#curiosity kills the cat and yet i keep doing it!!!

[amnexsiia]

hii!! I love your writing and would love to request a fic where 3fs and reader meet at vidcon and the reader is a horror game ytber too!!! Maybe they have mutual friends but it’s their first time interacting? (Also would be super cool if the reader is less a humour based horror ytber but more heavily dissects the game and views the game more critically so there would be a branch in between content they could speak about and bond over learning? If that makes any sense lol) also thank you for posting your work on here you make me excited to come on tumblr and read your work!! reading your writing truly a privilege!!

OMG I LOVE THIS IDEA SM. i totally understand and thank u sm for ur compliment! 🩵🩵 it rlly means the world

VIDEO GAME LOVERS

⋆˚࿔ summary: you, a serious gamer who theorizes everything, meet the infamous court jester of youtubers at vidcon.

⋆˚࿔ pairing: 3fs (max) x gn/any!reader

⋆˚࿔ warnings/content: lots of plot/slow burn, slight celebrity crush moment (reader has a mini crush on him before they meet), very minor cursing (reader says bitch once), cliffhanger at end

⋆˚࿔ credits: @huraxy, @strangergraphics (dividers)

⋆˚࿔ a/n: i based reader heavily of dawko because i personally love him and ik he's always locked in on video games loll. also, the pic i used should not emphasize a female reader that was just the only pic I could find. 😔 anyways, hope u guys enjoy!! lmk if u want a part 2!

You took your job very seriously. Despite it just being sitting on your computer and playing video games, you quickly decided it to be your passion.

Instead of just playing the game, doing what tasks you were given and finishing it, you played like your life depended on it.

You analyzed everything. Every subtle detail about the map that no normal person would even care to think of. You made sure to pick up every collectable, watch every tape, and pay attention to every hidden note.

Fans often clowned you for it, calling you adorable for caring so much. You didn't care, though, ignoring them and continuing to do your job.

So when day, when you're hanging out with your friend who is a more underground YouTuber, one other YouTuber came in conversation.

"You want to know who really pisses me off?" she asked as you two sat on your couch, eating candy and watching TV.

"Who?" you asked, throwing a gummy worm into your mouth. You made a face at the sourness of it.

"There's this one YouTuber who I keep seeing everywhere on Tiktok. I checked him out and he's such a bubble brained loser. He's so annoying," she explained, rolling her eyes at just the mere thought of him. "His name's 3.. 3Fs I'm pretty sure? Yes! 3Fs. He plays all of these horror games yet doesn't care about the lore at all! He thinks he's funny but he's just an idiot!"

"Damn, really? I have to see this guy for myself," you simply said. You didn't like to base your opinions off of what other people think.

"3FS," she repeated his name like a curse, poison on her tongue.

3Fs. You'd remember that

3FS.

Curiosity killed the cat as you typed his name into your search bar. You needed to understand what his deal is, annoying or as great as the internet says.

His account shows up. He has a large following, a little bit more than you. His profile picture made you skeptical -- a horrible picture of himself with a weird filter over his face. All of his thumbnails were him with his face warped into a weird, ugly picture of him.

You could only assume what he looked like. Was he so ugly that he has to edit himself for the laughs? Or is he just trying to be funny like your friend said?

You clicked on one of his horror videos, immediately met with his face in the camera. His hair was messy and his smirk.

Oh my goodness! He was beautiful!

His face was a perfect shape, sharp on the jawline but soft on his chin. He had a long, straight nose that emphasized his features. It suited the man perfectly.

His eyes were big, a perfect shape and a beautiful brown. His eyebrows had a nice shape to them, fitting his face. He had freckles scattered around his face with a few acne scars in between where his nose and upper lip meet.

You felt your face growing red at just looking at a picture of this random YouTuber. His voice was so deep and well spoken that it intimidated you. He was so soft spoken though; you couldn’t help the smile that crossed your face.

You laid in bed, watching the long video beginning to end. Your friend was wrong; this dude is hilarious! His vocabulary and his sense of humor makes you laugh hysterically, covering your mouth as if you didn’t live alone.

His facial expressions — how he twists his face into peculiar looks for just a second. Going crosseyed, making himself have a double chin, God this boy was charming.

