stumbled.

He did it at the cost of lives. Yes.

But Orion's life is far more valuable than the lives of monsters.

Society doesn't need monsters to become better, but society needs Orion. Monsters need Orion. Because if Orion is gone, no one else will care about his idealistic goal.

“Sometimes I forget how creepy you can be...” mutters Orion ”You're going to betray me sooner or later.”

“I could never betray you.” Prowl twitches his wing.

“You've successfully betrayed what I believe in.”

“It's fine with me if you hate me for it. As long as you are alive, safe, and can continue your quest.”

Orion falls silent.

He turns away to stare at a strip of light from a nearby window. There are beautiful, wrought iron grates that cast an intricate, curved shadow on the floor and walls.

A golem janitor hurries past them.

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Shockwave falls.

Prowl isn't there to see for himself, but a lot of rumors reach him. Lots. Lots of rumors.

The Mechs say the time of the Great Hunt has come.

They say that when the hunters arrived on the Academy's doorstep, Shockwave didn't let them in.

They say. He stood in front of the gates.

With sword in one hand and the Primus Covenant in the other, and declared that his school was a sanctuary for all living beings in need of protection.

Claimed that anyone who dared set foot inside with a weapon would have to go through him.

“And they retreated!” gestures Orion frantically ”They didn't dare test him! They backed away from the walls of the Academy. I don't know how many monsters were left alive in the forests that night, but none of Shockwave's students were harmed...”

Prowl listens with a healthy dose of wariness

“The Council wouldn't just let him do that.”

Orion begins nervously winding circles around the room.

“You're right, you're right. You're right now and you were right back then. They're going to bring him before the Court by tomorrow, and...”

“There's no chance of that ending well,...is there?" Prowl finishes his thought.

Orion looks pained

“They'll be going through everything he's been up to. Every forged document, every enrolled Mech who by all criteria should be considered a monster. Every time he sheltered them from the Council instead of destroying them. They'll realize what he's been doing and they won't like it at all.”

Prowl...trying to sound reassuring.

“Shockwave has tremendous support from his Academy. There's a chance the Council will be afraid of invoking their wrath and won't judge Shockwave too harshly.”

Orion continues to walk in circles

“You think so?”

“There is a good chance.”

Prowl finds Orion in Sickbay. Which is very disturbing and wrong, because Orion was supposed to be at the Trial. Supporting Shockwave and begging the Council to relent.

But Orion is in Sick Bay. When he shouldn't be.

And he's covered in ugly dark burns. From something Prowl can't recognize.

This is all wrong. It's all--

“What happened at the trial?”

Orion sounds. Startled.

“There was no Trial.”

“What?”

Orion sounds as if something inside him has cracked. In every sense of the phrase.

“The Trial hasn't even had time to begin. He...” Orion clutches his trembling fingers, hoping to still them, but it has no tangible effect. His shoulders are trembling.

He looks like his whole body could be torn apart with one careless touch. “They asked him if he would plead guilty to aiding and abetting dark creatures. All they had time to ask was if he realized he was wrong.”

An uncomfortable, prickly feeling settles in Prowl's mind.

"And?”

Orion squeezes his fingers so hard the creaking of hinges becomes audible.

“It...I...Prowl, his very spark began to ooze dark magic. It was horrible, it was like.. it was eating him from the inside. The entire courtroom became darker than night, many Mechs got burned. I've never seen anything like this before! He..It.. started attacking Mechs and destroying everything...it was like it went crazy...it attacked me and I had to...Prowl I had to fight it! I didn't...I'd heard about it happening but I believed until the last minute that I wouldn't have to face it...”

Gears of chaotic detail fall into place in Prowl's mind.

“Shockwave...turned into a demon...?”

Orion nods shakily

“The Council didn't even have a chance to sentence him or spare him or even sort out what happened.....

He stated that he did not consider himself guilty for what he had done and...Primus was the one who made the judgment before anyone else could...”

That's... terrifying really. For a number of reasons. Losing a close friend is awful, being subjected to such merciless punishment is awful, but also...

What sends a chill down Prowl's back is the moral implication that such punishment carries.

Orion, as if reading his thoughts, raises his gaze to him

“Is what we are doing...wrong? I don't...does Primus think helping monsters is worthy of punishment?”

Now that's a really reasonable question.

Shockwave would say that Primus is merciful and would never condemn a Mech for an act of kindness. But Shockwave ended up being condemned.

Ratchet would say that he doesn't care about Primus' opinion because Primus isn't real. But Ratchet isn't here.

Prowl wants to say that it doesn't matter whether or not Primus thinks they're wrong, what matters is that he can at any moment force his justice on any living spark, so his concept of right has to become Orion's too, or else he's doomed. But Orion is definitely in no state to have a philosophical argument. He looks shattered and Prowl almost instinctively is about to go and find Shockwave, but remembers that option is no longer available.

He's not made for this. Shockwave has always been the one to cheer Orion up on a bad day. Not Prowl, no. Prowl isn't sure what to do so he just sits down next to him and gently places a hand on Orion's shoulder. The one where he can't see the burns, so it shouldn't hurt.

“I don't. I'm used to always relying on your point of view as a reference for what's right and what's wrong.”

“I know” runs a shaky hand over his face Orion “But it's not like I'm perfect. I try, god, I try but just like with the logical part - my vision isn't flawless. Have I been...wrong all this time? Trying to disrupt Primus' intended vision? Maybe what I've been trying to fix never needed fixing. Maybe it's just me being so stupid and not understanding things maybe...???”

Orion cuts himself off mid sentence, realizing that he's started raising his voice and waving his arms around again. He sits back down on the medical bed and curls back up into a miserable ball.

“What should I do....”

“I don't know,” Prowl repeats awkwardly.

He is his goal. But his goal ..doesn't exist anymore?

He doesn't know where to put himself.

Golems are made to fulfill requests. But Orion's request system has been evolving and complicating for so long that Prowl can't tell where its boundaries are anymore.

He feels lost.

——————————

Orion stops cold.

“What...”

Prowl, standing at his right hand looks equally puzzled.

They are in a spacious courtyard bordering directly on the Council building. It's a very beautiful, open and spacious place because it was originally built with large crowds of Mechs in mind. There's wide walkways, a massive circular plaza with fountains and statues.

And right now, it's filled to the brim with Mechs, most of whom Prowl is seeing for the first time. They're all wearing knight armor and carrying weapons, however still kept in their scabbards.

They look like a small army. A very, very diverse army, Prowl realizes. Because there are almost no regular Mechs among them.

Orion looks... distraught.

Mechs? Monsters? A few knights separate and come closer, bowing their heads respectfully.

“Orion Pax.”

There is so much grief and disbelief in Orion's eyes that it physically hurts to look at him.

When he begins to speak his voice sounds hoarse, like someone has poured sand down his throat.

“What...what are you doing here...?”

The knight standing in front of everyone ceremoniously places his palm on his spark.

“We are here to fulfill the last will of our mentor and your friend. Shockwave has decreed in his last will that in the event of his death his legacy must pass to you and those of us who wish to carry on his work must publicly pledge our allegiance to your will.”

Orion clutches his hands together to keep them from starting to shake again.

“But...I was there. I...your mentor was slain by my hands...how can you..."

"It doesn't matter. Everything that was his is now yours." smiles the knight sadly "We will make sure his legacy lives on. And even if the Academy falls - you can always count on us."

At the same time as he finishes speaking, the knight in blue armor drops to one knee, pulling Shockwave's sword from its sheath and holding it out respectfully to Orion... who looks like he's about to start crying.

He dazedly accepts the sword, twitching in surprise when it turns out to be heavier than expected and probably tries to say something, but all that comes out is a short sorrowful sigh.

He just.

Clutches the sword to his chest, watching in disbelief as all the arriving mechs get down on one knee following the blue knight. There aren't that many mechs, but at this point - they seem to rival the sea.

Prowl knows some of them. Many of them made their way to Shockwave after Orion found them. There's the harpy over there who nearly ripped Orion's head off the first time they met. A few ghosts he can remember the faces of but doesn't know the names. He'd had a long argument with Orion that day, trying to convince him that he shouldn't take their word for it when they promised to make it up to him.

And now they're all here. In beautiful new armor. Executing their mentor's last will and testament.

Just like regular Mechs, only a little eccentric looking.

The crowd of hunters that has come to find out what's going on looks as speechless and dumbfounded as Orion.

" What" Orion also gets down on one knee to be on the same level as the knight "what's your name?"

Prowl squints warily from behind Orion's shoulder. The blue mech looks normal, but to be honest, there's no way someone coming out of the Shockwave Academy is going to be an normal plain mech. There has to be a catch somewhere.

"My name is Skids," smiles the knight shyly. "I am...was...Shockwave's best student."

"You are very brave Skids" smiles Orion sorrowfully "I promise to do my best to take care of Shockwave's legacy. And you."

Orion drops his head on the table tiredly.

"This is crazy..."

Prowl pulls an important document from under Orion's head

"It's also quite devious. Shockwave told them specifically to swear to you where all comers can see it. So there's no way for the Council to accuse you of purposely swaying an army of monsters to your side. Everyone saw that this gift was given by force. Now you have many allies with unique skills who are loyal to you and the Council won't try to take them away because they are firmly convinced that you are loyal to the Council."

Prowl examines the document for damage before setting it aside.

"It is..."

"Shockwave gave you an opportunity."

"And I don't know what to do with it!" raises his head Orion "Shockwave was smarter than me and made a lot of plans in case of...I don't know...anything?? I didn't...Prowl. We've been down this path for so long and I was always sure there would be something good at the end of it. Or at least better than it is now..."

Orion rubs his chin and shakes his head awkwardly

"...But if there's only the wrath of Primus and endless darkness at the end...I can't ask anyone to follow me there. I'm not sure if I can keep going myself..."

He sighs helplessly

"I'm not even sure if that even matters."

"The chance that Shockwave would try to use you in some way was about twenty-eight percent."

Orion twitches

"What?"

"I understand that you're hurt by his...fate." Says Prowl "But have you considered the possibility that Shockwave was being punished for betraying you rather than the Council?"

Orion doesn't even answer at first. Just looks at him dazed and bitter.

"Prowl...no. He couldn't have."

"I'm just speculating" shrugs Prowl "Shockwave was punished but as far as I know God didn't bother to name the exact charge. We don't know one hundred percent what exactly caused his...sentence. He may have betrayed the Council's ideas, or he may have betrayed yours."

They both just exist in silence for a while. Processing the information.

"If...and I mean if!!! If Shockwave was convicted of harboring monsters, then everything we've been doing all this time can be considered useless blasphemy..." says Orion slowly "...but if he was punished for something else..."

"...then that would mean there's nothing wrong with your idea." finishes Prowl.

Orion frowns

"It would also mean that Shockwave lied to me..."

Prowl nods. The situation is ugly no matter which way you look at it.

Shockwave, as Prowl knows him, would hardly have framed Orion, but Mechs tend to go to great lengths to avoid execution.

If Shockwave had shifted some of the blame to Orion then, it would have partially saved him. Was that what he was going to do? Was this what Primus had stopped him from doing?

Orion's finials twitch slowly

"I don't know Prowl. I don't know what to do. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of my fantasies."

Orion is hard to read, but right now he's an open book.

Prowl tilts his head

"You're scared."

Orion looks. Defeated. Crumpled.

Discolored.

" I am."

Prowl can't work with that. He's used to solving logical problems and making lists and strategies.

He doesn't know how to get someone to stop being scared.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know." mutters Orion "I don't know, I have no idea. It's too much...All these new knights, this whole council situation and now you're also saying that the mech I treasured the most could actually be a liar and...just leave me alone."

"But..."

"Just go away!" shakes his head Orion "Go find something else to do, find a hobby, I don't know! Get out of my head and out of my personal life!"

Prowl nods silently.

Places a couple papers in their places and silently walks out the door.

Gestures a greeting to some mech passing by.

And is completely unsure of what to do with himself.

Orion's too stunned by everything that's happened to give him a clear purpose. And without a purpose, he...he's gone.

He continues to stand by the closed door.

A thought runs obsessively through his mind.

If Shockwave was sentenced for something no one knew about, then punishing him the moment of that trial was a truly terrible decision and even worse timing.

But if Shockwave was sentenced for helping monsters...Prowl isn't sure why his mind resists the idea.

Maybe he's not being objective because he shares Orion's views and aspirations.

Maybe because he has looked at the entire square filled with dangerous monsters and has seen nothing but sorrow and respect in them.

The idea comes naturally.

Then God must be wrong.

He looks at the cleaning golems again. He envies them.

They are peace and contentment.

They are a clear and simple goal.

Probably the biggest stress that happens to them is random mechs passing by and interfering with their cleaning.

And then there's Prowl, standing by with no meaning or purpose and wishing he could throw something heavy because the one who gets in his way is an indefinable force of nature and a complex system of values and beliefs created by millions of years of cultural development....

But Primus can't stop him, can he?

Prowl is not alive. He has no emotion so that his intentions can be categorized as evil, but more importantly he has no spark so that its magic can turn him into a demon.

He is his purpose. His purpose is his god. And Primus stands in his way.

He turns around and walks away.

[reginyani]

Lessons | s.reid x fem!bau!reader

summary: You take it upon yourself to help Spencer Reid, your genius FBI co-worker develop confidence and social skills— especially in flirting. As you continue to give Spencer casual lessons in flirting, you both begin to realize this isn't just 'casual'. This leads Spencer into overthinking, and making a rash decision which ends in with him in your apartment half-naked.

cw: smut, 18+, mdni, flirty!reader, mentions of being in bar and drinking, use of y/n, clueless!spencer, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, p in v, unprotected sex, reader rides spencer, spencer comes inside reader

wc: 2.7k

a/n: please like and reblog if you enjoyed! support is always appreciated<3 (i listened to smarty while writing this and im absolutely screaming.)

Spencer Reid had many strengths. He could recite the periodic table in under a minute, read 20,000 words per minute, and could quite literally remember every single word ever said to him in perfect detail. But when it came to social interactions?

Well.. He was a work in progress.

You had noticed it early on— how he hesitated before speaking, how he fumbled over his words when confronted with casual banter, how he shrank away from physical contact as if it burned him. It wasn't that he lacked intelligence, in fact, he quite literally was the definition of intelligence. The guy could outthink just about anyone. But social nuance? The art of casual confidence? That was definitely not his forte.

Which is why, one evening after work, you decided it was time to do something about it.

"You really are hopeless sometimes, you know that?" You said, leaning back against your desk as Spencer furrowed his eyebrows at you in confusion.

"I don't— what do you mean?"

You smirk, pointing toward the break corner, where a young woman from accounting had just left from, looking vaguely disappointed. "That girl was flirting with you, Genius."

Spencer blinked. "No she wasn't."

"Yes, she was."

"She asked if I liked tea," he said while rolling his eyes, as if that was somehow an airtight defense.

You groaned, shaking your head. "Spencer, she was looking for an excuse to speak to you. She was touching her hair, laughing at everything you said— even the things you said that weren't funny."

Spencer frowned. "I wasn't exactly trying to be funny."

"Exactly," you say, crossing your arms. "Which means she wasn't laughing at the joke. She was laughing because she liked you."

For a moment, Spencer just stared at her, eyes narrowing in thought as if he was cataloging this information for a further study and analysis. Then he suddenly sighed loudly. "Even if that were true, it's not like it matters. I'm not.. great at that kind of thing."

You tilted your head. "At what?"

"Flirting. Making conversation that isn't strictly informational. Even as a profiler I struggle reading people." He gave an awkward shrug. "Flirting isn't really a skill I ever needed."

You studied him for a moment before pushing off your desk. "Alright, that settles it. I'm making you my new project."

Spencers eyes widened slightly. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm gonna teach you how to be more confident," you said with a smirk. "How to read body language of a person who isn't a serial killer, and how to hold a conversation without sounding like a Wikipedia page, and maybe even know how to throw a decent punch while we're at it."

He scoffed, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I don't need—"

"Yes, you do," you interrupted, grabbing your coat from the back of your chair. "Come on, Boy Genius. We're getting drinks."

Spencer hesitated. "I don't really—"

"It's a lesson, not a date," you teased. "Unless you're scared."

That did it. He straightened his back, squaring his shoulders slightly. "I'm not scared."

"Good," you said, patting his arm. "Let's go then."

When you both arrived at the bar, it was quieter than most. It was a small spot near your apartment that you go to occasionally to decompress. Spencer had never been here before— not surprising, given that he rarely went anywhere that wasn't work related.

"You do realize I don't drink, right?" he asked as they slid into the booth.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that memo," you said, crossing your arms. "You can have water if you want, alcohol isn't exactly the point, it's the atmosphere around us."

He folded his arms together, looking skeptical at your words. "And what exactly am I supposed to learn here anyway?"

"Confidence, Reid. Social ease. You spend way too much time in your own head that you forget to live in the moment. So, here's your first ever lesson: stop overanalyzing."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you raise your finger to stop him. "Nope. Don't say anything. Just trust me on this."

Spencer exhaled heavily, looking vaguely pained in annoyance, but he nodded anyway. "Fine. What do I do then?"

You gestured to the bar. "Pick someone in the room and tell me what their body language says. C'mon, use those profiling skills to good use."

He listened, scanning the room, until they landed on a man at the bar nursing a whisky glass. "That guy is probably going through some kind of personal issue. His posture is slightly slouched, and his fingers are tense around his glass, and he hasn't checked his phone once, which most likely means he's avoiding calls or texts from someone or possibly has no one to even reach out to."

You raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Damn. Alright, expert profiler. Now, please do it with someone less miserable."

Spencers gaze shifted to a couple laughing together in a nearby table. "Well, the woman there is interested in the man, but he's clearly not picking it up that well. She's leaning towards him, angling her body to fully face him, but he keeps glancing away, distracted. Either he's oblivious, or not interested in the conversation at all."

You grin. "See? you're better at this than I thought."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "Observing is one thing. Applying it in real time is another."

"Okay, well then let's practice." you say, leaning froward slightly. "Tell me what my body language is saying."

Spencer hesitated for a moment. "You're.. teasing me."

"Obviously, Genius. What else?"

He studied you, his eyes darting over your posture, the way you rested your chin in your hand, and the slight smirk playing at your lips. "You're comfortable. Your body language is opened, relaxed. But you're also amused, probably at the fact you know I'm over thinking this."

You laughed. "Bingo!"

Something flickered in his eyes, something victorious, straightening a bit as he smiled.

"Alright," you said, finishing your martini. "Lesson one complete. Next up is casual confidence!"

Spencer groaned. "This is going to be painful."

"Excruciating," you said with a grin. "But trust me, Spencer. You will thank me later."

Over the next few weeks, your lessons continued on.

You taught Spencer how to hold eye contact without looking away in embarrassment, corrected his posture when he hunched over too much. Much to his horror, you even demonstrated how to casually brush someone's hand without making it completely awkward.

But somewhere throughout these lessons, things started to shift between the two of you.

It started out subtle at first. A glance that lasted a little too long. A touch that lingered a second past appropriate. The way you started to notice how his eyes crinkled when he was smiling, and how his voice softened just enough when he spoke to you.

It wasn't supposed to mean anything, but it did.

Another normal evening, after a round of drinks, you both found yourselves outside of your apartment complex. It had surprisingly been a good night— Spencer had successfully navigated himself through a conversation with a stranger without stammering, and you were so damn proud of him.

"You're getting better at this," you nudged his arm as you both walked up the steps of your apartment building.

Spencer smiled, small but real. "You're a good teacher." he said as you both made it to your apartment door.

Something in the atmosphere changed in that very moment, the air charged with clear unspoken tension.

You weren't sure who moved first, but suddenly, you were closer, looking up into his unreadable expression.

For a second, just a second, you wondered.

Then Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping back. "I should go."

You nodded quickly, shoving your hands into your pockets. "Yeah, yeah.. of course." you said disappointingly.

Neither of you said what you were thinking, and it was quite clear you didn't have to.

The were both wrong about this 'just being a 'lesson', and you both knew it.

As you heard his footsteps fade away, you quickly fumbled through your purse to find your keys. When you did, your hands shakily inserted the key into the keyhole as you unlocked the door.

When you finally entered, you let out a heavy sigh, removing your shoes at the entrance and putting them on a rack.

The door had just barely clicked shut before a loud knock echoed throughout your seemingly empty apartment.

You immediately froze, already knowing who was on the other side of the door.

Your heart thudded against your chest, your fingers curling around the doorknob. He didn't even enter, theres no way he left something behind— he never did anyway. He definitely didn't just come back to say goodnight either.

No, there was only one clear reason he was standing on the other side of your door.

Swallowing hard, you reached for the handle of your door, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pulling it open.

Spencer stood there, his expression unreadable, his breathing uneven and as if he had walked down the stairs and immediately ran back up. His hands were curled at his sides, and for once, he wasn't overthinking— he was only acting on his emotions.

Before you could speak or process anything, he leaped forward.

His hands found your face, fingers threading into your hair as his lips crashed against yours.

A startled gasp escaped your lips before you melted into his touch, your own hands gripping at his jacket to pull him in closer. It was desperate and certainly messy, all the built up tension from the past few weeks of lessons spilling over in one perfect, and reckless moment.

Spencer Reid —your best work partner and friend— was here, kissing you like he had been holding himself back from it far too long. And honestly, maybe he had.

He wasn't being shy now. There was no hesitation on either of your ends, no second guessing. His lips moved against yours like he had been studying the movement for years, like he memorized every possible way to make you feel like your knees could give out beneath you at any moment.

Your back hit the doorframe as he pressed closer, and eventually he pushed you inside, shutting the door. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear if he were to let go.

But God, no, you were definitely not going anywhere.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, your fingers tugging at the soft curls that hung at the nape of his neck. He made a quiet, shuddering sounds at your contact, and you grinned against his lips before pulling back just enough for both your eyes to meet.

His pupils were completely wide, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he caught his breath.

"Spencer," you whispered softly, still catching your own breath.

His hands continued to tighten on your waist, like he wasn't ready to let go of you just yet.

"I was completely wrong," he admitted, his voice low, almost dazed.

You arched one of your brows in confusion. "About what?"

"About not having feelings for you." His thumb traced against your waist, tapping in nervousness. "About this just being a lesson."

You let out a breathless laugh. "Took you long enough, Genius."

He huffed, half exasperated and half relieved. "You knew?" he asked in confusion.

"Of course I knew. I was just waiting to see if you were gonna figure it out."

He shook his head while letting a soft chuckle escape his lips. He finally let himself lean back, being able to fully take you in now. "And what now?"

You smirked, reaching up to brush your thumb against his soft pink bottom lip, swollen from the kiss.

"Now," you said, tugging him back toward you. "I teach you everything else you haven't learned in lessons yet." you say, grinning as you start to pull him away from your door and onto your couch.

Spencer is at a complete loss, unsure of what to do as you straddle his lap. He gulps, his eyes glued to you as you remove your shirt, throwing it somewhere across the room.

As if he were just following your lead, he removes his own shirt, completely unsure of what to be doing. His stomach seems to be twisting in knots, the heat rising in his chest.

Your lips crash into his once again, sucking on his bottom lip as your hips move against his lap, your skirt lying against your thighs. You pull away, the friction overwhelming and just enough on its own. Your hands grip onto his shoulders, feeling his erection through his pants.

Spencer bites his lip, holding himself back from letting out a loud whine, or saying something embarrassing like 'holyfuckpleasejusttouchmealready'. Although, as hard as he tried, of course he was unsuccessful.

"I.. need you, Y/N.." he whimpers, panting heavily as you move.

"That's all I needed to hear, baby." you tease, your hands quickly making their way to the clasp of his belt, quickly unbuckling it. You then unzip his pants, but instead of immediately pulling his boxers down, you rub his cock through them.

This drives him nuts, making him let out a loud moan.

"Please, just.." he mumbles, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"Please.. what?" you smirk, raising an eyebrow as you continue to move your hand, watching him as eyebrows furrow and his slick lips part.

"Just fuck me already!" Spencer begs, at this point almost screaming.

Although you wanted to tease him more, you could feel your own pussy throbbing as it quietly begged for the touch of the man beneath you. So instead, you smirk, allowing him to pull his boxers and pants down to his thighs.

You quickly scrapped your skirt, leaving you in just a pair of pink laced underwear. You look down at him, your own lips parted as you move your underwear to the side.

Suddenly, your hand takes his cock, slowly stroking it, before quickly speeding it up, making him moan in pleasure. "Holy— shit, Y/N.. Ah!—" he manages to sputter out, practically melting in your touch.

"Ready?" you ask, smirking down at him. He nods rapidly, not wanting to wait any longer.

At his approval, you lift yourself from his lap and position yourself above his cock, allowing it to hit your wet entrance. You groan in pleasure, feeling his tip slowly enter your pussy.

Eventually, his cock is all the way inside you, and you're bouncing up and down, feeling the warmth of him inside you as both your moans and slap of skin on skin filled your apartment.

"Fuck, Spencer... you feel— so good." you moan, stuttering as you continue to bounce on his cock, feeling him pulse inside you.

He rocks his hips, sliding in and out of you as you both begin to chase your high, sending Spencers mind reeling as he gasps.

"Is this okay?—" he asks, continuing to rock at a decent pace.

"Fuck, yes.. So good, Spence.." you answer, allowing the noises that are escaping your lips be the answer. "Shit.." you breathe out, "You're so fucking incredible, darling."

Spencer squints his eyes shut, feeling himself get driven closer and closer to the edge.

"Y/N.. 'M close.." he warns, beads of sweat rolling down from his forehead as he gets closer to coming.

"You gonna come for me Spencer?" you say with watery eyes, close yourself. "Look me in the eyes, baby." you demand him.

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours as you continue to fuck yourself into him, moaning in pleasure. You throw your head back, now your practically yelling out.

"Yes! Right there, Spencer! Come inside me!" you wail, your bodies now moving in synchronized motions.

This finally sends him through, jolts of electricity shooting through his body as he comes, legs shaking heavily as he fills you up with his sweet liquids.

You come soon after, moaning as the warmth of him inside you makes your own orgasm feel even better.

Eventually he pulls out, and your body finally gives out as collapse next to him, feeling empty without him inside you now.

"You better take me out after this." you tease, still catching your breath.

"Aw, do I have to? I wasn't planning on it." he jokes, chuckling as you smack his arm playfully.

"So, do you think my amazing lessons payed off then?" you ask, raising an eyebrow as you smile.

"Eh, I guess they were alright." he answers, zipping up his pants as he shrugs.

"Oh, c'mon!" you whine, defeated.

tags:

[unriding]

HOW THEY COMFORT YOU AFTER A NIGHTMARE. moze, mydei, phainon. sfw. fluff + comfort. written with f!reader! in which the hsr men reassure you that you’re safe with them after a scary dream.

— MOZE.

The room you share with Moze feels foreign as soon as you jolt awake with a sharp gasp. Nothing at all like how it usually is.

It’s Cold. Empty. Much too spacious. And…. where’s Moze?

The nightmare you’ve only barely managed to escape seconds ago comes creeping back to haunt you as quickly as it had left — fragments of fear and loneliness rushing in and swirling about in your head, shooting up your spine as you shakily cling onto your blanket. “M..Moze…?”

There’s nothing, save for the sound of wind beating against the window. Violently so, you quickly realize, with each slam of the branches against the glass making you sink further and further back into the corner of your bed. “…Are you here..? Moze—”

Every part of you hopes that he is. Perhaps he’s just lurking somewhere within the shadows as he normally does. Still beside you nevertheless. Always within earshot and always making sure you were safe.

Any shadow could be him — you know this well, but the shadows don’t usually look so cold. They don’t usually stare back at you with such a haunting air around them, nor do they ever feel this empty.

A part of you wants nothing but to bury yourself beneath your blankets — slam your eyes shut and hope that you’re still dreaming.

Any scenario in which you don’t wake up alone in the dead of night, and any scenario in which Moze hadn’t packed up his things and left without a word.

Any scenario where he’s still here.

But you don’t. Still too fearful to move even a single muscle, so you settle for clinging tightly onto your blankets instead, eyes scanning the room for any sign of movement.

Any sign of Moze.

It’s only a second later when the door creaks. Quietly. Though your eyes seem to finally find the shred of courage needed to slam shut at this, head ducking beneath the blanket with a muffled whimper to seek refuge from what you think is doom.

Only, it never comes.

“You’re awake.” The mattress dips from where he sits down beside you, and then you feel a second blanket cover the lower half of your body soon after. “Did I wake you?”

It’s almost silly how quickly the fear begins to dissipate — his presence enough to convince you to wiggle your way out of your blanket, only enough to peer up at him through tearful eyes. “Moze….?”

The look on his face changes ever so slightly as soon as he hears you, even more as soon as he sees you. “I thought .. you left. Like, left me. In my dream, I think — but when I woke up —”

“I didn’t leave.”

The three simple words that loosen the grip on your chest like clockwork. He pulls you into a tight hug before you manage to choke out another word, strong arms keeping you flush against his chest to let you soak up his warmth, the way you always like to do.

He feels you trembling against him, hears the way you sniffle into his shirt, and yet — you latch onto him without another moment of hesitation. “You were shaking in your sleep.”

Moze doesn’t let go, even when he stretches to reach behind you, bunching the second blanket he had left to grab around your frame before his arms wrap back around you. “I thought you might get sick, otherwise.”

You nuzzle deeper into the safety of his embrace. “You.. you went to get blankets in the middle of the night? Because I was cold..?”

“Yes.”

— MYDEI.

Mydei notices the way you stir in your sleep long before you even have the chance to jerk awake, let alone keep yourself up for nearly long enough to work up the courage needed to nudge at his shoulder seeking some comfort.

It catches his eye within an instant — gaze flickering to the way your eyebrows furrow first, then how your body starts to curl up on itself hoping to hide from something. You’re having a nightmare.

It’s not an odd thing for Mydei to stay awake longer than you. He’s grown fond — Phainon’s words, to be exact — of the way you nuzzle yourself closer to him in your sleep. Just a small habit of yours. To press your cheek into the firm muscle of his arm, your own limbs tangled over his in an effort to keep him close to you.

You insist that it helps you sleep better, and that fact is obvious enough. You sleep like a log as soon as you’re latched onto him as so, and whenever he decides to wrap an arm around your waist to pull you even closer to him — big hand mindlessly rubbing your back up and down and feeling the way your frame melts underneath his touch — your lips curl into a small smile, even in your sleep.

It’s why seeing you in such discomfort bothers him. The way fresh tears start to collect along your lashes, face frowning and body tense and trembling — all things he absolutely never wants to see, especially when you’re safe beside him.

Mydei puts down his drink first. Almost instinctively, not taking his eyes off of you for even a moment before he’s letting out a huff, easily pulling you to rest fully on top of him (another thing that he remembers you enjoying, as you’ve mentioned once that it’s fun to hug him like a koala while sitting in his lap).

Only, you don’t hug him this time, and the frown stays on your face.

He frowns now, too.

“Hey.” His arms wrap around you even tighter now, one moving to cradle the back of your head and the other around your shoulders, as if keeping you safely tucked away from whatever threatens your comfort. “It’s only a nightmare.”

You make a noise in response, one akin to a whine or a grumble before your fingers start to dig into the muscle of his shoulder, stirring and fidgeting in your sleep — even more so than before. His mind hesitates for only a moment, conflicted as to whether he should abruptly wake you or continue to hold you in hopes that whatever is scaring you eventually leaves.

He settles for both.

“Nothing’s here,” he continues, pulling you closer to him, this time moving to press a kiss against your forehead. Another, after. One against your temple. Then another against your forehead, for extra measure.

This time, your expression softens, hands relaxing to lightly rest on his body. It’s working.

“See that?” His voice comes out softer, and perhaps if you were awake, you’d point this out.

But you’re not.

So he settles on holding you close like this instead, keeping you warm and close to his heart. “You’re safe.”

— PHAINON.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes shoot open to be faced with Phainon, hands on each side of your head as he hovers over you, concern and what you think might be a hint of fear etched deep into his features. “You’re okay. It was only a dream.”

“Ph-” you call out to him, or at least you try, but the words get caught in your throat, as if something wants to keep you away from him. Your eyes widen. “..on..?”

You hadn’t been expecting him to visit you so soon. His presence almost catches you off guard, more so than the nightmare that had scared you awake, maybe. (Though, perhaps he had intentionally avoided telling you, since he’s always had a thing or two to say about you skipping rest from excitement to see him.)

It wasn’t uncommon for you to have nightmares like these. Nights where you abruptly jerk awake in a cold sweat, barely mustering the courage to wrap yourself in a blanket before seeking out Phainon.

The first person you’ve always sought out, and the only person whose hold can make you feel as safe as you do. Such as now.

“Come closer,” his brows furrow deeper when your lips continue to wobble, now opting to fully climb onto your bed to lay beside you, immediately pulling you towards him. “You were having a nightmare.”

“Sorry..” you grasp at his shirt, almost instinctively. “I know you’re busy — it’s okay. I was just a little scared—”

He doesn’t move away, only letting out a soft sigh of relief at the realization that you’re at least not physically hurt before he’s holding you even tighter against himself, as if shielding you from your thoughts with his own body. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything harm you.”

“Don’t worry.”

It might just be magic, you think, the way one simple embrace from Phainon can put an end to your fears so quickly. It was often that you’ve told him this — a shy tug on his sleeve and a reminder of just how much you cherish him, to which he only ruffles your hair with a soft smile — followed by another promise that he’ll keep you safe.

Always.

“And,” he shifts his position on your bed, the movement drawing you out of your thoughts when his chin comes to lightly rest atop your head, “I’ve told you there’s no need for apologies, haven’t I?”

“Oops,” you weakly mumble against his chest. “It slipped again.. sor—”

“Ah. And almost again, huh? That’s fine. Let’s focus on getting you back to sleep again for now,” he plants a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, “Close your eyes.”

[azsazz]

Scorched & Scarred

Eris x Reader

Summary: You are the only healer that Eris has ever really trusted.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, wounds, blood, gore, scarring, angst.

Word Count: 1680

_________________________________________

You don’t say a word when he appears in your room, swaying in his spot.

You can’t. For one, he won’t hear of it. Wouldn’t deign to respond with merely a grunt of acknowledgement should you bring his state up. He doesn’t want your help, except that he does. He doesn’t want your sympathy, but he has it. He hates it. He hates that he loves it.

Today, is a particularly bad day.

You bite back the gasp in your throat when you blink through the bleariness of sleep. His head is hung toward the ground and he’s hugging himself so tightly that for a moment, you fear that he’s holding his insides in his hands. Even still, you don’t miss the blood dribbling from his nose. Or is it spilling from a split in his lip? Crawled up his throat from his lungs? Nothing would surprise you. There’s a gash on his forehead, like the one he received weeks ago, splitting his brow in two.

“Eris,” you breathe, throwing back your sheets. There’s a bite of cold as your toes hit the floor that you don’t register. You’re already halfway to him, arms outstretched, worry struck across your face.

He flinches. You halt, remembering who it is that has come to see you. The abused eldest son of the Court of Autumn with an affinity for pain.

You need to be gentle.

You need to be you.

You can’t approach him quickly. You can’t set your hands upon his bruised and banged skin until he’s ready, until his breathing has evened out. You can see the way he’s freaking out, the terror behind those amber eyes. He knows exactly who you are, but his father’s threats hang in his head like a broken record, taunting him, telling him not to seek a healer.

Should his father find out he crawled into your chamber like the pathetic male he thinks he is, his punishment will be even worse.

You wait patiently; a gentle hand offered like he’s a scared dog. You know the drill: wait until Eris allows you to touch him, and then you may begin your healing. It doesn’t matter how much fear seeps into your own expression the longer you wait, Eris takes his time finding his footing before reaching his trembling fingers out and placing his hand in yours.

You’re desperate to squeeze him like a lifeline, but you must keep your touch gentle. You slowly guide Eris to the foot of your bed where you help him sit before assessing his wounds. His face is mottled with cuts and bruises. There’s a tear in the shoulder of his silky, olive-colored shirt, the fabric clinging to the wound that oozes blood.

You swallow back the emotion that seizes your throat.

Your hands are tepid against his cheeks. Your power trickles through his body like magma, warming him to his bones. He clenches his amber eyes shut and bites back a whimper, not of pain, but because he hasn’t felt an embrace like this since the last time he was in your arms. He steels himself so he doesn’t careen into your hips where he can rest his head and wrap his trembling hands around your legs to pull you close.

Eris hasn’t been touched this softly in a long time.

In fact, you’re the only one to ever see him like this. Well, besides his father and the fae sadist he sometimes uses to dole out his punishments. You know every cut, laceration, broken bone he’s ever had. You’re the only one he trusts to heal him.

He can feel the words you want to say, the ones you’re keeping locked in your chest. Your hands are soft as they trail down his back, tender, as if your featherlight touch will do anything to stop the intense pain that burns through his body like a lance. Every single touch is a new wound to his skin, another blade dragging down the length of his spine, a stab of something he’s never experienced plunging into his heart.

Eris holds in a scream.

“Say it,” he grits when his tongue can form the words. The pain ebbs slowly, much too slowly for his liking. He sits before you, a broken prince. If his father knew where he crawled off too after the punishments that he received, you’d surely get the same treatment, and Eris can’t fathom the thought of you experiencing anything close to what has been done to him. He can’t even stand when you hit your elbow on the edge of your dresser or when you bite your tongue when he brings you lunch when you’re knee deep in work. Because fae heal quicker than humans, his father expects Eris to continue his days in debilitating pain until the wounds close on their own. Until he learns his lesson.