You took out your phone, opening your message between you and your friend.

ur an idiot. 3fs is so silly you texted her, flipping your phone upside down again and continuing to binge watch his videos in order for the rest of the night.

You’ve got to be kidding me? He’s so annoying, you like him? she responded shortly after, but it was long forgotten as you swooned over your new celebrity crush. The so-called “annoying” 3FS.

Car packed and on the road, you headed to Vidcon. Where you’d be staying, you had no idea. It was a last minute invite. You prayed that one of your friends would be there and offer you a place to stay at a hotel, but you’d just had to wait and see.

The car ride there was about five hours from your house, but blasting your playlist and singing along to your favorite songs made the car ride bearable. When your friend called you, the vibe died but you picked up anyway.

"Heyy!" you said, keeping the phone on speaker so you could focus on the road.

"Hii! Are you almost there?" she asked, curiosity and worry lacing her tone.

“Yeah, I’m about a half an hour away,” you told her.

“Super fun!” she exclaimed. “Do you think your boyfriend is gonna be there?”

You recoiled, eyebrow raising as you kept your gaze on the road in front of you. "My boyfriend?Who are we talking about?"

"3FS. Obviously!”

Oh my goodness. You didn’t even think about that!

“I hope so, he’s so funny,” you said, face growing hot just talking about him.

“Oh please, Y/N, just admit that you think he’s hot,” she sarcastically said.

“Admit? Bitch, I’m proclaiming it! He’s so attractive! Like genuinely, he is beautiful,” you exclaimed, both of you laughing. “Okay, I’m gonna go now. Byee!”

“Bye! Drive safe!” she said, and you hung up.

Your music queued up again, face still red from your previous conversation. What if he was there? 3Fs. In the flesh. The man that you’ve been obsessing over for weeks.

How would he act in real life? Would he be his same silly self? More mature? More sillier?

All you could do was hope and pray that he’d even be there.

Your table was set up when you got there, perfectly matching your aesthetic and vibe of the channel.

Your suitcase was still in the car, in need of a hotel room. You looked around to see if someone you knew was here, but all you saw were underground gamers that nobody ever heard of. You sighed, taking out your phone and making sure your hair looked alright.

Messy and out of place, you picked up your bag and took out your hairbrush with a huff. Getting up from your chair you made your way to the bathroom.

Your friend texted you, making your phone shine bright. You looked at the message, smiling.

Heyy! You there safety? she asked.

yup!! here. i’ll call u later and lyk how it goes!! you replied, putting your phone in your pocket and walking to the bathroom.

You fixed up your hair, making sure you looked presentable when your fans came. If 3FS were here? Even better. You looked great.

You walked out of the bathroom, striding back to your designated table that was neatly set up. You placed your brush in your bag, not paying attention to whoever was setting up next to you.

“Hey, I know you. You’re Y/N!”

You looked up at the voice on your left, your head tilted.

Oh.

My.

God.

Just like you imagined, he was standing there in the flesh. His hair was shorter than in his videos — he must’ve gotten it cut for the occasion. His face was even more handsome in real life than on your computer screen.

And he, 3FS, the boy who’d had been on your mind for weeks, was standing right in front of you in the flesh with his eyes focused solely on you.

He noticed you first.

Softly saying it — acknowledging who you are by name. He knows who you are.

3Fs knows who you are.

sorry that’s it so long guys!! :(( if u guys want i will 100% make a part 2! thank u for reading! <3

[bunny-jpeg]

better than home (kidnapper!simon) - you had seen enough horror movies to know that being kidnapped meant being on the news, being butchered, and being a cold case. but simon wasn't like that. except for the bruises he left when he took you, his touch had gentle. kind in a way that someone would brush their cat.

you flinched under his touch, but he just simply shushed you. "not gonna break a thing on ya, angel." that was his name for you. angel. he said that it was like you were given to him fro heaven, "if i do, i give ya the right to put a knife between my ribs."

it was unnerving to say the least. in the tiny home you both shared, locks on the windows, you had never seen a front door that needed a key to unlock from the outside. you tried getting out, but simon was simply so much bigger and stronger, that he didn't need to hurt you herd you back into a safer place.

"don't need to think about much anymore. safer here." he said in his gruff voice. you didn't know what kind of life this man had lived, but with the hunting knife on the coffee table, the well-used rifle over the fireplace and the old army formals in his closet. you knew that there was a story.

it didn't sink in till the first week, but you didn't have to worry about anything. you moved through the house on your own, when you scurried into rooms simon sometimes didn't follow. it was like he was bird-watching. keeping a close eye and admiring you. except you weren't exactly a free bird, rather a delicate beauty in a shiny cage.

you were surprised that simon had your favourite snacks in the pantry, even the same brand of plant-based milk you enjoyed. it was like he knew everything about you, and yet he was a total mystery.

"scary world out there." simon said, kept his distance from you in the recliner while you were curled up in the couch. you had taken a liking to a black and white checkered flannel blanket. it reminded you of the one back home, that you wondered if he just broke in a took it. he eyed you, which made it hard to read one of your many books, "pretty things like you need to be protected... bad men out there." as if this massive mountain of a man wasn't one of those so-called bad men.

you were in no place to argue. you still felt like you were in a spring locked trap and one wrong move would have it clamped down on you. that this was just some sick game before simon buried your body in the field behind the house.

"when can i go home?" you asked, finding your voice.

"this is better than home."

"are you going to kill me?" you asked before you swallowed the lump in your throat.

he shook his head, "no, ma'am. never." sounded like wedding vows rather than an answer. your curiosity only grew with each day. when you finished the books he brought you, he simply put them back in a bag and returned them from where they came from and came back with new ones.

"saw them on the shelf at the library, thought a woman like you would like them." he gave a curt nod as he dropped the canvas bag by your little nest of blankets on the floor by the television. you hadn't been able to watch television yet. primarily busied with sleeping, books, puzzles and notebooks where you had been writing.

and while it started a journal in the event the police found you. it had become more about fictional stories. for your personal pleasure. you thought about being a writer as a child, but the grind of corporate work in your adulthood seemed to dash that dream.

"next time." you said, feeling a little bold, "can you get some science fiction books too...." it felt uneasy to make any demands. he was your captor.

"well then, angel. be good for me then." he said, smiled under that mask. you looked over and made a face at him. you scampered off back into your nest of books and puzzles. maybe he was right, this was better than home. <3

a/n: this is unwell, i hope you enjoyed it. thank you!!

[militaryapple]

I WON'T BITE.

synopsis. you find caleb up late at night watching some video, turns out youre into it as much as he is.

cw. fem!reader , sub!caleb, degradation, p in v (stay protected girliepops), oral (giving), whiny caleb, unaware voyuerism, masturbation, usage of ‘baby’ ‘princess’, dog in heat caleb, light bdsm, caleb is so pathetic

add ons. i heard people like whiny caleb so lets see if thats true, thanks for 600 pipsquirters hehe

wc. 2.4k

sometimes, when you're quiet enough you hear something in caleb's room. you were always scared to check out what exactly he was doing - due to the door either being shut and locked or it sounding intense so you didn't want to disturb him. after all, curiosity did kill the cat and this time you didn't want to be the cat.

it wasn't until one faithful night, you were supposed to be sleep but the rustling of the tree's and the sound of the rain dawned down on you. it was hard to sleep with all the noise, and frankly you knew that just closing your eyes and counting to 100 wasn't going to get you anywhere.

you tip-toed your way to the kitchen, trying to be as silent as you can. you thought maybe, caleb was sleep soundly. his dreams overtaking his mind while the sounds of pouring rain and trees clashing together soothed him. you could only envy how much of a deep sleeper he was.

going into the fridge you grabbed cold water, gulping it down before brushing past caleb's room to get to the living room. if you can't sleep, you might as well watch some TV. you could pass time and ignore the rumbling of the thunder and the brightness of the lightning that only flashed seconds after each grumble.

that was, until you heard a faint noise from caleb's room. at first it was suspicious to you, then your interest grew. you crept gently towards the rustling room and looked at the door. it was open enough for you to peek in, which was new at a time like this. at this time, his door would be shut. keeping both you and any possible intruders out while a little sign hung from his door going "OUT OF SERVICE COME BACK LATER" as a sign that he was either asleep, busy or away.

but there was no sign, and there was an open door.