He trembles when your fingers brush over the bruises on his cheeks, moving fully away from the freckled skin of his back. The wounds are healed over the best you can manage, but there is no fixing the scars that run long lines down his back, from when he was a boy, from before you were a healer.

Your breath stalls in your throat at the same time Eris captures your wrists in his hands, halting your movements. There’s a cut in his lip, across the bridge of his nose that has shifted out of place. Both of his eyes are painted with dark circles beneath them, but they shine amber with anger.

“Say. It.”

You shake your head softly, gently pulling from his grasp. You brush your thumb across his lip, watching intently as the skin knits back together. Eris’ eyes flutter and you catch the painful bob of his throat, the one that makes him grimace and his lashes clump with wetness. “I won’t.”

“You must.

So, it is with a voice shaky with fear that you murmur your worries aloud, “He will kill you next time.”

You admission is like a breath of relief to Eris. He exhales harshly but doesn’t drop the one wrist his fingers are still wrapped around. Of course, you tell him this every time he visits you, and with his appearances to your private quarters for healing become more frequent, it’s only a matter of time until he’s so harmed that you won’t be able to bring him back.

“He won’t,” he says, and it doesn’t even sound like he believes it. He has six brothers. Six heirs to the throne. Six replacements.

You shake your head to yourself, quickly wiping the tear that rolls hot down your cheek before Eris sees.

Your warmth is much different than his. It’s soft, a reassurance against his skin. Healing. The fire that flares through his veins is of something much coarser. He is fueled by hatred and jealousy. Disappointment and failure.

Nothing has ever been easy. Eris keeps his feelings locked up tight. He has learned under the sharp blade of a knife poised beneath his chin. What they didn’t know is that harsh words they sprung cut deeper than any weapon ever could.

Your words are…he doesn’t know how to explain what the minute tremble of fear in your voice means. He stopped being fearful a long time ago, but here you are, fearing for him. That one day they might go too far, might cut his tongue from his mouth or pierce an eye out with the tip of a blade. Like they might let their restrain snap and become the bloodthirsty beasts he always knew they were. That they’ll kill him one day soon.

The way your hands feel against his skin makes emotion clog his throat. He has never felt a touch speak so many words. He’s never been treated softly. He’s been ignored by his mother and abused by his father. Neglected by both.

He doesn’t understand the way you make him feel. The clenching of his stomach, the rapid beating of his heart, the feeling that stirs between his legs when he sees you.

He wonders for a moment how your warm hands might feel wrapped around a different part of his body.

Eris closes his eyes. The tension rolls from his shoulders with each wound that heals. His head bobs and he can’t help but slump into you as the adrenaline wears off and exhaustion weights heavy on his body.

You catch him, cradle him against your body. Your fingers find his auburn hair and rub lightly.

Eris moans against your legs and the feeling vibrates through your body. You carefully keep your thighs from clenching.

“Eris,” you whisper, stroking every part of him that you can. Someday you’ll be brave enough to tell him how he makes you feel. How strong you think he is, how badly he should leave this court and not look back. For now, the terrified feeling in your chest stops you from admitting just that. “You need rest.”

“Stay?” He asks, and a sad smile cracks your lips. He barely even knows where he is, that you haven’t found him bleeding on the floor of his room and are patching him up. All he knows is the caring cradle of your arms.

“Yes,” you murmur, and help him lean back into the spot where you’d leapt from your bed upon his arrival. You help him with his shoes, his belt and the scabbard at his hip, sans weapons.

They always take his weapons.

A noise of surprise catches in your throat when Eris’ hands close around your hips and he yanks you into the plush bed with him. He’s already half asleep, fully clothed, and he releases you just enough for you to slip under the sheets and pull them up around the both of you. By the time you settle, Eris is clinging to you like a lifeline, a thigh tucked between your legs, his arms a vice around your back. You’re entrapped in his limbs, exactly where he wants you. Exactly where you want to be.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Comatose Confessions

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 4k words

warnings/tags: fluff

Part two to this

He’s barely moved a single inch in the last hour

Though he blinks every so often, his eyes never once stray from where he’s held his gaze so steadily this entire time, as focused as any trained sniper could ever hope to be

Sat on his bed, back against the wall and stiff as a statue, he watches as the faint light creeping in under the crack of his door shifts every so often, the shadows outside refusing to stand still

He knows it’s you

As perfectly silent as you are, he can still see the shadow of your boots pacing back and forth, back and forth, again and again, just outside his room

You know he’s inside

And he knows that’s why you refuse to leave, annoyingly stubborn in your pursuit, determined in your efforts to get the man inside to put an end to his charades

He knows you won’t leave until you get what you want

And what you want, is for Ghost to stop avoiding you

He’s been very carefully, very intentionally avoiding having to speak to you

He can’t bring himself to do it

He just can’t

Not since he’s woken up

Not since his head felt worse than it had in a very long time, mind swimming through a heavy fog in an attempt to fight his way back to consciousness, his entire being had felt shaken to its core and thrown off its axis, his blood running cold with the unmistakable chill of pure, unadulterated fear, not too far off to how he’d once felt waking up with the taste of dirt in his mouth, buried six feet under ground

Only to be jolted into a startlingly opposite reality when he suddenly was able to smell that achingly familiar, enrapturing fragrance he’d come to associate with a certain someone, could somehow feel miraculously soft, gentle fingertips smoothing along his neck into his goddamn hair, an affectionate touch he’d only felt fleetingly as a young boy, and when he’d opened his eyes, he was certain he’d somehow snuck his way past the gates and into heaven

Because above him had been you, and though the light glowing around you burned his tired eyes, you remained a vision so beautiful to behold he could never dream of shutting his eyes ever again, could not help but to instinctually reach out to grasp you, should you vanish before him and he lose the chance to ever hold you, at least once

His brain was still pounding, insistently throbbing as it shocked itself back awake, fighting to take control back as his lips suddenly said the only thing that both his mind and heart could agree upon at this moment, looking up at you:

“Love.”

It was nearly an entire day later, following a flurry of you being whisked out of his room, doctors and nurses fussing over him, his mind and body slowly beginning to feel more like his own again, when Soap came to visit him and all too happily recounted to his Lieutenant what he’d supposedly said upon waking up from his days long coma

After the doctors released him from the med bay or rather accepted that the Lieutenant was going to leave when he wanted to whether they liked it or not, they’d given strict instructions for at least a fortnights rest, wanting to allow his brain enough time to truly recover, concerned that though everything else was checking out fine, that short bout of confusion upon waking could not be looked over when it came to head injuries

Confusion

Is that what they all thought it had been?

He couldn’t exactly blame them, he felt he’d done a more than phenomenal job of hiding the true nature of his feelings for you from anyone and everyone, making it appear as though he was nothing more than indifferent to your existence, far from someone he’d be relieved to see waking up in a hospital bed

No, he’d been far from confused when he’d insisted to anyone who would listen, not caring that anyone’s ears but your own would hear his words spoken with the utmost sincerity, when he called you his girl, his love

No, if anything that was the most honest Ghost had been in a long time

At least since you’d worked your way into his life and apparently his heart along the way

But now, nearly two weeks passed since he’d woken up and admitted to you in his vulnerable state of mind his true feelings for you, after months of carefully avoiding ever letting you know how he felt, months of keeping his distance in hopes of diminishing the gravitation pull he felt whenever you were near, and he couldn’t bring himself to face you

He can’t decide whether it’s a small mercy or not that in the fog of waking up and all the chaos that ensued, that he can’t recall seeing your reaction to his words, can’t remember seeing the look on your face when he admitted the words he would have preferred to have been buried with than to profess out loud to you

A blessing, in that he doesn’t know whether your face twisted up into a look of horror or disgust at his revelation, and a curse, in that he’s had days upon days holed up in his room, imagining every other possible reaction you might have had

Since his release from the med bay, you’ve come knocking at his door, he knows you’ve been asking around base for him, have tried to run into him during those few fleeting moments he trudges to the mess hall and back

Why you’re so determined to confront him, he can’t be sure

To laugh at him? Rub it in his face?

He doesn’t think so, it’s not something he believes you’d so, but then again he’s never had his entire heart held in a pretty birds hands before, especially when he’d never intended to hand the bloodied, somehow still beating thing over in the first place

Maybe you feel sorry for him, hope to let him down easy, or even pretend as though you never heard him in the first place, he’s not sure which would hurt him most if he’s honest-

None of those excuses feel right however, with the way you’ve been seeking him out so persistently, opposite to the neutrality the two of you had less than half a month ago, and so always more at ease in the certainty of his own misery, rather than the misery of uncertainty, he remains hidden from you

Fuck, he hopes you haven’t been speaking to Johnny too much

When he notices your steady back and forth pacing suddenly come to a halt with the shadows indicating you’re stood directly in front of his door, the only movement Ghost allows is the slightest quirk of his scarred eyebrow, gaze intent on where he imagines your form stands just beyond the thick plank of wood separating you

He’s holding his breath, wondering what your next move will be in this childish game of cat and mouse he’s roped you into, when he hears the slightest shuffling from outside, a crinkling sound accompanied by shadows moving about under the door, followed by the sound of your boots echoing away from him and down the hall

It takes him nearly another ten minutes before he dares to move again, already beginning to berate himself for the way he’s behaving like a frightened child, when his eyes lock in on the anomaly on his floor

The sun was just beginning to set when he’d dared to venture out to the mess hall and back to his room quickly, hoping it was the best time to avoid most everyone including you before they ran out of decently edible grub, only just slipping into his room and shutting the door behind him when he’d glanced down the hall and locked eyes with you turning the corner

Now more than an hour passed, the sun long gone and his food cold and untouched, he notices something that wasn’t there before

Slowly, Ghost approaches his door, bending down to a crouch to examine what’s been slipped so carefully underneath the thin seam of his door

A single cigarette

He huffs a silent approving hum, bringing the death stick up to his mask covered nose to smell the bad habit he hasn’t touched in a few days

In all his efforts to avoid running into you, he’d quickly gone through the packs he kept in his room, only daring to smoke them out of his own ajar window like a goddamn teenager hiding the smoke from their parents

He’d smoked his last one a handful of days ago, and had yet to pick up a new pack, his years long addiction to nicotine apparently coming second to his need to continue avoiding you, no matter the cravings he felt

Now however, holding the smoke between his calloused fingers, he finds himself too relieved to begin the logical train of thought that should accompany such a gift from you being slid under his door

Fetching his lighter out of his desk drawer, Ghost steps towards his window and cracks it ajar enough that he can lean his upper half out, prepared to enjoy his cig in peace

What he isn’t prepared for however, as he inches his balaclava up above his crooked nose and begins trying to spark the lighter to life, is for the flames to be reflected back at him through your very own eyes staring up at him, stood directly below his window

“Hi Ghost.” You whisper up to him with amusement, the faint quiver of your lip giving away the mischievous smirk threatening to push through the darkness of the late night hour

You’re quicker than he expects you to be, almost as though you anticipated what his next move would be, when you reach out to squeeze your hand between the window and the pane, just as Ghost hurries to shut it

“What the fuck do ye think you’re doin’?” The Lieutenant growls out, hoping to stall for time as he recomposes himself, internally shaking his head at himself for falling for your trick. Leaving him a damn cigarette like a taunt and waiting beneath his window for him to smoke it was purely childish on your part, but then again, he hasn’t exactly been the most level headed soldier on base recently either he supposes

“Apparently what I have to do to get you to acknowledge me.” You reply casually, refusing to budge your hand away from where it prevents the window from shutting you out. “How long are you planning on avoiding me? Hm?”

“You’re bloody mental if ye think tha’ I-” He cuts himself off with the sharp glance you throw his way, a look that easily reads ‘are you fucking kidding me’ even in the low light illuminated across your features. “Alrigh’, fine. You’ve got me. Your grand plan was to hide ou’ here, like some bloody lunatic, wait for me… and then what? You plannin’ on climbin’ in through the fuckin’ window next?”

Fighting for the upper hand in this situation, Ghost watches as you take a deep breath, eyes quickly scanning the length between the ground and the windowsill, where you’re struggling to keep your hold while stood on tip toes

“Well I was hoping you’d invite me in by now. But I’ll do what I have to.” You decide confidently, raising your chin up high as you hold his gaze, refusing to back down now that you’ve got him in front of you. You must see something in him that puts a slight dent in your resolve however, as he watches your eyes soften ever so slightly, and you begin to shift on your feet. “I just want to talk to you, Ghost. Can’t we at least just do that?”

He fights the urge to grind his teeth as he clenches his jaw, shifting his eyes away from you as he struggles to maintain his composure seeing you standing there bathed in moonlight, a look of genuine sincerity on your face as you plead with him to be reasonable

“Fucking fine. But you’re using the bloody door. Don’t need you causing a scene out ‘ere.” He relents, pulling his hand back from the window pane.

“You promise to let me in?” You ask, hesitating before you release your grip on the glass. He peers back down at you, taking his own steadying breath before he offers a curt but steady nod in your direction. “Good, because my next move was going to be to pull the fire alarm, and that would’ve just been so much more of a mess.”

With that little revelation, he watches your hand slip away from the glass as you tip toe along the edge of the barracks, finding your way back inside. He scoffs to himself as he shuts the windows firmly, shaking his head at your antics as he stares solemnly at the unlit cigarette still pinched between his fingers

What the fuck has he gotten himself into?

Your fist has barely finished its first knock on his door before he’s swinging it open, reaching a large hand out to grip you by the waist and pull you inside before he has the chance to change his mind about this whole thing. He peers his head quickly around the corridor to make sure no one caught sight of anything before shutting the door behind you both, sealing him in with the last person he thought he’d find himself with tonight

He releases his hold on you as quick as he can, taking a large step backwards to put space between you both, eyes raking in the sight of you pressed up against the back of his door, an image he’s pictured many times before in his head but never believed he’d truly ever lay his eyes upon

He watches your own gaze hesitantly sweep around the space quickly, taking in the sparseness of the room. What he wouldn’t do to be able to take a peek into your mind, especially right now

“How’s your head feel?” You ask quietly, eyes shifting back towards the masked man’s visage as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his side. The only answer you get from him is a grunt you’ve heard from him often enough to know translates to ‘fine’. “Soap was telling me that if the docs clear you this weekend you’ll be able to start easing back into work.”

Ghost simply watches as you watch him, slowly lifting one foot before another, cautiously making your way over to his small desk and easing yourself down into the chair, all the while keeping him in your sight, as though he were a wild animal you might spook with one wrong move

“I’m sure they’ll pass you, but between you and me,” you add, leaning back slightly in the chair as a shadow of a smile crinkles in the corner of your lips. “I’d help you forge the docs signature if we had to. I’ve had my fair share of Soap, I’m ready to pass custody back over to you.”

At this, Ghost can’t help the soft chuckle that slips out, watching as the hesitant smile on your face forms into a full fledge smirk at the sound of his approval. With the tension in the room slowly beginning to dissipate already, he dares to allow himself to take his own atop his bed, opposite to you. Still though, he can’t completely let go of the nerves running through him, knowing you’re likely moments away from confronting him.

“You wanted to talk, let’s talk.” His deep voice rings out in the small space, hoping to cut straight to the chase, get this over with

“Right,” he watches you fidget in your seat, eyes leaving his for a moment as you begin to fiddle with your jacket pockets. “Listen Ghost, I- I realize that I might have heard something you didn’t necessarily want me to know.”

‘Yeah, that’s putting it fucking lightly’ he thinks to himself, but allows you to go on with whatever speech you’ve obviously prepare, hoping you’ll at least be quick in your rejection of him, and that this can soon all be a thing of the past

“And I figured if we were going to talk, it would really only be fair to level the playing field, so to speak.” He watches with veiled curiosity as you fish something out of your jacket. In your hands you hold a small, but clearly well loved notebook

“How’s that?” He questions, nodding towards the item in your grasp

“I don’t think I have to swear you to secrecy here but, I used to write in journals a lot, when I was little. Don’t really keep up with it as much anymore, you know how busy we are.” You mention, pulling the strap down from across the front cover and opening the book, fingers sifting through the pages covered in handwritten words of ink and lead. “Every once in a while I’ll write something down, if it’s memorable. But mostly I jot down my uh, well my more embarrassing stories.”

“Why would ye do tha’?” Ghost questions, eyebrows furrowing as he tries not to decipher any of the words he sees on in your book, unsure where this is all going

“Honestly,” you say with a small, airy chuckle. The Lieutenant ignores the sudden feeling in his chest cavity as he comes to the conclusion he’s never seen you smile so often, at least not so up close and personal. “Reading them back makes me feel better. They make me laugh. Especially after a long day or hard missions. Nice to come back to and remind myself not everything in life has to be so… serious, I guess.”

You offer a casual shrug, still thumbing between pages as Ghost takes in your words.

“Anyways, I just thought that, maybe you’d want to hear something I would usually never tell anyone. Make us a little more even?”

He narrows his eyes at you slightly, understanding now what it is you’re trying to do.

He slipped up that day when he woke up from the coma, accidentally made himself vulnerable in front of you and said something he wish he hadn’t, something he’s embarrassed about

And so here you are now, offering to be vulnerable in front of him instead, to grant him access to some of your embarrassing moments and thoughts, level the playing field as you had put it

Yeah, he’ll bite

Again, he offers you no more than a subtle nod in your direction to communicate his agreement, but the way your eyes lights up at this response, you’d think he would’ve just agreed to make you Captain for a day

“Thought maybe we’d start easy. How about the time I accidentally spit my gum out on my CO’s boots? Or when I peed myself during basic-”

Ghost isn’t sure how you’ve done it, whether you knew this was how your cunning plan would work out all along, or if you’ve just gotten incredibly lucky tonight, but as one embarrassing story on your part turns into two, and then three, and suddenly hours have gone by, the stoic Lieutenant finds himself smiling with you, laughing with you, fuck he even starts offering up his own carefully curated stories when you pull an almost full carton of cigs out of your other pocket and toss them to him, the two of you sharing remarks over a shared smoke, hunched over the same window he nearly slammed in your face earlier

“Oh man,” you choke out in small fit of giggles, your hand holding your sides as you pass the cigarette back to him. “We oughta put all your dad jokes down on paper one day, you know why? Because they’re tear-able.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes a deep inhale off the cig, pretending the corners of his mouth haven’t been lifted nearly all night.

“Tha’ was awful.” He mutters, sparing you a side glance before he adds, “A real pun-ishable offence you jus’ committed there.” He doesn’t bother hiding his smirk anymore when your giggles grow louder at that.

“Alright, alright. I suppose my pun-ishment then,” you say between breaths, casting him a glance to see if he approves of yet another one of your corny puns tonight. “Would be to read these last few pages.”

He watches as your fingers dance across the handful of pages making up the end of the journal, yet to be read aloud tonight, your movements appearing hesitant for the first time this entire interaction.

Part of him feels the urge to tell you whatever it is, it’s not necessary, that you don’t have to read anymore about yourself that you don’t want to

Another part however, is far too curious, far too intrigued to know more about you, having learned more tonight from your own lips than he has in all the months he’s known you

“Actually, maybe I’ll just have you read it this time.” You say, reaching the journal out towards him, allowing him that one final glimpse into your personal thoughts. With a calloused palm, he takes the book from your hand, careful not to linger too long on the soft touch of your digits against his rougher ones. Glancing down at the words written haphazardly across the lined paper, he reads:

‘First week with the 141 went by in a blur, don’t think I’ve ever sweat so much on a base before, those men sure know how to train’

‘Captain is nicer than any other CO I’ve had before, and the Sergeants are funny, very welcoming’

‘The Lieutenant is… different’

‘Not bad different (though he might not say the same for me), just different. Hoping to learn more about him soon’

‘One month on the team has flown by, almost can’t remember life before the 141’

‘The lads are great, but the Lieutenant still doesn’t seem keen on me being here. Which is a shame, his teammates speak so highly of him, and his work speaks for itself. Just wish he’d speak to me sometimes’

‘Almost half a year already, if you can believe it’

‘These men feel like family, all apart from the one who still won’t acknowledge me’

‘The lads say not to worry about it, that Ghost will come around eventually… I just hope they’re right. There’s something about him I can’t shake. I find myself thinking about him more than I should’

‘Mission went bad. Lieutenant got hurt and has yet to wake up from his coma’

‘For the lads sake, I hope he wakes up soon’

‘Ghost opened his eyes yesterday…’

‘I don’t know if he meant what he said, or if he even remembers it, but I know I’ll never be able to forget it’

‘This entire time I’ve just wanted him and I to be cordial, to work together, hell maybe even become friends… but ever since he’s said those words… I can’t shake the feeling … maybe friends isn’t quite the right word for us’

Ghost isn’t sure how many times his eyes scan that last entry over and over and over, willing his eyes to believe what he’s seeing right in front of him, not until your hand slowly slips over his own, still holding the journal open, does his gaze flicker up to meet your own vulnerable stare

“I’ll be honest I’m not sure how to- do this.” You say with a slightly awkward chuckle, the vulnerability of the situation clearly starting to get to you as your Lieutenant stares you down wordlessly. “But I wanted to be honest with you. Couldn’t have you wallowing away in here any longer without knowing - well I guess without knowing how I felt too. I don’t know you as well as I’d like to Ghost, we haven’t exactly given each other many chances to do so. But I’d really like to be your… friend.”

His eyes narrow in on the sweet but anxious smile you try to put on through your nerves, your earlier confidence diminishing now that you’ve truly laid your cards out and made yourself as vulnerable as you can before the man who still has yet to say anything.

Ghost takes a steadying breath, eyes never leaving yours as he tosses your journal onto his bed where it lands with a soft bounce.

Vulnerability like this, feelings like this… it’s a grey area Ghost usually tries to avoid at all costs, a field of land mines he’d rather not cross, knowing no one makes it out on the other side unscathed

But with everything you’ve done for him, everything you’ve revealed to him, in combination with the throbbing organ behind his ribs fighting to beat its way back to life since the moment he met you and decided he couldn’t fall for you, Ghost finally relents and says fuck it. You’ve shown more bravery tonight than he has in the last two weeks, avoiding you like you were the plague, and it’s about time he put on his big boy trousers and show some bravery of his own now

“Don’ know it the lads told ya, but I don’ really do friends.” He says, slowly lifting a single boot and cautiously stepping in your direction

“I- I’ve heard.” You mutter, trying not to show the defeat that threatens to come across your features at his words, fearing he’s about to let you down.

The large man takes another step, and another, until there’s suddenly less than an inch of space left between both your heaving chests, and you have to crane your neck upwards while his is tilted down to keep his eyes on yours. Your eyes widen as you watch one of Ghost’s large hands come up into view, sneaking towards the bottom of his balaclava, which has been rolled up with entire time as you both shared some smokes

His fingers pinch the fabric, pulling it up further above his mouth to rest on the crooked bridge of his nose, revealing more of his scarred lips to you just as they whisper:

“But you and I, my love, aren’t quite friends.”

With the way Ghost’s lips come crashing onto your own waiting mouth, you’re inclined to agree with him

Tag list:

@kat-herine00 @unclearblur @anastrashbin @sundaescreamcheese @milanriol @mismatchsposts @xye-weirdo @readingthingy @kitkatkristal1020

@purplegamer99 @idkwhatfor09 @alkalineapparition @lovelycurls @thecattyinthedark-blog @idkwhattodosooo @hao-ming-8 @wh0s-ra3 @cricricorner @tessakate @laduenadelswing @pinkpookiebear

[boypied]

Crush

[best friend] clark kent x male reader

summary: you've been crushing on your best friend for a while now, he is the oppitome of perfection so before his date with lois lane he wants to try out his eating out skills and you are in no position to object his offer.

wc: 1.3k

notes: FDNI, MDNI, ass eating (r!receiving), fingering, body worshipping, hand jobs (r!giving&receiving), ass slapping.

You sit on Clark's bed waiting for him to finish up in the shower and actually acknowledge you since he was the one that invited you over. “Clark, can you hurry-” You start to mutter out until he stumbles into his bedroom where you're sitting down on the corner of his bed, your eyes wandering all over his body but completely staring at his extremely low and loose towel. You gulp down some spit that was gathering in your mouth, and if anymore formed, you would've been drooling over him in a more obvious sense. Clark struts into his room, chuckling quietly to himself as he picks up on your obvious gawking over him. “Bro, I am dying for your help... and I wouldn't ask you to help in this way, but it's urgent” he scoffs out, his voice laced with nervousness with an underlying hint of excitement. Your eyes wander over his body as you watch the water droplets drip down his gorgeously muscular body, “whatever you need! You know you can count on me for anything, you know that.” You mumble out in a soft tone as you gulp quietly.

“This is so embarrassing to ask you, but... can I practice my eating out skills?” Clark asks you with his eyes practically closed, and you stare at him in shock, but hearing those words sends a warm tingly feeling down your body heading right towards your growing aching cock. Your mouth gaped open slightly, taking a moment to process what your best friend of many years just asked of you, “it's just that I'm meeting Lois later and I've been getting the feeling that she's been wanting to take things a step further and... I just don't want to embarrass myself to her, cause I like her a lot” Clark says in a slight whiney tone as he begins to ramble on about how much this will help him out and improve, “This can be like when me and you use to practice kissing with each other before you figured out you liked men, except it will be me figuring out how to eat someone out in the most pleasureable way.” Clark walks closer to you as his ramble continues on and on until your hands reach out and pull open his low hanging towel to reveal his girthy, long and monstrous cock to you. Your eyes widen and Clark gasps at the sudden feeling of being so exposed.

Clark's eyes widen as he stares down at you, “I-I'm only suppose to be eating you out!” His voice extremely shaky from nerves however his cock springs up in excitement revealing how he truly feels about the whole situation. “If you're going to be eating out my asshole then I can ATLEAST see you naked, it's only fair!” You say with a small chuckle which causes Clark to burst out laughing and cover his face to hide his embarrassment. You stand up and keep eye contact as you act all flirty as you slowly strip off naked, you laugh throughout this to hide how excited you really are about this but Clark just stares at you, he slowly nibbles at his bottom lip and you notice his cock leaking like a facet. You reach your underwear as you take a deep breath and pull them down in one swift motion leaving you naked, you both stare at eachother and the awkwardness of being naked in front of your bestfriend slowly slips away and this feeling of comfort and safety crosses over both of you. You turn around and crawl onto his bed shoving your ass into the air revealing your tight, pretty pink and hairless asshole to him. You take a deep breath “I'm ready...” You mumble out as you feel Clark's presence come closer to you as his hands grip against your cheeks spreading them open more giving him a better look at your hole, “w-woah...” he scoffs out nervously.

Clark slowly leans in and hesitantly licks a wet strip up your hole. His eyes slowly flutter shut as he relaxes his body, and his hands forcibly shake your asscheeks creating a jiggle. You gently bite down on your lower lip, feeling the warm from his tongue caressing back and forth slowly but surely pushing past your tight muscle ring and into your soft velvet walls that are clamping around his tongue. Your eyes flutter back and your cock hardens against Clark's bed, “Mhm!” He grunts out until he pulls away and he leans upwards to shove his fingers into your mouth “Suck.” Clark commands of you, his tone dominant and rough, his nervous exterior slips away as his hidden fantasy comes to light. You feel his fingers push into your mouth, swirling around to get them all soaked in your spit. Clark pulls them out of your mouth and gently rubs them against your wet asshole, gently pushing them past your loosening muscle ring and into your velvet feeling walls.

Clark fingers curl inside of you as he reaches his knuckles as your muscle ring tightens around it. You lay your head against the duvet as you slowly sink into it, “C-Clark~” You whimper out in agonising pleasure as his fingers curve against your sweet spot, with each curve he milks your sweet spot sending shivers down your spine and causes your body to jolt. Clark pulls away and sits down next to you, “Do you wanna J-Jerk me off?” Clark asks you nervously as you roll over and continues to breathe heavily. “Mhm-hm.” You nod your head with excitement. You lean back up and wrap your hand around his girthy monstrous cock that you've been dreaming of for some time now, and you slowly begin to beat his meat feeling his pre-cum drip down your hand and you lean down to lick it up grazing your tongue against his tip causing his body to jolt upwards into your hand. You gasp in shock as Clark wraps his hand around your cock and he matches the rhythm in which you're beating his meat in a swift motion. “F-Faster!” You both whimper out simultaneously, and you both turn your heads to make eye contact as both of your hands pratcially move on their own.

“C-Clark, is this too mu- ” You begin to talk as you breathe heavily until he leans in and slides his tongue into your mouth and your eyes flutter shut enjoying the feeling and taste of his tongue in your mouth. Both of your hands go up and down in a swift sultry motion, and you whimper as you feel Clark's other muscular arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you both thrust your into each other's hand. “M-MHM!” You whine out into his mouth as you nearer your release “N-Ngh!” Clark grunts out into your mouth as the simultaneous feeling of both your hands moving in a rapid motion beating each other's cocks becomes too much for you both and you shoot your load. The spurts of cum from both of your tips shoot all over each other's bodies, Clark pulls away and breaks the kiss leaving a string of spit from his mouth onto yours.

“Woah” you mumble out as you watch Clark's face redden, and he chuckles nervously. “So did this prepare you for your date with Lois?” You ask him softly with an undertone of jealously, and Clark just stares at you and smirks “There wasn't ever a date with Lois, I just really wanted you.” Your eyes widen in shock, and you jump up from laying on the bed, and you wrap your arms around Clark's neck as his hands travel down your body, and he grips your asscheeks “You should've just said you wanted me... I've liked you for a long, long time.” You whisper in his ear, and he chuckles “I was too embarrassed, but I guess I don't need to be anymore.” You lean back, and Clark smiles softly at you, pulling your naked body closer to his muscular one as he leans into a kiss, passionately feeling his tongue swirl against yours. “I am going to fuck you... extremely hard.” Clark whispers in your ear and you just giggle, you jump up and wrap your legs around his waist ready for a night full of lustfilled pleasure.

taglist ~ @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @irlsamcarpenter @lucerothings1 @gaefaeyae @dqrkhold @sluttyhusband @sleep-0-deprived

[atiyasnake]

As predicted, I wrote some more (1,143 more words). TW for mentions of blood and vomiting.

~~

On The television Gotham watched as the Joker smiled with glee at this ‘supposed Wayne’. It was hard to believe considering how many black-haired and blue-eyed children there were. Either way, it was with waited breath that they watched what was about to happen to the Joker's latest victim. 

When the Joker finally released the kid’s face he pranced around on the screen before reaching off to the side to grab something.  A modified gas makes came into view. A crude drawing with red and white paint of a familiar smile was on the front. 

With resignation, they watched as the Joker roughly put it on the boy’s face. 

__________

The mask was tight. It dug into Danny’s skin and pulled at his hair from the straps the Joker roughly pulled over his head. In comparison, it wasn’t as bad as what he had grown used to. Still, he wanted to rip the damn thing off.  

Instead, a hand gripped his hair and yanked, showing his face again to the camera. The Joker hummed before caressing his hair and then clapping with a laugh. 

“Now! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a front-row seat to a new treat I’ve made with my dear dear friends,” the Joker said as he showboated in front of the camera while a couple of men stood off the side. 

He was getting tired of this shit. He didn’t want to be anyone’s show pony, he had enough of it with Vlad. 

The Joker kept talking with little chuckles in between, and with each one Danny clenched his jaw more and more. 

“Now let the show begin!”

Suddenly, there was a hissing sound from the mask and reflexively Danny tried to hold his breath. He had heard about the different gases in Gotham before in short mentions in the news. He’d rather not test anything. He had enough experience with all sorts of ‘concoctions’ and their ‘interesting effects’.

Though, as expected, whether it be scientists or rogues in Gotham they didn’t like to see him be stubborn. So with a snap of the Joker’s fingers, a swift punch was delivered into his gut and Danny couldn't help but gasp and try to take another breath.

A sickly sweet and rotten smell filled his nose, making him gag which only made it worse. 

At first, it didn’t do anything, but slowly his chest began to hurt and there was a warmth inside. The Joker laughed, monologuing to the camera and the warmth began to burn. 

Danny had already been hurting. He’s been continuously hurting for far longer than he’d care to think about. He knew the routine. He knew how this went. 

Stay quiet. 

Keep still. 

It’ll pass. 

He tried to keep telling himself this when the echoes of screams started. 

Danny didn’t know how much time passed as he just kept still. The fire was burning underneath his skin and he could feel it leaking out of his nose and mouth. There were still men around and the red dot of a camera looking towards him. He kept quiet and a bigger hand grabbed his hair, pulling it enough to make his neck strain as he was still tied down to the chair. 

Then suddenly shadows rained down with shattering glass and all hell broke loose. 

The hand retreated but another pulled his chair down and he fell to his side, his head knocking into the ground. Another point where fire leaked out while the mask dug into his cheek. He could only watch around him. 

There was yelling and laughter. The sound of crackling of electricity sent phantom spasms down his limbs as the echo of screams reached a higher pitch. 

There were so many shadows moving around. The grunting sound of bodies surrounded him.

At some point, he felt the restraints fall away but still, he didn’t move. 

Be still. Be still. Be still. Be still bestill bestill bestillbestill bestillbestillbestill. 

Except a hand was reaching for his face. 

The mask straps tugged at his hair as it was slipped off. It no longer dug into his face. The gas was taken away. Except whenever they take away the mask it's for something worse. They lure you into a false sense of relief only to rip it away. So he did what he always did. 

He got his mouth on the closest hand near his face and he bit down.

They hated when he did that in the lab. They’d scream for ‘it’ to let go. He never let go unless they made him. 

Danny knew how this went. He clenched his jaw shut harder and felt something begin to give beneath his teeth. He couldn’t taste whatever it was given his mouth full of his own burning blood. He still didn’t let go. 

He could barely see past it all but he would not let go. He couldn’t, he was burning inside and out and the screams were pulling at him. Hands were reaching out to him but then there was an explosion and they were blown back. 

His body rolled and he caught himself hitting something before scrambling onto all fours. Fire was licking at his throat and he couldn’t stop it from coming up. He hacked and coughed as something wet and hot filled his mouth. The taste of iron and the sight of red on his skin were far too familiar. 

It was ironic. This weird ‘concoction’ seemed to make him bleed just like the lab did. Just when Danny thought he finally got away. He chuckled. 

Light and shadows danced off to the side. Two of them looked like they had pointy ears and one of those looked like it had wings. They moved swiftly and gracefully around each other, never straying too far as if they were bound back together by some unseen force. 

Huh. 

The light caught on something and Danny found himself looking at the camera, its red light still lit. His limbs shook as he grabbed the camera, it was surprisingly high quality and he couldn't help but laugh lightly. Still, the button to turn it off was the same.  Someone was running towards him and he threw the camera chuckling again when it hit their head and they dropped though he had to stop when he coughed up more blood that burned. 

It hurt.

The room wouldn’t stop shifting as the colors warped around him with stains of black. His chest was in agony and pressing his head against the floor and curling up wouldn’t stop it. The whispers and screams were coming back again, reaching out to grab a hold. His throat kept spasming with each cough that wouldn’t let him get rid of the taste of iron. 

He couldn't do anything but let the agony and darkness take hold. 

Be still. Be quiet. 

It’ll pass.

Shrodinger's BatCat Child

DP x DC Prompt

When Selina was pregnant with her's and Bruce's child, she was thinking of settling down and raising the child. But when she had given birth to the boy, someone had broken into the hospital and stolen not only her baby but also other babies had been taken from the hospital. She tried to find out who took her baby boy but couldn't find the perpetrator.

Heartbroken at the loss of her baby, Selina masks her grief with being Catwoman. She doesn't tell Bruce about their baby boy, even after the new boy that goes under the Bats wing. She does treat each new Robin as if they were her own son. She talks to Harley about what had happened when Damian comes into the fold, where she then reveals that she had a baby with Bruce to the man and what happened to their baby after a few sessions with Harley.

Danny is on the run from Amity, from the Fentons, from the GIW, and from Vlad. The Fentons found out about him being Phantom and attacked him. They then teamed up with the GIW to hunt him down. He doesn't want to go to Vlad, as the Fruitloop is slowly becoming more and more crazy to get him to become his son and slowly focusing less and less on Maddie.

He heads to Gotham, as the city spirit, when she was chosen to be part of his court because of her knowledge and power, had told him that he was one of hers, a child born in Gotham to a woman that wasn't Maddie, Catwoman, and that's also how he found out that he's the son of Batman as well, because Lady Gotham gave him that answer as well, but she didn't tell him their real names. He just hopes that his mom and dad will be happy to learn that their son is still (mostly) alive and on his way to them.

And then Danny is caught by the Joker. He couldn't put up that much of a fight as he used up a lot of Ectoplasm escaping the lab he was in. Tucker's family moved away during middle school, and so did Sam's family when the start of high school came, Jazz had returned from college to help him escape the lab he was held in, but had to go back if she wanted to keep the scholarship.

The Batfam was having a family day out in Gotham. Bruce and Selina were engaged and wanted to bond as a family. Then Joker began broadcasting across Gotham.

"Hello Gotham! Today, I have a special guest with me"

The camera panned to a boy tied up in a chair, head hanging low.

"Brucie Boy seems to have forgotten to mention that he has another brat to call his own, so I took it upon myself to inform you all about him!"

When Joker grabbed the face of the boy and showed it to the camera, the entire Batfam tensed. Because the boys face had the features of both Bruce and Selina, the cuts, bruises, and blood on the boys face couldn't hide that fact, and now they need to find the boy to save him from what Joker has planned for their son.

[asksonicverse]

You dont need to answer but I just wanted to tell you I adore Paradox being like "I hate all of them except" and then listing everyone except like 2 guys, honey you don't hate *all* of them you expressly don't hate *most of them*

Extremely charming characterization i adore it

[Creator Special number 2!]