you couldn't help but peek in, looking around the room. you could make out the sight if you squinted. it was caleb, he was on his phone. he stared down at it so intently, while two headphones plugged his ear from any and all sounds. his face flushed a pink, and his body jolted in the way your eyes didn't adjust to yet.

so you leaned in, inspecting the shadow-figure of caleb. deciphering every movement of his. that's when you saw it. his hands grabbed around his cock, pumping it at a pace which made his lips spill with whimpers and low muffled moans from the cotton of his shirt that filled his mouth. his arms flexing with every thrust and his eyes rolling back while he gathered a steady pace for himself.

your face felt hot, and your body lingered with a feeling of warmth. you legs involuntarily shuffling to squeeze your thighs together as you drunk up the sight of him. you pushed the door slightly, trying to get a closer view - but Caleb was quick to perk up looking straight at your shadow.

he scrambled to get himself put together, pulling up his clothes and jumping up out of his bed. he moved towards you quickly, his breath heavy as his chest heaved up and down. "pips," he chirped, "uh, ha, 'whaddya doing up at a time like this? miss me haha? here let me go to the bathroom and we can watch something okay? you can pick the movie." not letting you get a word out he shuffled past you and headed for the bathroom obviously embarrassed from just thinking you saw anything.

and you saw everything.

you moved in his room, noticing the phone that sat on his bed. you picked it up and settled down on his bed, typing in your birthday which is obviously his pass code, and looking through his phone. you stumbled on the website he was on, looking at it. oh. oh. you watched as the women degraded the men they had. how easy it was for these women to make their boyfriends get down and do what they want. was that what caleb was into? it was definitely different then what you two usually did.

heavy footsteps filled the room as it got closer to caleb’s room. you scrolled, ignoring them until you heard a “hey,” at the doorway. you looked up, caleb stood there. dumbfounded almost. he walked over to you with his hand out, asking for his phone back. and you just stared.

“do you want to do this?” you asked, setting the phone down on the bed, he tried to reach for it and you pulled it away. “give me my phone, pips.” he said softly, avoiding your eyes. you sucked your teeth, putting the phone in your shirt, placing it safely between your bra and your chest. caleb could only stand up, his eyes looking down in embarrassment.

the visual being almost eye candy for you. you stood up and grabbed his face, forcing his eyes to look at yours. “what’s the matter big guy? why are you acting shy now? you were just palming yourself to the thought of me practically calling you a stupid mutt.” his eyes flickered from your face, to your chest then to the floor. he let out a low whine from your words, his hands shaking.

“it’s okay,” you coo’d softly, caressing his face gently before moving your hand away. smack. your hands swiftly made their way across caleb’s cheek — looking up at him. he let out a moan, his body tensing. shame waved over his face, while his head turned away from you. with that, you looked down at his pants.

he got hard from that.

it only made you scoff, looking up at him almost laughing. “are you serious? did you just get fucking hard? off a slap? you really are a pathetic dog.” your eyes rolling — you scanned his body for any signs for you to stop, for a sign that you’re over-doing it, yet there was nothing. just to make sure, you turned. your hair swaying as you started to make your way to his door. “it’s late, you should get some slee - ” before you could finish you felt something grab your arm, you turned your head and it was caleb.

his eyes were doozy. he looked at you like he needed you, his face red but avoiding you and your eyes like it was plague. “you can’t — you can’t just leave me like this baby, please.” he whined. it was like music to your ears. you swatted his hand away and moved closer to him. pushing him on his bed.

your hands rubbed against the fabric of his sweats, glancing and grazing against his boner. “say it then, baby. come on, tell me how much you want me to call you names,” your lips finding his neck, and then his face. he tasted sweet - and his face was beautiful. his hips rolled at the feeling of your hands, small whimpers falling off his lips. “how you want me to make you feel oh-so-good.” you were teasing him, being cruel to him, yet it felt so exhilarating.

caleb held on your waist, tugging softly. “please,” he begged. “please make me feel so fucking good, i’ll be a good boy i promise — i’ll — fuckfuckfuck your hand your hand,” he was practically slurring on his words, you backed away from his neck and looked at him. his body spread on the bed as you leaded close to him, your hand palming his clothed cock while he held you somewhat steady.

his whimpers made you soar. you didn’t know he could make such noises, while you also didnt know you could be this mean to him. “my hand? what is it? puppy’s ‘gonna cum?” you coo’d. caleb’s gaze lingering on your hands while his hips squirmed and wiggled for more friction. he nodded his heads, hazed and dumbed.