So glad someone noticed that, I was originally going to have him name EVERYONE except Boost but then I was like “nah, Mania is just too annoying for Paradox to tolerate him”

And thanks! I’m trying to be… consistent with my characterization of each of them and stay in line with canon but like… URGH sometimes I want to deviate so bad just to indulge but I resist!

Needless to say tho, prism is probably going to get more affectionate later on. Rewatched Sonic Prime again and bro is a cutie patootie!

Headcanons… headcanons… hmm

Well, starting with the obvious, Paradox goes to therapy as I’ve mentioned which I think is hilarious. He and Lance are the only Shadows who really have their shit together which is why I think Sonadow works well for them? (we stan healthy relationships guys)

I do head canon that Eight doesn’t like being touched really at all anymore. After the metal virus, he grew so used to the fact that he couldn’t touch anyone that it sorta just stuck. He does it to save people, but not anything more. :(

And while I’m a sucker for the Trans Sonic HC I decided not to implement it in this particular AU!

I really want to include Captain Sonic and Shadow, but I haven’t played nor watched a serious play through of the game. (I’ve only really listened to a bit of the Snapcube dub..)

can someone tell me if Shadow is a Barista or a Mechanic in that game btw?? I google it, nothing pops up. I could’ve sworn there was something about a mechanic.

Uhh I LOVE Sonic Frontiers, fire game. If I include that one, it’ll ALSO be Sonamy since I’m pretty sure that game takes place before SA2 in canon?

I’m trying to keep the Sonics and Shadows balanced but I’d love to add Generations Shadow and Sonic. Just thinking of names already I get “Doom” for Shadow and “Emerald” for Sonic. (Referencing the fake emerald from their interaction in the shadow story)

Unfortunately I haven’t seen the Archie comics or Sonic Underground so I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Someone also asked about if I’d ever include different AU’s: maybe if those AU creators gave me permission I’d be down to do a collab for a few asks or something!

Nope!

I dunno I just..! … how do I do? I’m fast. And you’re slow. That’s how I did it. /ref

Ahahah just kidding! But I am very fast. A few years ago I convinced myself I was a “slow drawer” because I was in a discord server with someone I looked up to (and holy cheese they could draw out fully articulate sketches in like 30 seconds!)

So I got insecure and taught myself to draw really fast. So now I just.. zoom! This does have a terrible draw back where I will very frequently forget smaller details.

Like if you look at half the posts, Shadow is missing his eyeliner and other markings frequently.

THIS IS JUST HILARIOUS TO ME YOU GUYS. PLEASE—

I’ve gotten SO many asks in my box about using Maria to calm the Shadows down or trying to give Shadows “Maria plushies”

Imagine you’re having a bad day and you get a plushie of your dead sibling thrown at you??? LMFAOOOO

I CANT I CANT I CANT PUT THEM THROUGH THAT 💔 Also I see every single ask.

“Do you all like Latinas” and “sonic which shadow is the hottest/shadow which sonic is the hottest” have all been engraved in my brain

Was joking with a friend on how that second question would come out LMFAOO

Previous | Next

[aangelinakii]

SAYING SOMETHING STUPID.

— and then you go and spoil it all.

summary : you and jason have been dating for a year, and although both of you know it, neither of you have said the dreaded L word. what happens when, accidentally, the truth comes out?

note : technically zimtsterne are christmas cookies so pretend like this is a christmas time fic

despite the countless beatings he took each and every night, jason's forearm was already beginning to ache. you had him whisking egg whites until they looked like snowy mountains, but not too mountainous, you'd said.

"where did you find this recipe again?" he hummed, not wanting to take his eyes off the bowl he was attempting to whisk at a flash-speed. beside him at the counter, of which he'd stepped away from to allow you more space, you were mixing ground almonds, cinnamon and powdered sugar into a dough. "what even is a zim— zimt—"

"zimtsterne."

"yeah, that."

"i found it online," you responded, barely taking your eyes off your almost-mixture. once jason would whisk the egg whites into soft peaks, you'd add half to your dough and it would be ready to cut into star shapes.

"online?" jason snickered, bumping your hip lightly with his. "you heard it on that game you play, didn't you? what was it again... choices?"

before you could get a handle on yourself, your eyes rolled almost back into your head. at this, you whipped your head over your shoulder to cast a very meaningful look to your boyfriend. "i only play it to get diamonds. i don't even use them, i just want to reach ten thousand just in case."

"how many do you have now?" he asked in return, looking back down at his white foamy mixture.

with a soft munch on the gum of your cheek, you turned back to your own bowl sheepishly. "more than ten thousand."

from behind, jason's warm laugh hummed through the kitchen. soft footsteps approached from behind, and his broad figure ghosted against your back. at once, a muscular arm, as well as his bowl, came into your vision. "this good enough?"

in the bowl, much faster than you would've been able to, jason had whisked the three egg whites cracked in there into soft peaks, leaving a little fluffy curl when you pulled the metal whisk out of the mixture. "perfect!" you grinned in return, taking the bowl in your own hands and scooping half the egg whites into what you'd so far made from the ground almonds.

watching you scoop and mix, scoop and mix, jason leaned back against the counter, hands resting on the edge, the veins pronounced on the back of the hand he'd used to whisk. "you're not gonna ask me to do any more whisking, are you?"

a soft chuckle brushed past your lips as you placed the bowl of egg whites back on the counter, and resumed stirring the zimtsterne mixture. "not today, you lucky boy," which earned an uncertain smile from jason.

"i liked that," he hummed bashfully.

"what, being lucky boy?"

jason gave an uncharacteristic laugh, his body swaying slightly against the counter. "maybe."

when you'd started dating, jason todd had never been an outwardly affectionate type; it took a few months for him to finally be willing to hold your hand in public. he was so used to suppressing his feelings, his affections, that it was certainly a challenge to get him to unlearn certain behaviours. now, a good year in, jason was getting more and more comfortable being the person he truly was.

still, at times, you weren't used to that person, hidden under years of trauma and dirt and grit.

but here he was, presenting himself to you in his cupped hands.

with a laugh matching his own, you paused your stirring for a moment to look up at him. "no more whisking, but i need you to get a tray, put a piece of parchment paper on it, and sprinkle some powdered sugar on the counter."

obedient like a dog gone soft, you could hear the clashing of pots and pans and opening and closing of cupboards behind you, until the cooking tray was placed on the counter beside your bowl, where the batter was coming along nicely.

jason tore off a square bit of parchment paper, and lay it upon the tray, where the corners curled, but otherwise stayed on, then he peeled open the bag of powder sugar. "how much do i put?" he asked, glancing over at you, hand hovering above the flour.

"not too much just yet, but we'll probably have to add more later."

and so his hand disappeared into the bag, and when it reappeared, he sprinkled a good serving of sugar along the countertop.

"perfect," you hummed once again. "next what we're gonna do is take the batter and press it down, then use the star cut-outs."

"we have to put our hands in that?" jason groaned, although playfully, you knew.

with a casual shrug, you began digging your hand into the zimtsterne mixture and pulled out a chunk to roll into a ball in your palms. "i mean, i could always do it by myself — if baking is too difficult for you."

a massive shoulder came into view, and jason's hand dunked into the bowl. "hell no! i can bake."

eyes closely watching the movement of your hands, jason rolled the amount of dough into a ball between his palms. then, once you'd placed your dough on the powdered sugar, pressed it down with the heel of your palm, jason followed suit.

you reached across the counter for the small star cutter, and sunk it down into the dough. "and... there! it's a little cinnamony star."

despite the grit and sheer size of him, in your company, jason todd was small, all soft touches and blush along cheeks.

as you carefully placed your star atop the parchment paper, jason took the small metal cutter in his calloused fingers, skilled in pulling the trigger.

he was careful as he pushed the cutter into the dough, glancing over at you a couple times as though he were doing something wrong.

somehow reading his mind, you reached over, hands placing them atop of his, spreading them in the muck of the dough you'd made, though jason didn't seem to mind; he'd had worse on his hands. "you're doing great," you smiled softly. "to get a clean cut you need to shake it a bit now."

and, with a laugh, your grip on jason's hands tightened slightly, and you helped jiggle the star cutter, separating his little biscuit from the rest of the dough, which you could reuse for another zimtsterne star.

a breath brushing past your ear, jason gave that kind, boyish laugh, and when you glanced over your shoulder, his eyes had halved into crescents, little moon shining down on the kitchen. "this is the strangest thing i've ever done."

perpetual smile by his side, you pulled away and tore the remaining dough from around the cookie cutter, pressing it into a sugared mound to be used again. "put that one next to my star on the tray," you ordered, although kind. "i'm gonna put more sugar down."

with ginger movements, jason lay his dough zimtsterne star down upon the parchment paper, a few inches from the one you'd made. eyeing him for a moment, to make sure his biscuit was far enough away from yours, you dunked your hand into the pink bag of icing sugar.

with a soft smile you made a nice comment on jason's placement; he was just about to reply when everything went white.

it must've caught through the gaps in your fingers while you weren't looking, must've been more than you'd meant to grab, for the powdered sugar hit the sleek countertop, and jumped back up in a whisp.

jason donned a white tuft of hair in his raven normally, but when the sugary fog began to clear, you could barely tell where the original streak ended and where it began.

your powder-covered hand shot to your agape mouth. "holy— that was an accident, i swear!"

his emerald eyes blinked open, sending some more snow-white dust into the air as it bounced off his eyelashes.

in one swift swoop, jason reached up to his blizzard of hair, and stretched out his hand over your face. you didn't need a mirror to know you probably looked like a snowman slapped you — but this action only caused room for ammunition, your dropped jaw setting and clenching as you pulled your arm back and launched.

the remnants of icing sugar in your palm exploded through the air, and whatever didn't land on the floor or counter (and most of the parchment paper) certainly his jason.

you could see in the way he lurched forward, but halted himself, that he was purposely holding back; you'd seen the way he would react when dick or tim tried to one-up him at the dinner table at the wayne family dinners you'd been brought to, or when training. his instincts are primal.

but, beneath the avalanche of icing sugar, his lips thinned. letting out a small sigh, jason shook his head, sending powdered sugar down onto the counter, where you could make your next zimtsterne star.

he gave a joking scoff. "you should be grateful i love you, or else this whole kitchen would be white."

it was a one-off sentence, supposed to be casual as he took the mound of dough in his hand to press flat against the monstrosity of sugar on the countertop. but it caused you to freeze, right in your place, hand gripping the edge of the counter falling slack.

jason hadn't seemed to notice.

he continued palming the dough until it was flat, but thick enough to be carved into a star, and reached for the cutter, content smile etched into his white powdery face.

"what did you say?"

your voice, however, was small.

even after a year now, neither of you had said the words he just had; you knew he had issues with attachment and relationships, so you supposed it just had never crossed your mind that he would... love you.

jason glanced up casually, shaking the star-shaped cookie cutter and placing down the new biscuit on the tray with the others. "oh, i was just saying that you're lucky, because if you were timothy drake, it would be over."

"no, no, you didn't say that." two steps forward, small, uncertain, but curious, aching to hear it again, make sure you weren't dreaming.

you placed a hand on his elbow, urging him to turn and look at you, which left a snowy handprint along his flesh. once he had carefully pushed the dough onto the tray, he placed the metal cut-out back on the counter and turned. "maybe not verbatim, but that's what i meant."

seeing the urgent look in your eyes, his smile faltered, but the lines it had made remained in the sugar.

"you said... you said you love me."

as the words left your lips, jason's eyes widened, and his body shuddered as if to stagger away from you, but your grip on his elbow tightened and didn't allow him.

"jason, is that true?"

beneath the powdered sugar, his bottom lip gave a tremour. "i... i guess i did say that."

your thumb brushed carefully over the bone of his elbow. "it's okay if it's true, i just want to know." trying to convince him he was safe — that you were safe — your voice softened, and you forced your body out of its initial shock.

but he didn't respond, only lips thinning, stare remaining still, like he'd been caught out on a really bad lie.

"i think so," he mused quietly, almost... afraid?

instinctively, your grip tightened once more upon his elbow, and you leaned in, eyebrows raised, a smile widening by the moment. "you love me?" it was spoken more like a song, more like it were an accomplishment than a question.

jason's bottom lip quivered, and when he spoke he sounded rather shaky, but he put on a brave, sugar-covered face. "is there– is there a problem with that?"

not minding the powder on your hands — and you hoped he wouldn't either — you leapt forward, engulfing his tough frame with a hug so tight it was possible all the knots in his back unwound at your touch. jason stumbled back, one sugared arm finding the small of your back and the other taking hold of the counter's edge to stabilise him.

sugar dusted itself along his breastbone, where you pressed your face into him. "oh, i didn't want to scare you away, or say anything i shouldn't," you began, voice extraordinarily muffled, until you pulled away to finish, gazing into his eyes, the only colour besides white on his face. "but i love you, jason. i really, really love you."

feeling suddenly shy at your sudden confession, your fingers toyed absently with the fabric of jason's once-black shirt, and your teeth sank awkwardly into your bottom lip.

but jason didn't hide away; he didn't contort into fear or anger. instead, his body sunk into yours, a warmth comparible to that of the pre-heated oven behind you. any uncertainty in those brilliant eyes of his seeped out through the corners, creating a coccoon of watery sugar beneath his lashes.

one of your hands came away from his back, and lay itself upon his cheek. an equally as powdery thumb swiped carefully beneath his eye — jason didn't even flinch.

all he could think was how stupid he was to have ruined the moment, not even thinking as he spoke, but also that he had finally admitted it out loud, and that you had reciprocated without any semblance of hesitation.

[ckngel]

SHOTGUN !

pairing. bf!jungkook x afab!reader

contains. smut, sexual themes, language, praise, pet names, blowjob, dirty talk, jk refers to himself as daddy, car sex, semi-public sex(?), dangerous driving LMAO, oral (m. receiving), hand job, cumming in hand. .

“Couldn't wait til’ we got home, huh?”

Jungkook chuckles, his previously relaxed fingers tightening around the smooth leather of the steering wheel as you undid the button on his black jeans and dragged down the zip.

He was — unsurprisingly — already hard, the angry bulge protruding through his jeans, the white waistband of his black CK boxers visible.

You promptly pull them down to get to where you wanted to be.

His cock sprang up, thick, veiny, angry.

His tip glossy with pre-cum, glistening in the passing streetlights from outside.

You salivate, ogling at it as he smiles at your expression.

“Like what you see baby?” You look at him, grinning and he returns the same expression.

“Gonna suck it?”

You don't respond since you give him his answer by leaning down to connect your starved mouth onto him.

His sturdy breathing stops as his breath hitches, feeling your plump lips placing tender kisses to his swollen head, swirling your smooth tongue around it before sloppily lapping up his pre-cum.

You glance up at him through your pretty lashes, gradually removing your mouth and initiating a displeased groan from him.

He exhales hard, fingers loosening on the wheel.

“You gonna fuckin’ hurry up or am I gonna have to make you?” he raises his eyebrow at you, before looking up again.

You grin at him, letting out a small scoff before swiftly taking the whole of him in your mouth, catching him by complete surprise.

“M'fuck—” his eyes momentarily slam shut, fingers instantaneously clutching onto the steering wheel.

His lips part and he emits a silent moan, his head dropping back against the headrest, strands of hair falling in front of his closed eyes. "ah shit,”

Your wet tongue slides flat along with your mouth, tip already knocking against the back of your tight throat, despite being only halfway down him.

Jungkook smirks when you gag, his eyes still fixated on the road, his left hands hold stiffens on the wheel as he takes his right hand to gently stroke your hair.

“Too big?” he asks, voice cocky.

His comment only fuels you to take him further, his hand aiding your head as he pushes you down further, little by little, inching you down to his base.

You gag for the second time, feeling the tears beginning brim in your waterline.

“Ahh careful. .” he murmurs, “don't wanna ruin your makeup now, do we baby?”

He sees you roll your eyes, and lets a small laugh escape his lips.

His head begins to press your head down and you breath out through your nose, mouth sinking further down until you get to the base.

“Ohhh yeah,” he groans, “that's it baby. feels s’good. .” he mutters, eyes heavy as you take your head back up the length of him, relaxing as he leaves your throat momentarily before he pushes you down again.

He feels your muffled moan vibrate against him, cock twitching as he lets out a low hum.

“You like it baby?” His hand pulls your hair,

“You like sucking my cock whilst i'm tryna fuckin’ drive?”

He voice is laced with slight irritation but you know he absolutely loves it. . despite how unsafe it is.

Your tongue brushes against the underside of his dick as you slide back up.

You return to his tip, kissing it, circling your tongue around him and making him release a choked moan.

“Mmh. .” he strokes your hair, tongue toying with his lip ring as your mouth continues to plant wet, sloppy kisses on him.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, fingers tangling in your hair again ready to push you back down.

Down, up, down, up, again and again and again.

The pace of his pulls and pushes become increasingly faster, his grip on your hair becomes more tenacious with every move, the low moans leaving his throat slowly fade into whinier ones.

You notice, and so you suck. hard.

Cheeks hollowing and teeth subtly grazing against him he releases a strained moan, hips thrusting into your mouth.

“Takin’ daddy so well, fuck—”

His voice is hoarse, strangled.

Tears stain your cheeks as they flow down your face, eyes shutting as he fucks your throat with raw, guttural moans.

“Baby. . hand.” He mutters and you glance up at him, asking a muffled “hm?” as your head comes to a stop so that you can hear him better.

“Use your fuckin’ hand baby. Please?”

His voice is low, impatient, desperate.

You understand now, mouth retracting from him with a ‘pop' and his hand goes back to the steering wheel in front of him.

His eyes briefly close, and he lets out a relieved moan.

You take your hand and wrap it gently around his aching dick.

He suppresses a whimper when you give him a squeeze and then start pumping him, his thick cock throbbing in your palm.

“Shit,” he hisses, your wrist flicking up and down around him.

“Fuck, babe?” he whispers to you, sleepy eyes briefly flick from the road to connect with yours.

“Gonna cum. .”

He bites down on his bottom lip, stifling a moan, eyebrows knitting together and you feel his cock jump and he finally lets go.

He chokes back a moan as warm, milky, viscous cum shoots out into your hand, coating your fingers with his sticky release.

A long, shaky exhale falls from his open mouth.

His head snaps to watch you when he feels you take your hand away and put it to your mouth, licking it clean.

He watches you through half-lidded eyes, a needy moan escaping his lips.

“I can't believe you've just done that.” he scoffs, once he's able to formulate a sentence.

You grin at him, head resting back against the seat.

“What?” you giggle, watching one hand let go of the steering wheel to pull up his now stained boxers and zip up his jeans.

“Sweetheart.” he says flatly, “you sucked me off and then gave me a handjob.” he says before adding, “all whilst I was driving.”

You smile at him,

“Yeahhh. . safe right?” you mumble and he snorts,

“Mm, you think?”