“come on baby, you can cum for me.” you hum, in return caleb let out a guttural moan. his hips spurting while his now light-grey sweats stained with a darker color. you placed a kiss on the top of his forehead, then moved away from him. taking a step back you got down on your legs and spread his open slowly pulling down his waist band to reveal a throbbing cock.

“fuck caleb, you’re pathetic.” you groan, looking up at him before your mouth kissed the tip of his leaking head. “i wonder how many times you’ve gotten off to the thought of me doing this,” you hummed, fondling his balls while he whimpered, his eyes glossy. “how many times you’ve came to the thought of me using you for my pleasure, makes you feel real good, right?” you could see the tears form on his face as he nodded. “i’ve - ah mph, always thought of you doing this to me.” he whimpered.

you soon took him in your mouth, relaxing your jaw as you licked and sucked him. he was big, kissing the back of your throat while you sent vibrations through him. your head going at a steady pace as caleb held back the urge to take your head and absolutely demolish you. “oh god - you feel so good princess you do, really, i’ll be good for you - all good oh fuck,” he was stupid.

you picked up your pace, your hands now stroking him while you sucked him off. you could feel him tense, pounding in your mouth while you made him feel like heaven and earth combined.

“fuck, ‘m gonna cum is that okay? please? let me cum in your mouth please,” he looked down at you, his hands holding on your head while you hummed in approval. his hips pounding in your mouth, kissing every inch of your throat and violating you, his hips bucking before hearing a ‘pop!’

you opened your mouth, his tip leaking all over your face. “such a nasty dog.” you got up, wiping your face before holding his face, and opening his mouth kissing him with your cum filled lips. “taste yourself, don’t you taste so good?” you tease, moving on top of his lap.

“come on doggy, undress me.” you roll your eyes, and caleb takes no time doing as he’s told. he started with your shirt, pulling it up over you and kissing your neck, down to your breasts while his hands hovered over your bra undoing them. his hands wandering down to your pants, shuffling your shorts off before pulling a free hand up to fondle your tit.

“so fucking beautiful” he mumbled, licking and kissing over you. his busy hand making its way down to your pantie before you slap him away. “nuh uh, not yet baby. you wanna cum right? be a good fucking boy.” your words sharp, caleb moved his hands away and you took your panties off.

“you’re gonna watch me prep myself. no touching, got it?” caleb’s eyes glazed over you, and you got straight to work. your fingers pushing your panties over before they rubbed on your nub. you let out a gasp and a moan - rubbing yourself and using your slick to make it easier.

your hands moved at the rhythm of your hips, your other arm using caleb’s shoulder for balance. it was horrid for caleb — he wanted you bad, and he wanted you now. yet you teased him, making him watch while he suffered the feeling of you twitching and shaking on top of him.

you slipped a digit in your sobbing cunt, then another. in and out at a slow pace, then speeding up. moving towards caleb ear you moaned for him. begging for him to make you feel good and to take you like the good puppy he was. how good you felt whenever he touched you. it made him shudder. your hips grinding against his cock, and he pulled you closer.

“so fucking nasty,” you moaned, your slit rubbing against his cock, while you now had both hands hold on to him, digging your nails in his back. “you’re so fucking nasty caleb,” you groaned. “jerking off to me — fuckfuck, you must’ve thought i couldn’t hear you? you fucking tease.” you couldn’t take it anymore.

your hips moved up, and you aligned your cunt with his cock, slowly going down feeling his dick fill you up so nicely. “oh, stupid mutt,” you held his face, tears down his eyes while your gazed never strayed from his, “you make me feel so good, the only thing you’re useful for baby,” you coo’d kissing his face. “fuck fuck can you hurry up and move??”

he obliged, his hips thrusting up in down, filling you then making you empty, you cried out, biting down on his nape making him moan in reply. “i know , i know im nasty” he whined out, stuttering as he rocked himself on you. “you’re just so fucking pretty i can’t help it baby,” he cried out. his hands having a firm grip on your hips making you roll on him.

you bounced on him, marked him, you needed him — you needed him to make you feel whole. “nothing without me, you’re nothing without me and you know this.” your kisses moving towards his face then his lips, “say it, say you’re nothing without me caleb” you whined.

caleb’s hips bucked forward, flipping you over and pushing his hips as close as he could to you. fuck, your eyes rolled back. you could feel his cock kiss your cervix, kiss every little part of your cunt. “i’m nothing without you, i’m yours, i need you,” he groaned, his pace picking up as his hands rubbed small circles on your crying nub.

“that’s it baby” you coo’d “work me real nice, good boy — that’s how you make me feel good.” your praises sent him over the moon, his hips buffering and his balls slapping nicely against your cunt making you both twitch in pleasure. you could feel him tense as he leaned down placing kisses over you.

“i’m close, come on make me cum, make me feel good come on” you held on his face, looking at his eyes. he was truly a beautiful sight. “cum with me okay baby? yeah you can do that for me right?” you coo’d, caleb whined in agreement. his hips rutting against you, before he stopped and twitched. his seed spilling everywhere in you while you both panted and moaned.

you stared at caleb, his breath heavy and eyes swollen. his necklace dangling before you pulled on it, bringing him down for a kiss.

if you knew this is what he was into, you would’ve peeked in his room a loooong time ago.

[serenity-loves-red]

IT STARTED WITH THE CAT DISTRIBUTION SYSTEM

Part 10. Masterlist

In which• The Deliverer of Amphoreus is suddenly transported to your home as a cat.

Phainon couldn’t raise his head nor had a face thick enough to look at anyone. He could only look down at his paws, on the walls, floor, just anywhere.

Curiosity killed the cat when Phainon tried to peek at Mydei. He was just curious on how he was doing–nothing more than that! He knew that Mydei fought with his best, and yet, they both experienced the same traumatic and horrifying checkup.

When he raised his head to peek, seems like Mydei thought the same and their eyes met. Immediately they remembered seeing each other at the vet’s mercy, probed and prodded at their most weakest state. The memories they buried as deep as they could just resurfaced.

Horrified, they broke the eye contact and went back to look somewhere. Acting normal as if they haven’t seen each other got their ass inserted by a thermometer.

They just can’t look at each other yet without feeling deeply embarrassed. An esteemed Chrysos Heir, turned into an animal and got their ass inserted by a thermometer during a checkup is not a good sight to see nor to picture out.

Did you know any of this? No. But you did notice their stiff and awkward behavior. Towards each other and towards you.

They keep looking at you when you turn your back, as if debating whether or not to trust you anymore or just bit your hands off whenever you tried to pet them.

Specifically Princess. You must’ve scared him that he didn’t seem to trust you enough to go near him. You can’t even stay within 3 foot unless you want to see him barring his teeth at you.

He won’t hurt you though, he just doesn’t want you to go near him just yet.

You should’ve felt concerned and to try to win them back but you can’t. At least not yet.

You have your own battle to face after all. Battle against morality and 3 cute little hamsters you found inside Blue’s bag.

You didn’t even know how they got there. Did you just stole an animal from the vet? You remembered seeing them on the table across the room. How the hell did they got inside of Blue’s bag in the first place?!

You immediately wanted to return them back to the clinic after seeing them when you returned home. Blue and Princess seems to know this and just took them before you could. In sync, they took the three hamsters with their mouth and brought them to Blue’s favorite pillow before placing their body in front of them, facing you.

“You want me to keep them?” You hesitantly asked. They nodded and gave a few meows and barks as if to reason out.

Oh boy, you wanted to return them. You didn’t have any criminal records and wanted to keep it that way. How crazy would that be if you ever got convicted to a crime you didn’t do.

You could just imagine the news headlines:

A hamster stealing customer! Brought two pets, came out with five?

You wanted to cry and just return them when they turn their back but seeing how they treated the hamsters, they must’ve like it a lot and won’t do anything harmful to them.

“You’re lucky I love you guys.” You mumbled before silently agreeing to them.

So now you have three hamsters added to your pokemon collection family.

“Then, I welcome you to the family Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup!”