His hand finishes fastening his jeans and settles on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Lucky the windows are tinted, huh baby?”

© 𝑐𝑘𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙 2025, all rights reserved.

[kiesbrainjuice]

— HAIKYUU BOYS WHEN THEY WAKE UP NEXT TO YOU ! multiple

➥ pr : multiple x fem!reader

➥ syn : their reaction to waking up next to you.

➥ tw : fluff, none <3

➥ a/n : there there, a lil multiple for ya <3

The soft, early morning light filters gently into the room, casting a golden hue over everything it touches. The first thing he feels is the warmth of your body pressed against his, the heat radiating between the two of you making the cool air of the morning almost nonexistent. His arms are already wrapped around you, your body naturally nestled into his side, and for a moment, he doesn’t want to move—he doesn’t want to acknowledge that the world is waiting outside.

He slowly begins to wake, his eyes fluttering open just a sliver, not quite enough to make full sense of his surroundings. But enough to see you: soft, peaceful, tangled in the sheets beside him, your hair scattered across the pillow, and the steady rise and fall of your chest as you breathe in and out. It’s a sight that feels almost too perfect to be real, and for a second, he wonders if this is what paradise feels like.

The quiet sound of your breathing fills his ears, so soothing that it almost lulls him back to sleep. The urge to just stay here, to lose himself in the comfort of your presence, grows stronger with every passing second. His heart beats a little quicker, a little more tenderly, as he takes in the peaceful serenity of the moment. You look so content, so safe, so completely at home, and the thought that he gets to be the one who shares this space with you sends a rush of warmth through him.

He doesn’t want to wake you. He doesn’t want to ruin this perfect, calm bubble that exists just between the two of you. So, instead, he shifts, ever so gently, his chest tightening as he moves his face closer to yours. His lips brush against your forehead, soft and light, as though he’s trying to imprint the feeling of this moment into his memory forever. The kiss is brief, but meaningful—like a secret shared only between the two of you.

His hand moves automatically, threading through your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear, and his thumb softly traces the curve of your cheek as if to memorize the feeling of your skin under his touch. Every little action is a quiet declaration: he wants to be here with you. He wants to stay like this.

But reality calls. There’s practice to get to, responsibilities waiting outside this cocoon of warmth. He knows it. He can feel the weight of it, but the temptation to stay in this space, this private bubble where nothing matters except the two of you, is far too great. So he pulls you a little closer, his arms tightening around you, and closes his eyes again. He pretends to still be asleep, letting the steady rhythm of your breath against his chest lull him back into the haze of half-consciousness.

If he’s lucky, you’ll sleep just a little longer. If he’s lucky, he can stay here with you a little while more, wrapped up in the comfort of your warmth, the peaceful silence, and the simple joy of waking up next to you. For now, the world outside can wait.

USHIJIMA, ARAN, AKAASHI, ASAHI, KITA

He wakes up slowly, blinking against the soft morning light that filters through the curtains. For a moment, he’s still lost in the warmth of the blankets and the comfort of having you right there beside him. His arm is around you, your body tucked close, your head resting on his chest as you sleep soundly. Everything is perfect, so peaceful, and for a few seconds, he just lets himself relax in the moment, breathing in the familiar scent of you.

But then, his eyes flicker down, drawn to something he can’t ignore: the tiny trail of dried drool that’s escaped from the corner of your mouth, glistening faintly in the morning light. He freezes for a moment, unsure if he’s seeing things, but no, it’s definitely there. A little drool puddle, dried and stuck to your chin. It’s adorable in a way that makes his stomach flutter. The sight is so innocent, so human, and honestly, it’s the last thing he expected to see when he looked at you this morning.

He stifles a laugh at first, biting his lip to keep it quiet, but it’s no use. A low chuckle escapes him, followed by another, until he’s laughing freely, a sound that seems far too loud for this early hour. His whole body shakes with the laughter, his chest bouncing lightly beneath your head as you continue to sleep obliviously.

“Look at you,” he whispers, almost to himself, grinning like an idiot. “You’re so cute when you’re all… out of it.”

He reaches up, his fingers hovering near your face for a moment, tempted to gently wipe away the evidence of your dream-induced slip-up. But he doesn’t. Instead, he lets himself laugh again, louder this time, until it’s almost impossible to keep quiet. The sound of it fills the room, too bright and too carefree to be ignored.

The movement shakes you slightly, your breathing catching in a soft, confused sigh. A little groan slips from your lips as you slowly start to stir, your eyes fluttering open. You blink sleepily, still half-lost in the haze of sleep, and your gaze meets his—still smiling, still amused—and that’s when you feel it. The cold, sticky patch on your chin.

Your hand instinctively shoots up to touch your face, and when you feel the dried drool, your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Did I…?” you start to ask, but before you can finish, he’s laughing again, louder now, unable to hold back the amusement in his voice.

“Yup,” he says, his voice full of teasing affection. “You were out cold. Drooling all over the place.” His grin is wide, almost mischievous, but there’s a softness in his eyes that makes it clear he’s not teasing you to be mean—he just thinks it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever seen.

You’re still half asleep, blinking at him with the kind of dazed confusion that only a morning hangover of sleep can give. His laughter is warm, infectious, and even though you’re mortified, you can’t help but smile at the way he’s looking at you. The playful gleam in his eyes makes it impossible to stay upset.

“Oh my God, are you serious?” you groan, trying to wipe your face with the back of your hand, but it’s no use. You can already tell you’re too late.

“Yeah, I’m serious.” He leans in closer, his eyes twinkling. “It’s honestly kind of cute, though. You’re just too adorable when you’re all zoned out. I mean, look at you.” He chuckles again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face like he can’t resist getting closer.

You groan and hide your face in your pillow, half wanting to bury yourself completely to escape the embarrassment, but at the same time, his laugh makes you feel warm inside. The sound of his joy—his pure, unfiltered amusement—suddenly makes you realize that this moment, awkward as it is, is something special. It’s the kind of goofy, intimate moment that only happens when you’re truly comfortable with someone.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you mumble into the pillow, though it’s clear your voice is fighting off a smile.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he says, his voice softer now, teasing but still affectionate. “I’m laughing with you. You’re just too cute when you’re not paying attention. Honestly, I wish I had a camera.” He lets out another chuckle, but it’s not as loud this time—more like a quiet, lingering smile.

You finally lift your head from the pillow, cheeks flushed but eyes bright, despite the embarrassment. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible to resist,” he retorts with a wink, his hand now brushing against yours as he gently pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as if to make up for teasing you. It’s a small, sweet gesture that somehow makes everything feel right again.

You can’t help but laugh with him, despite yourself. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mutter, before burying your face against his chest to hide the rest of your shy smile.

And as the two of you settle back into each other, the room filled with soft laughter and quiet moments, it becomes clear: even the embarrassing moments are the ones that make waking up next to him unforgettable.

ATSUMU, NISHINOYA, HINATA, KOMORI

The soft light of morning fills the room, gentle and warm, casting a peaceful glow over the two of you. You stir slightly, your body still nestled close to his, the quiet sound of your breath the only noise in the room. The world outside seems far away, like it’s not ready to intrude on the little bubble of warmth you’ve created together.

He wakes up slowly, his gaze falling on you, your face relaxed in sleep, hair spread across the pillow. Your breath is steady, the rise and fall of your chest calming him in a way he can’t quite describe. His heart feels lighter when you’re near, and in this moment, with you wrapped in his arms, the world feels perfectly in place.

For a moment, he just watches you, tracing the soft lines of your face as you remain blissfully unaware. His fingers rest gently on your arm, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your skin as he smiles to himself, quietly, without making a sound. His chest tightens in the most beautiful way—a mixture of love, tenderness, and admiration he can’t quite put into words.

He can’t help it; he needs to say something. It’s an overwhelming feeling that rises up in his chest, and he has to share it, even if it’s just a whisper, even if it’s just between the two of you.

With a slow, careful motion, he shifts, drawing you closer to him until your head is resting even more firmly against his chest. He lets out a soft breath, his arms tightening around you in the most protective, loving way. His fingers brush through your hair, tucking it behind your ear with a gentleness that speaks to his deep care for you.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and full of warmth. It’s a whisper meant only for you, one that dances between the stillness of the room. “I love waking up like this. With you. So close, so peaceful.” He lets the words hang in the air for a moment, taking in the feeling of having you near. His chest rises and falls slowly, his heartbeat steady against your ear.

He smiles down at you, pressing his lips to your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. “I adore you,” he whispers, his voice soft but full of so much emotion. “Everything about you. How you make me feel. How you just are.” His words are a quiet promise, the kind that only holds weight in the quiet moments of the morning when nothing else matters but the two of you.

He pauses for a moment, his hand tracing the curve of your jaw as he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying all the sincerity in the world. “I never thought I could love someone this much. But here I am, falling deeper every day, every second spent with you.”

His words are like a melody, sweet and soothing, and they sink into your heart in a way that makes you feel entirely adored. You can feel the tenderness in his touch, in the way he holds you close as though he wants to keep you this way forever. Your heart races just a little, not from anything he’s doing, but from how deeply his affection resonates with you.

He presses his cheek gently against the top of your head, his arms wrapped tighter around you now, holding you as though you’re the most precious thing in the world. “I don’t ever want to let you go,” he whispers, his voice thick with the weight of how much you mean to him. “You make everything better. My whole world is brighter because of you.”

You don’t have to say anything; the feeling is mutual. In the warmth of his embrace, you feel safe, loved, and utterly adored. You can’t help but smile softly, nuzzling closer into him, your own fingers trailing up his chest to rest near his heart, as if to tell him you feel the same way.

His lips graze the top of your head again in another sweet, lingering kiss, before he gently whispers one last thing: “You’re everything to me. Don’t ever forget that.”

And in that moment, with the quiet serenity of morning surrounding you both, you feel it—a love so pure and deep, wrapped up in every whisper, every touch, every tender word. You know, without a doubt, that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here, in his arms, as he holds you close to his heart.

DAICHI, KUROO, IWAIZUMI, TERUSHIMA, BOKUTO

The morning sunlight seeps through the curtains, gently bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. The air is warm and still, the quiet of the early hours wrapping around the two of you in a comforting embrace. He stirs awake, still half-dreaming, but immediately notices something strange. Something that feels a little… off.

At first, it’s just a subtle shift—a tightness around his body that he can’t quite place. He blinks, his eyes still hazy with sleep, and that’s when he feels it: your arms and legs are practically entwined around him. Your face is buried in his chest, but your body is draped over him like a sloth attached to its tree—limbs wrapped around him in a way that makes it almost impossible for him to move.

His first instinct is a small, startled breath as he feels the weight of you clinging to him, not entirely expecting it. He’d never really thought of himself as someone who would get trapped in someone else’s sleep embrace, but here he is, caught like a helpless prey. You’re heavy, warm, and—honestly—so close that it’s a little overwhelming. He tries to move, but your grip is like iron. He’s caught, held in place by your limbs as if you were a sleepy, affectionate koala.

“…Uh, okay,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, his face scrunching in confusion. He shifts just slightly, trying to free his arm, but the more he moves, the more you seem to cling to him. He blinks, unsure whether he should laugh or freak out—this is definitely not how he imagined waking up today.

“Seriously?” he whispers, trying to move again, but your body only tightens in response. You’re out cold, not a care in the world, but for him, this feels like an unspoken challenge. How is he supposed to get up now? How does someone even get out of this?

For a moment, he wonders how long you’ve been like this. Has this been going on all night? He doesn’t even remember falling asleep this way. It’s definitely one of those moments where he realizes that he’s completely at your mercy, and you’re entirely unaware of the hold you have over him.

He lets out a quiet sigh, unsure of whether to laugh or cry, but before he can even fully process it, something happens. You shift in your sleep, a soft groan escaping your lips as you begin to wake. You blink, your eyes fluttering open slowly as the haze of sleep fades.

And then, just like that, the whole situation changes.

As you stretch slightly, your sleepy face turns up to meet his gaze, still disoriented and half-asleep. For a moment, you blink up at him in confusion, like you’re trying to make sense of why your arms and legs seem to have taken on a life of their own.

But then, that sleepy smile forms on your lips, your eyes still a little hazy, and it hits him. You’re so cute when you wake up—just like this, all tangled up and trying to figure out what’s going on. The adorableness of it makes him forget about the discomfort from before, and he feels a warmth spread through his chest, a quiet affection blooming in his heart.

“Morning…” you mumble, your voice still thick with sleep. Your fingers lazily brush his chest as if you’re still trying to make sense of where you are. And then, your eyes widen slightly, realizing how close you’re clinging to him, how wrapped up you’ve gotten around him.

“Oh,” you say softly, blinking up at him with the cutest, sheepish smile. “Sorry… didn’t mean to, uh, trap you.”

His initial awkwardness fades completely, and now, he’s laughing softly, almost shyly, as you still cling to him like a sleepy koala. He looks down at you, the corners of his lips lifting into a soft, affectionate smile. You’re still holding onto him, but it’s not the discomforting sensation it was before—it’s just… cute. It’s just you in your sleepy, adorable way.

“Yeah, you’ve got quite a grip there,” he teases gently, his voice warm with affection. He’s still chuckling, but his tone is more tender now, the smile on his face never quite fading. “You almost had me trapped there for a second.”

You blink, still a little groggy, and then you smile back at him, the kind of smile that makes his heart flutter a little. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking,” you murmur, a small blush creeping across your cheeks as you try to unwind yourself from around him.

He gently places a hand on your back, guiding you a little, but his fingers linger there, warm and reassuring. “It’s okay,” he whispers, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, your hair messy from sleep. “I don’t mind. You’re just… too cute to be upset with.”

And just like that, the awkwardness is gone. The tension of trying to break free from your grip melts away, and all he feels now is a soft, tender affection for you. You’re his sleepy little sloth, and somehow, that makes him fall for you even more.

As you finally loosen your grip, and you both settle back into a comfortable position, he smiles to himself, holding you close again. “But next time,” he whispers, his voice low and playful, “maybe don’t try to suffocate me in my sleep, okay?”

You giggle softly, your eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. “I’ll try,” you say, but you both know you’re still going to cling to him, maybe just a little tighter next time.

And he won’t mind one bit.

SAKUSA, TSUKISHIMA, KENMA, KAGEYAMA, KUNIMI

The soft warmth of the morning light brushes across the room, filling the space with a comforting glow. His eyes flutter open, the remnants of sleep still clinging to him. The first thing he notices is you, peacefully curled up beside him, your face nestled against his chest as you softly breathe in and out. You’re so close, so perfectly close, and for a moment, he just lies there, staring at you, completely still.

His heart swells with a quiet appreciation, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. He’s always had a sense of pride in the things he’s accomplished, but nothing compares to the humbling reality that you’re here with him. That you chose him. He still doesn’t fully understand how he got so lucky, how someone as incredible as you could love him so completely, but he knows one thing for sure—he never wants to take that for granted.

He lets out a slow, contented breath, his gaze never leaving your peaceful face. Your hair falls in soft waves around your shoulders, and the way you look so effortlessly serene next to him makes his chest ache with affection. In that quiet moment, a deep realization settles in his heart: he is beyond fortunate to be loved by you.

A small, soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he carefully shifts, trying not to disturb you. He doesn’t want to leave this moment just yet, but a thought lingers in his mind—you deserve something special today. You’ve shown him so much love, and even the smallest act of appreciation feels like the right thing to do.

Slowly, he lifts his arm from around you, carefully extricating himself from your grasp without waking you. His movements are gentle, deliberate, as if he’s afraid that making any noise might shatter the quiet beauty of the morning. He stands up quietly, careful not to disturb the peace that surrounds you. His feet move across the floor to the kitchen with a quiet purpose, the weight of his appreciation for you still lingering in every step.

The kitchen is warm, and as he starts to gather ingredients for breakfast, a sense of joy settles over him. He’s not the world’s greatest cook, but today, that doesn’t matter. He’s determined to make something just for you, something that shows you how much you mean to him. Eggs, toast, maybe a bit of fruit—nothing extravagant, but everything he prepares is filled with love.

As he cracks the eggs into the pan, he can’t help but smile to himself. The sound of sizzling fills the space, and he takes a deep breath, inhaling the simple, comforting scent. His mind drifts back to moments shared with you: the way you laugh when you’re happy, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, the soft way you cling to him in your sleep. You’ve made his life infinitely brighter, and he knows he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you feel just as cherished in return.

The food begins to take shape, and he adds the final touches—a little sprinkle of seasoning here, a touch of butter there. He’s focused, making sure everything is just right. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride in this moment, even if it’s something as simple as breakfast. It’s not about the food itself; it’s about the love he’s putting into it.

As he plates the meal, he takes one last look around the kitchen, then heads back to the bedroom with the tray in hand. His heart beats a little faster as he approaches the bed, the tray gently placed in front of you, who is still sound asleep, looking like the most peaceful thing he’s ever seen. He stands there for a moment, watching you, feeling a rush of emotion.

You stir, slowly waking up to the smell of food. Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you blink, trying to adjust to the morning light. When your gaze finally lands on him, a sleepy smile tugs at your lips.

“Good morning,” you murmur, your voice soft and warm with sleep. “What’s all this?” You sit up slightly, your eyes widening in pleasant surprise when you see the breakfast he’s made for you.

He smiles, his heart swelling with happiness. “Good morning,” he says, his voice full of affection. “I thought you deserved something special today. You know, just… a little way of showing you how much you mean to me.”

You blink up at him in surprise, the genuine sincerity in his words taking a moment to settle in. His gaze softens, filled with the unspoken truth of how much he loves you. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he adds quietly, his voice tender. “I know I don’t always say it, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully express how much I appreciate you… for everything.”

The quiet sincerity in his words touches something deep inside you. You feel a warmth in your chest that mirrors his, your eyes softening as you meet his gaze. It’s rare, these quiet moments between the two of you—moments where the world slows down, where it’s just you and him, wrapped in the simple, profound bond you share.

You reach out for the tray, the gesture almost instinctive as you try to express your own gratitude in return. “You don’t have to do this,” you say with a soft smile, even as you take a bite of the food he’s so carefully prepared for you. “But thank you, really… this is perfect.”

The moment you take your first bite, his face lights up with a little, sheepish grin. “I wasn’t sure if it would turn out right,” he admits, but the joy in his eyes says everything.

You reach out, gently taking his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. “It’s perfect because it’s from you.”

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment as he pulls you a little closer. “I’ll always do whatever I can to make you feel loved,” he whispers.

And in that moment, everything feels right. The quiet morning, the warmth of the food, and the love between you both—it’s enough to make him feel like the luckiest person alive. Because as long as he has you, he knows there’s nothing he could ever want more.

YAMAGUCHI, OSAMU, SEMI, TANAKA, FUKUNAGA

The soft, golden light of early morning filters into the room, the warmth of the sun spilling gently across the bed. You’re still sound asleep, your chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. The quiet hum of the morning settles around you both, but your partner isn’t quite as relaxed. In fact, his eyes gleam with a mischievous twinkle, and the glint of an idea forms in his mind—a plan he simply can’t resist.

As you lie there, blissfully unaware of his devious intentions, he reaches for his phone with a quiet grin. The excitement of this “perfect opportunity” is too good to pass up. He knows he won’t get another chance like this, and the thought of embarrassing you later with these precious, unguarded photos is enough to make his heart race with playful anticipation.

With as much stealth as he can muster, he slowly leans over, holding his phone in position. He angles the camera just right, focusing on your face—your hair a mess, strands sticking out in all directions like a bird’s nest, and your features relaxed, still trapped in the haze of sleep. Your mouth is slightly open, a drool stain barely noticeable on your cheek. He bites his lip to stifle his laughter, his finger hovering over the button to take the perfect shot.

Click.

A photo.

You stir slightly in your sleep, but you’re still far too deep in dreamland to notice his evil plotting. He snaps another, just to make sure the first one wasn’t a fluke. There’s something about the chaos of your hair, the cute little snoring noises you make, and the utter disarray of your sleepy form that’s so endearing, it’s almost too much to handle.

Another click.

His smile grows even wider as he moves to get even more shots from different angles. You’re completely unaware of the camera flashing, your face a masterpiece of messy bedhead, and he’s getting the best material for future gaslighting purposes. The thought of teasing you relentlessly later, showing you just how ridiculous you look in the mornings, makes him feel both victorious and a little guilty.

But mostly victorious.

Finally, after what feels like a dozen photos, he decides he’s gotten enough “evidence” for later. With a satisfied grin, he gently sets the phone down beside the bed and leans back against the pillows, content with his devious little game. He knows the storm that’s about to come once you wake up and realize what he’s done.

As if on cue, you start to stir. Your eyes flutter open, blinking against the soft light of the morning as the haze of sleep begins to lift. Your gaze drifts to the side, and you’re greeted by the sight of your phone sitting innocently on the bed next to you, the screen glowing with a picture of—you. Your bedhead. Your drool-stained face. The mess that is your hair.

You groan, a deep, disgruntled sound as your hand instinctively reaches for your phone. “What the heck…” you murmur, still half-asleep. You frown at the screen, your eyes widening as you see what’s been captured.

“Did you seriously—” you begin, sitting up quickly, your messy hair flopping in all directions, as you glare at him with sleepy but fiery eyes. He’s sitting there, trying his hardest to look innocent, but there’s a smug little smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What?” he feigns, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. “You look cute.” He chuckles under his breath, clearly enjoying the moment.

You scoff, swiping the phone and checking the gallery. It’s worse than you thought—there are multiple pictures. Multiple. And of course, they all feature the absolute worst moments of your sleepy self. You can feel your face heating up in embarrassment, and before you can even think about it, you whip your head back around, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You… took pictures of me in my sleep?” you ask, your tone half-laughing, half-scolding. “What the hell is wrong with you? I look like a literal disaster!”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, his laughter now spilling out uncontrollably. “What? I had to capture your natural beauty. You’re just too perfect, and I had to preserve the moment.”

Your eyes roll so hard it’s almost comical. “I swear to god, when I get my hands on you…” You lunge forward, grabbing the pillow next to you and swinging it at him with all your might.

He dodges with a laugh, leaning back and holding up his hands as if to protect himself. “Okay, okay! It’s not my fault you’re so photogenic when you sleep!”

You scoff again, but this time you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. The situation is ridiculous, and while you’re annoyed, the sight of him laughing, the playful gleam in his eyes, makes it hard to stay mad at him for long. You know he’s doing it because he loves you, and that, in itself, is both sweet and aggravating at the same time.

“I’m deleting all of these,” you mutter, swiping through the phone to erase the photos he so proudly took. “And if you ever try this again, I’m going to—”

But before you can finish your threat, he’s already launched into action, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back onto the bed, his arms wrapping around you tightly to keep you from grabbing the phone. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he says between bursts of laughter. “I’ll never take pictures of you again! Promise!”

You’re both tangled in a playful wrestling match on the bed now, his arms tight around you, laughing together as you squirm and try to get the phone back. He’s winning, of course—he always does—but as you both collapse against the pillows, breathless and still chuckling, you can’t help but feel content. This silly, chaotic fight is just one of the many things you love about your relationship.

And even though you swear you’re going to get him back one day, for now, you’re happy just being in this moment with him—ridiculous bedhead, terrible pictures, and all.

OIKAWA, SUNA, SUGAWARA, YAKU, SATORI

The room is still quiet, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains as the world outside begins to stir. The air is warm, and the only sounds are the gentle hum of the house and the peaceful breathing of the two of you. But something isn’t quite right. The bed is empty on one side, and there’s a slight disturbance in the blankets—no longer tangled around you both like they were just moments ago.

You’re still deep in sleep, completely unaware of the shift in the night. But for him? He’s just waking up, groggily blinking his eyes open. The familiar warmth of the bed is gone, and the soft comfort he’s grown so accustomed to next to you is nowhere to be found. Confused, he stretches, reaching for the sheets, but instead of feeling your soft body beside him, he’s met with—nothing.

He blinks again, still not entirely awake, his hand reaching out for any sign of you. And that’s when he feels it. The cold floor beneath him. He groans, realizing he’s lying on his back in a very not comfortable position. His body is stiff, his face already scrunching in disbelief as he starts to take in the situation: he’s on the floor, and not just any floor—your floor.

The realization hits him all at once. You kicked him off the bed.

A flash of memory comes to him from the previous night: a quiet shift in your sleep, the way you had turned and tossed a little before it happened. He remembers the sudden, unprovoked shove of your foot in his side. At first, he thought it was just a fluke, a gentle nudge in your sleep. But that turned into a full-blown push, sending him off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Mid-sleep.

He lies there for a few moments, contemplating the absurdity of the situation, his brain still half in dreamland. He could’ve sworn he was just fine a few minutes ago. He could’ve sworn the bed was warm and cozy. But no. He’s here, on the floor, in the most undignified position possible. The worst part? You’re still sound asleep, completely unaware of the little disaster you caused in your sleep.

Fighting the urge to laugh (and maybe scream), he finally decides he’s had enough. It’s time to wake you up and let you know what you’ve done to him. But of course, he’s not going to make it easy. He rolls onto his side, groaning dramatically as he slowly drags himself up onto his knees. There’s a smirk on his face now. The playful look in his eyes is already there, ready to stir the pot.

With a deep breath, he stands up and inches closer to the bed, careful not to make a sound. You’re lying there so peacefully, all curled up under the covers, completely oblivious to the chaos you caused. He watches you for a moment, enjoying the softness of your expression, and then with a mischievous grin, he decides to go for it.

He bends down next to the bed and taps you lightly on the shoulder, his voice suddenly low and dramatic. “Hey,” he says, his tone feigning irritation, “did you, by any chance, happen to kick me off the bed last night?”

You stir slightly, a small groan escaping your lips as you begin to wake up. Your eyes slowly flutter open, still bleary from sleep. You blink a few times, the haze of slumber clinging to your senses. And then, you see him. Standing next to the bed, looking at you with mock indignation, arms crossed over his chest.

And then you realize—he’s on the floor.

Your eyes widen slightly, and you squint as you process what’s happening. The confusion fades quickly, replaced with realization—and then the laughter begins. You can’t help it. It’s like a switch flips inside you. The sight of him—your partner, the one who you know to be tough and capable—laying on the floor like an absolute mess, his hair ruffled and his face scrunched in a way that is just too hilarious, makes you lose it.

You sit up in bed, a loud laugh bubbling up from your chest as you clutch your stomach. “Oh my god,” you say between gasps for air, your voice practically cracking from how hard you’re laughing. “I kicked you off the bed?!”

He stands there, trying to maintain his serious expression, but it’s impossible. His face softens, and a little chuckle escapes his lips as he watches you dissolve into giggles. But he’s not done with his act. He crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, you did. And I have the bruises to prove it,” he says, though the effect is completely ruined by the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips.

You only laugh harder, and honestly, he can’t help but laugh too. The way you’re trying to hold it together, your face scrunching up in between laughs, makes everything so much more ridiculous.

You snort between your giggles, wiping a tear from your eye as you hold onto the blanket. “I’m so sorry,” you manage to say, but your laughter doesn’t stop. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know I kicked you that hard!”

“You didn’t just kick me,” he says, finally letting his playful act slip. “You launched me off the bed. I was minding my own business, trying to get some good sleep, and boom—suddenly, floor.”

You’re laughing so hard now, you can barely breathe. The absurdity of it all is too much for you to handle. The image of him on the floor, looking all disgruntled and confused, just makes everything so much funnier. You lean over the edge of the bed, your face flushed from laughter, and reach out to tug at his arm playfully. “I can’t believe I did that!” you say, still laughing, though there’s a hint of guilt in your voice. “You’re lucky you didn’t break something, you goofball.”

He rolls his eyes, though he’s still grinning. “Lucky?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “I think I deserve compensation for this kind of behavior.”

You look at him, still in a fit of giggles, and then an idea strikes. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you scoot to the edge of the bed and lean down with a teasing grin. “How about I make it up to you with snuggles and breakfast?” you offer, your voice dripping with sweetness.

He narrows his eyes playfully, considering it for a moment before shrugging. “Fine, I suppose that’s acceptable,” he says, finally giving in. But as he climbs back onto the bed, you can see him trying to suppress his own smile, the last traces of your laughter still lingering in the air between you both.

As you snuggle close, he drapes an arm around you, still shaking his head in disbelief, but the warmth between you both is undeniable. “I’ll get you back for this, you know,” he says with a grin.

“You can try,” you tease, your voice light and carefree.

And as you both lay there together, still smiling, you know this is one of those mornings you’ll both laugh about for years to come—when you kicked him off the bed, and he was the most adorable angry person on the floor.

HOSHIUMI, LEV, GOSHIKI, KOGANEGAWA, DAISHOU

Ⓒkiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[revelboo]

Revel I just wanna say you and other transformers x reader authors inspired me to not just get back into writing but straight up making a song for the first time. I genuinely feel like falling in love all over again when reading the way you describe these bots 🩷🩷🩷🫶

That’s amazing! I’m so happy you like how I write them and that you’re feeling creative!

Even If It Kills Me Pt 15

Armada Starscream x Reader

• “Can you sing for us?” Gritting his denta at your soft request and the pleading chirps from his mini-cons, he looks down at where you’re all sprawled on him as your own personal heated berth. And he’s pretty sure his warmth is all you’re after. The mini-cons are probably just following your lead. And his voice isn’t cut out for singing. You know that. But you’re staring up at him, making your eyes big and he doesn’t really have a defense against that look.

• Hear him venting in annoyance and it’s hard not to grin when he starts singing that same song in his growling, rough language. Laying your cheek on your arms, you feel him ghost a servo against your spine. His warmth and voice spilling through you. Haven’t been able to actually just tell him that he keeps the nightmares at bay. The thrum of his spark and the little sounds of his internal systems soothe you. You’re almost drowsing when he stops and you sleepily lift your head, smiling when he gently presses your head back down with a servo. “No more lullabies. Those are for sparklings. Recharge.” He’s used that word before. Sparklings. Told you his mini-cons weren’t sparklings and not to spoil them.

• “Does that mean babies?” You ask and he vents. Because you’re not resting which means he’s not resting. “Little, helpless you guys?” There’s something in your voice. More than curiosity, but he can’t pin down exactly what it is. “Do you have kids? Sparklings?”

• “There’ve been no new Cybertronians sparked since before the war,” he murmurs, optics shuttered. Baby, alien robots. Trying to imagine if they’re actually babies and tiny needing teaching and care or if they start out full size and ready to go. “If you mean me personally? No, I’m not a sire.” That’s a pity. You’ve seen how he watches over you and the mini-cons. “I’m not sure that we can even create new sparks anymore.”

• Growling softly when you push against his servos and sit up on him, he drapes an arm over his face. Why can’t you rest? He has patrol first thing. “I’m sorry.” Peeking at you, because why apologize for something that’s not your fault? And Primus. Why are you leaking? Can’t even begin to understand how your little, organic mind works sometimes. But you’re upset now. Because there are no new sparks? Do you realize his species is dying out?

• “Stop leaking,” he grumbles, reaching to swipe a servo against your cheek and you catch at it, hugging it to you. “Primus, you really do act like a sparkling.” Pressing your face against his hand, you can’t explain to him why you’re crying. Can’t even really explain it to yourself. Just needing to get it out of your system and he leans forward, sending the mini-cons scurrying and indignantly chirping as he vents to stir your hair. “Please, stop?”

• “Sorry,” you manage, smiling up at him. “I’m okay. Really.” You say that, but you’re still clinging to his servo like he’s safety. And you’re not okay, he’s sure of that. Wants to ask, but something about your expression makes the words fail him. Realizing that this isn’t as simple as sharing old scars. This is something else entirely. Watches you scrub at your face, avoiding his optics, then open your arms for Runway, the mini-con immediately cuddling up against you. What had that been about?

Previous

[strwbrychffoncke]

"tell me why would we be here if this ain't meant to be?,, <1k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: your souls tethered together in an invisible bond ,words aren't always needed to spell out your shared feelings for one another contains: fluff! lnds sylus x mc!reader ,established relationship ,soft!sylus ,minimal dialogue ,cozy atmosphere ,kissing ,making out ,napping together ,v vague reference to sylus myth ,i think thats it note: (mostly edited!) something short and simple since i spoiled sylus the other day....

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you liked it like this.

the base was quiet this time around. the twins handled some small errands today while mephisto was sent out to gather any notable intel in preparation for an upcoming auction. sylus had his work cut out for him to check over before the day in several weeks to come.

despite this, you found yourself in the warm embrace of none other than the onychinus leader himself— sleeved arms wrapped snuggly around your center, holding you close to his slowly rising and falling chest, nose nestled above your head, breathing in the sweet scent of your hair care products. he sighs in contentment.

you liked it like this.

you were curled up close against him, his warmth seeping through his loungewear into your fingertips and further down your body, calm breaths mingling together in the quiet of the room— save for one of sylus' many, many records spinning on the nearby record player, needle dragging across the thin indented lines of the large flat disk, the slight skip it makes going unnoticed by you, but sylus makes a mental note to clean it thoroughly later.

you liked it like this.

no words needed to be exchanged in this moment between the two of you. the momentary solace of being with each other like this, consumed within each others space, safe within the others' arms— even if you wanted to chastise sylus for putting off his work, you couldn't bring yourself to chase him away from the comfort he held you in right now. you tighten your hold on him, nuzzling your face deeper into his chest.

you liked it like this.

you feel the rumble of his laughter through his chest, his body shaking slightly with the action as his hands begin to caress your head in a steady pattern, one after the other, further coaxing you closer to him if that were even possible.

"holding me hostage here? how will i ever get back to work?"

his tone is a mix of teasing and amused, affectionately petting your hair as one would the soft head of an affectionate cat.

"you can't, you're not allowed to," you declare, peeking up at him, eyes creased in amusement and promise.

"i'd never even consider it, sweetie," he muses, eyes meeting yours before leaning down to plant a sweet kiss onto your head.

you like it like this.

you could feel his heartbeat at this proximity, rhythm quick yet steady— a measure of his feelings for you, his contentedness in having you with him here, just like this, together in his dim bedroom, the moon casting its glow on the two entangled lovers in their moment of respite. you can't help but to tug on the fabric of his soft sleep shirt suddenly, pulling back slightly only to lean up when he peers down at you and capturing his lips with yours.

you like it like this.

your lips mesh and meld together easily, instinctually, slow and loving, in no rush for anything in this sacred space for two where the concept of time itself ceases to exist, leaning closer into each other, your hands gripping the shirt covering his chest and one of sylus' hands coming up to cup your cheek, tilting your head while coaxing you flat onto your back as he deepens the affection, swallowing your breaths and pouring everything he has to offer right into you.

you like it like this.

after who knows how long, he finally pulls back, hands planted on each side of your head, watching you from his angle above as you pant out into the air, catching your breath and peering back into his shimmering gaze, nothing but adoration glowing within his irises taking in your messy hair, bare face, loose clothes splayed across your figure, eyes reflecting the same shine back into his. he lifts a hand to hold your cheek, watching you nuzzle into it as his thumb caresses the soft flesh.

you like it like this.

in no time at all, you're both laying back on your sides, facing each other as his large arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him once more. your legs entangle together as he pecks your cheek and feels your smile against him, arms hugging his waist, head resting against his beating heart once again. with the lull of the music seeping back into the space, you feel the grips of sleeping tugging at your consciousness, eyes fluttering shut and breaths evening out.

you like it like this.

and sylus keeps you there, close to him, in this loving space for two, caressing your hair until he feels the even inhale and exhale, peeking down at your sleeping face and planting one more kiss onto it before he allows his own eyes slip shut. he can adapt to any place so long as he was willing, but the unspoken truth beneath that certainty was that was only so long as it was with you. and he's satisfied having you here, just like this, secured against him.

he likes it like this.

he allows himself this moment of respite with you, in his bedroom, slowly slipping into slumber himself to indulge in this nap with you, not a care in the world for the work he has to deal with— when he has you in his arms like this, he thinks that can wait for later. the last of his consciousness leaves him and a small smile graces his lips as he enters a beautiful dream.

from back in his sacred cave to now, he wouldn't want it any other way.

-

a/n: another experimental(?) writing style; the vibes of the song helped me paint this picture thank u kali uchis

-

[azsazz]

Drown in Me

Garrick (Fourth Wing) x Virgin!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: well I absolutely love Garrick. I just know he is such a softie with his partner. Just imagine that you too hate each other but something change during a mission or something and in a two simple word,, you fucked ". And you're virgin and he is so gentle and after he is so sweet.. Ohh I love this man

Warnings: Angst, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, consensual sex.

Word Count: 4417

Notes: DOES NOT CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR ONYX STORM.

I hope whoever requested this actually ages ago is still around. Sorry it took me so long. I'm obsessed with the beginning, it was so much fun to write 💙

_________________________________________

Chradh lands in the middle of the flight field with a roar that shakes the walls of Basgiath.

It’s directed at you, you know it is.

There’s no ducking away from the golden, narrowed gaze of the brown scorpiontail, nor his equally pissed rider. You swear Chradh is glaring at you, and he huffs a breath that reeks of sulfur.

Uisge, your green daggertail growls low in his throat. He stands tall behind you and equal parts of you want to preen and run, because standing between two dragons is never a good idea.

The Section Leader is not pleased, Uisge notes, and yeah, you already knew that.

Tell me something I don’t know, you retort, but lift your chin as you watch Chradh’s rider dismount with a grace you can only wish to emulate someday.

Your breath sticks in your throat at the sight of Garrick, despite the anger written clear on his face. He runs a hand through his now dry, wind-blown black hair, and you’d laugh at the way it sticks straight up if yours wasn’t still plastered to your skull after the unexpected dip you took during flight lessons today.

The Section Leader is not a strong swimmer. You wince. Yeah, that was found out during flight lessons today, too.

You’re frozen beneath that harsh look Garrick pins you with as soon as his boots hit the ground, his hazel eyes glowing with fire. He’s more than angry, he’s fucking fuming, and your boots squelch as you shift your weight to your other foot. You wince as the water from the soles of your boots floods your feet again. You hope you don’t look like a drowned rat.

More like a tiny, water-logged sheep, Uisge adds unhelpfully. Your shoulders fall in defeat. But a tiny sheep with sharp teeth. Head up, little one.

And well, a sheep with sharp teeth is better than a sheep with no teeth at all, so you raise your chin and patiently await your punishment.

Chradh pounds his strong wings, lifting from the ground, his annoyance with you and Uisge clearly over with. You’re sure the two male dragons are speaking through their mind connection, but you’re thankful that Garrick’s dragon is leaving the scene, even if everything that happens here will be seen through your section leader’s eyes.

It’s better not to have the audience for the reaming out you know you’re going to receive.

Much to your chagrin, Uisge follows.

Wait. Where are you going? We should be bearing punishment together! You can’t leave the sheep to face the wolf, you argue, because Garrick most definitely looks like a wolf right now.

I eat sheep and wolves for breakfast, Uisge replies. Is he insinuating that he’d like to eat you? You’re sure you wouldn’t taste good. And neither of them is secretly trying to fuck the other.

You gape, swinging your gaze to your dragon, but Uisge’s back is to you as he flies toward the vale, his daggertail sweeping in the wind.

Garrick approaches, the hilts of twin swords glow in the sun as it beams across the flight field. He could kill you in more ways than one with those weapons, and others, too, according to the neatly aligned patches that trail down the right arm of his flight jacket. Your jacket is bare, with the exception of the lousy wing and year patches you carefully sewed on. You’ve been awaiting receiving your signet patch, and maybe after what happened in training today, Garrick will get on that for you.

A distant roar has you realizing that you shouldn’t be lingering in the flight field lest the next wing prepare for training, so you spin on your heel and start for the courtyard.

Garrick catches up to you quickly, his strides longer than yours. His fingers are tucked into fists at his sides and there’s a low warning growl in his throat that tells you he’s not pleased with the way you walked away from him.

“What the fuck was that back there?” He questions, and you can hear him struggling to keep the anger from eking into his voice. Too late for that, you can hear his frustration clear as day.

Your boots squeak with each step you take and your damp leathers are beginning to chafe against your skin. Being in the blistering sun isn’t helping in the slightest, and you really wish your room was closer to the flight field right now.

And yeah, perhaps slipping off of Uisge’s back during flight maneuvers wasn’t your smartest decision, but you needed a bigger body of water than the bathtub to work on channeling your signet, and this was the only way you were going to get that done.

You didn’t expect Garrick to dive after you.

“I already told you; I slipped.”

“And I already told you,” Garrick scowls, and it twists the pink scar on his jaw in a way that makes you want to trace it. “I don’t believe you.”

You set your jaw as you make your way up the stone stairs, trying not to cringe when every step fills your boots with water. You release your tense shoulders and attempt to drain the liquid from your clothing with a flick of your hand, but all you can manage to do is propel the water from your leathers into your boots.

It’s infuriating.

“You haven’t fallen off Uisge once during flight training, and all of a sudden, a few weeks after your water wielding signet appears, you go tumbling off into a lake?” He asks it like you think he’s stupid. You think he’s far from stupid.

I don’t, Uisge says, and you force your walls up with all of your might.

He’s been watching you?

You mutter, “I didn’t think you’d follow me.”

“It looked like you really fell off! You were under the water for longer than you should’ve!” Garrick says, and you frown. You couldn’t have been under the surface of the water for more than a few seconds. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Let you drown?”

He was much closer to drowning than you were, little one, Uisge’s voice creeps through your mind and you have to force the smile threatening to split your lips away.

“Uisge knows what I’m capable of,” you argue, but it falls flat at the outright disbelief on Garrick’s face.

“He knows what you’re capable of?” He scoffs, then tacks on a dry, mocking laugh. “You can barely even power an ink pen, for Amari’s sake.”

That’s because you’ve been focusing all of your energy on training your signet. Much more important that being able to power a stupid ink pen, in your opinion.

You stay silent so long that you’re on your floor before you know it. With an angered flick of your wrist, your locks click and your door opens an inch. You want to growl in frustration, that door should’ve swung open and stuck in the wall with the anger you attempted to force into it.

You’ll get there, little one, Uisge’s voice trickles through your walls. There really is no getting rid of him.

Leave me alone, Uisge.

I do not take orders from you, he retorts, but you feel him draw away nonetheless.

“Look,” Garrick sighs, shutting the door behind you with lesser magic. It’s an easy move that you have yet to master. “I can’t lose one of my riders to their own stupidity. I won’t let you.”

As his words settle in, you’re all too aware that he’s standing in the middle of your room, only a few feet from you, and the door is closed.

“I wasn’t going to die, Garrick. I knew what I was doing,” you answer, shrugging out of your flight jacket. Although it is no longer water-laden, the temperature in the room has risen, and you need out. You hang it on the back of your chair, missing the way that Garrick’s hazel eyes drink in the sight of the rest of your flight uniform. Today, you chose something thin and lightweight so you aren’t weighed down by the water you knew you were going to practice in. “I promise. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do, though,” Garrick swallows, and you watch the way his throat bobs. Fuck, he can’t believe he’s doing this, but here the fuck he is, about to confess what’s been haunting him for weeks. You.

“Why?” You surprise him by saying. You cross your arms over your chest, not realizing that the move pushes your breasts higher. In your haze of annoyance, you fail to catch the way his eyes dip down for a peek. “I don’t see you jumping off dragons after any of the other riders!”

“That’s because I don’t have to worry about them,” he argues, taking a step closer. You’re a defiant little thing, so you move closer, too, which leaves your crossed forearms brushing his chest.

“You don’t have to worry about me!”

“I do!” He all but roars. You rock back on your heels in surprise but catch yourself.

Garrick runs a nervous hand through his hair. He’s no longer meeting your gaze, instead staring out the window over your shoulder. Something’s wrong. Something he clearly doesn’t want to tell you.

“Why?” You whisper.

“What?” He croaks; throat raw.

You glare up at him. You wish he would look at you. “Why do you have to worry about me?”

“I—” he trails off, helplessly, and you can see the way he’s talking himself out of admitting what’s on his mind. Maybe he’s even talking to Chradh.

“You what, Garrick?” You prod, an icy bite to your tone. “You think I’m weak?”

“No,” he answers vehemently. His gaze zeroes in on yours and he looks at you like he can’t believe you even said that.

“Then what is it?” You demand. “If it’s not because I’m the weakest link, then why are you worried about me?”

“Because,” Garrick roars, crowing in on you. You fall back but he keeps pushing forward, until your spine slams into the wall and there’s nowhere else for you to go.

Your arms fall as you brace yourself against the wall. Garrick’s chest heaves, and you swear you can feel the rapid beat of his heart from how close you stand. His front is plastered to yours, and there’s a flutter in your stomach that swirls at the fire in his eyes.

“Because I can’t get you out of my fucking head,” he admits, tone taking on a soft edge that converges right between your thighs. Your gaze flickers from one hazel eye to the other, confused at his sudden revelation. “Doesn’t matter where you are, what time of the day it is, you’re always on my mind.” He lifts a hand and gently brushes a strand of wet hair back that clings stubbornly to your cheek. The heat of his skin is searing, just like his words. “It’s like you’re a second Chradh,” he laughs drily, “Though you’re much prettier than him.”

You’re pretty sure that this isn’t real life. That your section leader didn’t just admit the very same thing you’ve been feeling for him since the first moment you laid eyes on him. It must be real, because you’re here, pinned to the wall by his big, strong body, and he’s looking at you like you might just reject him.

And you don’t know what the fuck to do. Sure, you’ve kissed people before, but you’ve never done anything more. You know for a fact that Garrick is well-practiced, with those broad shoulders and handsome face, his deep, dark hair and bright eyes that could surely turn anyone into a puddle.

The words stick in your throat. You don’t know what to say, where to start, and the longer you’re silent in front of him, the more apprehension creeps into his eyes. He shifts uneasily, and you wrack your mind for a response.

Ugh, just kiss him already, Uisge’s voice pops into your head.

Not now, Uisge, you bite, and then you heed your nosey dragon’s advice, and kiss Garrick.

You can tell he’s caught off guard by the way his body stills against yours. Still, you push onward, making it known that you’ve wanted him just as long as he’s wanted you by dragging your palms up his chest, reveling in every ripple of muscle you can feel through his flight jacket.

By the time your hands lock at the nape of his neck, Garrick’s hands are on your hips and his mouth moves against yours.

He lifts you into his arms, pinning you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist and he rolls his hips into yours as his tongue traces the seams of your lips. You gasp and Garrick slides his tongue into your mouth like he’s done it a million times. He brushes against yours tentatively, and when you don’t shy away from him, he advances.

One of his large hands slides up your waist, finding its way beneath the thin fabric of your shirt, exploring the smooth skin of your sides.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to kiss you,” Garrick mutters against the nape of your neck before sucking a harsh mark there. Your head thumps against the wall and your back arches into his body at the feeling of being claimed. It feels like threshing all over again, but this is better. Sorry Uisge.

Other than a rumble of protest down the bond, your stubborn daggertail doesn’t interrupt.

“How long?” you gasp when his lips find the spot that makes you melt into him. Your fingers scrabble against his flight jacket, nails scratching the thick fabric. Garrick growls in frustration, pulling back just far enough to drop his swords, unzip himself, and tear the fabric form his back. His black shirt follows, exposing those beautiful broad shoulders of his. You can’t help but trail your fingers across his pectorals and down his chest, admiring every inch of his body. Zihnal must be with you right now, because you’ve never felt luckier than you do right now.

“Since the day you chose Uisge,” he pants, helping you discard your own shirt. Your bra quickly follows, and Garrick’s hazel eyes latch onto your body like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. Your nipples pucker under his heady gaze and he loses his train of thought in favor of bending down to suck a pert bud into his mouth, reveling in the way that you gasp and wriggle as he circles his tongue around the hard nub.

Threshing. He’s liked you since threshing, when you chose Uisge. You think it’s an odd way to phrase what happened that day, but in Garrick’s eyes, that’s exactly what it was. You, stubborn thing that you are, staring down the green daggertail with that look in your eye, the same one you always give him. The same one that makes his cock ache.

“Garrick,” you gasp, arching into him. He’s not close enough, not with your trousers still acting as a barrier from where he ruts his thick cock into you. Your fingers claw at the waistband of his pants. “Off.”

Garrick peels you from the wall, trailing his mouth back up to meet yours in a kiss that steals your breath. He’s very good at this, gentle, too, as he lies you on your bed and he works your pants loose from your hips.

“Fuck me,” he breathes when you’re fully exposed. A flush of red crawls up your body from your toes to your cheeks under that scrutinizing gaze of his. “Look at you.”

The sudden urge to cover yourself flares to life. You’re nervous, even more so when he drops his trousers and his cock bobs, heavy and swollen. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, all rippling muscle and perfect cock, his eyes only for you.

“Garrick,” you whisper, unable to keep the fear from your tone. While his cock is pretty, it looks like it’s big enough to rip you in half. You scramble away from him as he places a knee on the bed, feeling guilty at the confusion on his face. “I’ve never…” you trail off, cheeks burning red.

His uncertainty melts into understanding. “That’s okay, we don’t have to if you don’t—”

“No,” you protest, almost too quickly. Your voice has taken on a desperate volume, and you lower it before continuing. “I want to have sex with you, I really do,” you swallow, eyes dipping to his cock. It’s glistening at the tip. “I just wanted you to know, in case…” you trail off. In case he doesn’t fuck virgins.

The furrow between his brows creeps back. “I want you,” he presses, holding your eyes so that you know exactly how much this moment means to him. “If you want me, I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You nod, almost dazed. Even though he’s told you this already, the words send a current of excitement zipping down your body where it converges between your thighs.

You want him too.

“Come here, then, Garrick.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Garrick kneels at the foot of the bed. He hooks his fingers around your ankles and carefully drags you closer to him, hazel eyes heady with lust. The effortless way that he tugs you to him has your pussy fluttering with need, a movement that he tracks.

When you near him, he slips from the bed, sliding to his knees. Carefully, Garrick tucks your legs over each of his shoulders, and you can feel each exhale he makes brushing your core. You bite your lip so you don’t release an impatient whine, but for Amari’s sake, you’ve never needed something so badly in your life.

“Is this okay?” he asks, tracing soothing circles into the meat of your thighs with his thumbs. He peppers kisses across the sensitive skin, grinning wildly when your hips buck beneath his mouth.

“Yes,” you moan, circling your hips as if to chase his lips. You want him on you now, licking you and teasing you and making you come on his tongue. “Please, Garrick, I—oh!”

You moan loud and wanton as the tip of his tongue flicks across your clit in an explorative swipe. Garrick locks that sound away in the back of his mind and dips down for another taste, scooping your slick up with his tongue. He’s going to enjoy the fuck out of drawing all these noises from you.

You’re fucking wet. The wettest pussy he’s ever had. You writhe against his tongue, panting and moaning at the different ways he uses his tongue. True to your stubborn nature, it isn’t long before your fingers are locked into his hair, guiding him while you chase your pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he says as he switches from tongue fucking you to sucking harshly at your clit. He nips at the joint of your hip when you keen in frustration. You even go so far as to lift your head from the mattress to glare down at him. His eyes fucking glow in response and he holds your needy gaze. “Take what you need.”

There’s a smart retort on the tip of your tongue but it melts into a moan of pleasure when his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks. Garrick adds his tongue into the mix, flicking it across your clit like he’s flipping through a never-ending deck of cards. When he adds a finger, your pleasure grows. When he adds a second, your orgasm crashes down around you in pure bliss. He doesn’t stop his attention on your clit until you’re a whining mess and trying to shove him off for a moment of reprieve.

“You did so good for me,” he murmurs across your skin, lips brushing your navel, your breasts as he climbs onto the bed. Your hands relax, melting down his shoulders, tracing the rebellion relic. “Do you need to stop, or can I put my cock in you?” He asks gently, with a firm kiss to your lips.

“Cock,” you echo, still lost in the throes of your orgasm. You’ll be damned if you miss that chance to have him wholly. “Need your cock.”

“That’s my girl,” Garrick whispers, and you preen.

He guides you into a better position, a pillow beneath your hips. His hand is warm on your calf as he directs you to hook your legs around his taut waist. You peer down at his cock, red and leaking and you’re more than ready for him. You’re a mess for him.

Your breath catches in your chest as he guides his tip in. His words are soothing, gentle as he runs his cock through your slick for easier entry. “That’s it, just like that. It might hurt at first, but I promise I’ll take care of you.” He says, and how the fuck can you not melt for him with those pretty words?

Each inch he presses into you punches the air from your lungs. Your body tightens as you stretch around his girth. His cock is hot, branding your insides.

Garrick senses your discomfort and pauses. The halt makes you whine. “How are you doing?”

“Need you closer,” you admit, screwing your eyes shut. You lift your hands and Garrick carefully lowers himself, trying not to lose his head and fuck all the way into you until his hips meet yours. He’s so gentle, so caring, and your heart swells because of it.

He presses his forehead to yours, thumbing a soft pattern against your cheek. “Relax,” he coaxes softly. Your eyes pop open, meeting those lovely hazel ones. “I can stop anytime you want.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you answer, slowly unlocking your limbs. You didn’t realize that you were digging your nails into the meat of his shoulders, and you carefully retract your claws. “I want you to keep going.”

It takes agonizing minutes until his pelvis rests against yours. Garrick’s reassuring praises helped keep you calm, even made you wetter for him with that wicked tongue of his. He distracted you with kisses and promises, lingering touches and admissions.

Gods, you feel so full. You didn’t think that you’d be able to take him all the way yet here you are with his cock fully sheathed inside of you. It feels right. He feels like home.

On your own time, you give a tentative roll of your hips. Garrick bites his lip to contain the moan that creeps up his throat, but you do nothing to hide yours. Yes, you get why sex is amazing, and you’re about to find out what sex with Garrick is like.

“If you keep squeezing my cock like that, I’m going to meet Malek sooner than intended,” Garrick pants, but fuck if he doesn’t love the way you’re squirming on his cock, drunk off of the sheer size of him.

“Move,” you gasp, fingers tightening on the back of his biceps. “I need you to move, Garrick.”

He heeds your direction like the good rider he is.

He starts out slow, letting you get used to his size. He kisses the furrow between your brow, rocking in and out until it disappears and you’re whimpering for him to move faster. You’re soaking his cock, which makes it all too easy to maneuver quicker, shifting his hips until you’re crying out and your nails are locked into his skin of his back again, raking down his spine.

He doesn’t even care if you leave red traces down his back. He’d rather be reminded of this moment than the scar that’s forever marred into his skin.

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into him. Garrick sucks a mark into the plush skin of your breast before sucking your nipple into his mouth. “Yes yes yes!” He’s ravaging you in every way, feels like he’s using his air wielding to steal the air from your lungs. You know that your lack of breath is simply just from being in his presence, his dashing good looks have always managed to take your breath away.

Garrick is attentive, tracing every part of your body he can reach. He draws a map in his mind, committing exactly what places and noises correspond. He would stay buried in you for fucking days if he could, but the harder you let him fuck into you has his gut coiling, that familiar heat buzzing down his spine.

He slides a hand between your bodies and finds your clit like he’s been fucking you for way longer than one night. You tug his head down in a desperate kiss, whimpering in pleasure into his mouth as his finger draws tight circles around your sensitive nub, chasing you toward that edge that still feels foreign yet so familiar at the same time.

“Come for me,” Garrick whispers, and you have no choice but to listen to your section leader.

You topple over the edge of oblivion. It’s similar to the feeling you experienced earlier, when you let yourself slip from Uisge’s back. A freefall, yet it’s so much more than that. It’s strong arms crashing down with you, a cock between your legs that’s hitting all the right spots. It’s soft words of encouragement from a man you’d never thought you’d get to see this much of. Hazel eyes that you’re falling into.

Garrick comes shortly after you, when he’s sure that you’ve experienced the best first orgasm of your life with him. There will be no one who will treat you like this, he’s vowed to ruin sex with any other man for you. But he’s ready to stick around if you are, as long as you don’t go jumping from your dragon with a death wish without letting him know first.

“That was…” you trail off in bliss. There’s a satisfied smile on your face, one that makes Garrick preen. Your eyes are shut and the lazy way you stroke his hair makes him fall harder, melt further into your body. “Thank you.”

“No,” he counters gently, brushing your hair from your face. It’s damp for an entirely different reason than the lake now, stuck to your skin with sweat. “Thank you,” he says, and leans down for one more intoxicating kiss.