Taglist: @speedycoffeedelight @kiransalt @sunsethw4 @wispfish @syntaxandpi @hoo-hoo @aerisevx @wixsvem @reminiscingthesea

Note: guess which is which 😉 btw if you wanted to be part of the tag list just comment under this post💗

[honeybeegashii]

Feral Devotion 2

⋆˚꩜｡Note: Thank you guys so much for the support for the first part! It was heartwarming to see all the likes, reblogs, and comments. I quickly cooked this one up, shout-out to my boyfriend for being my beta reader.

Summary: A dangerous hunter is drawn to your fragility and quiet nature, seeing you as something precious and divine. Despite the vast differences in your cultures and the Yautja's violent instincts, he treats you with care

He’s not supposed to want you.

Not like that. Not like this.

You’re quiet where they roar. You flinch from the kind of touch that means affection to them—too close to violence, too hot, too heavy. You’re human. You’re wrong.

And still, he watches you like you hung the moons. Like there’s something divine etched in the fragile lines of your body, something sacred about the way you curl in on yourself instead of baring your teeth. You learned early what he is—a hunter bred for war, death, and blood under his claws.

You’ve seen what he does to the things he wants to keep. How rough their courtship is. How bloody. But when he touches you. He’s careful.

Too big for your world. Too dangerous to breathe the same air as you. And yet, he steps soft when he enters the space you call home (a cage, a cell, a corner of a ship lit by humming low-tech lights because their stars are too bright, their walls too raw).

He brings you things.

Not flowers. Not chocolates. No, he’s not stupid. He brings you kills. The skull of a serpent-beast. A feathered claw from a world that burns too hot for your lungs. Trophies, cleaned with his own hands. Left at your door. He leaves them like a stray cat with a bleeding mouse, proud and anxious, waiting for praise. You told him once, voice shaking. “I’m not like your women...”

And he growled. Not in anger. Not in threat. But something low, something that made your stomach twist, your spine press against the cold metal behind you. Like the idea excited him. He tilted his head. Clicked low in his throat. Moved closer. Towered.

“No,” he rasped, his translator lagging half a breath behind the guttural music of his voice. “You are mine.” You're not ideal. Not Blooded. Not even worthy by their standards.

But his. And maybe that’s worse. Because it means he wants you. Means you’ve been marked by a creature whose love looks like possession, whose tenderness comes with claws that can cut you open if you flinch too fast.

You don’t even know how it started. The way he began inserting himself between you and anything that moved too fast. The way he tracked your scent was like it was a command, not a curiosity. The way his eyes followed your throat when you swallowed, was slow and fragile and breakable.

Sometimes you think he doesn’t even want to breed you. That the idea of touching you would be too much, like holding a moth in a closed fist, terrified of the ruin. Other times, you wake up with his shadow looming in your doorway, watching you sleep like he’s debating it.

Like he wants it. Not the act, but the claiming.

And what do you do when something like that wants you? When something that could tear your spine from your body with a flick of his wrist chooses to kneel instead? You let him bring his trophies. You let him watch. You start dreaming about what those claws might feel like pressed just right. And slowly, slowly, you start to wonder—not if he’ll claim you, but when.

He doesn’t understand why you flinch when he calls you mine.

Doesn’t get why your voice rises when you say, “I’m not a thing,” or why your hands tremble after you push him away. Soft, but still rejection.

Because where he’s from, possession is not cruelty. It’s protection.

It’s a promise. It’s a claim burned brighter than blood and louder than any vow.

In his culture, nothing is more sacred than what you keep. Trophies are not just reminders of conquest, they are proof of survival. The victory, and the value.

And you? You’re his most precious kill-not-kill.

He didn’t mount your skull on a wall. He didn’t skin you and hang your pelt next to his Xenomorph marks. Instead, he keeps you fed and clothed you. He stood between you and his kin like a wall of living flame.

You think that’s captivity.

To him, it’s worship.

You come from a world of soft language and softer boundaries. Consent, communication, compromise. He doesn’t speak that tongue. Not naturally. Not easily. His language was forged in the heat of combat and scarcity. It is made of action, not words.

His society teaches that worth is earned in blood. That the weak must be culled or kept. And he kept you.

You don’t know how many he had to fight for that. You don’t know the way they laughed. The way they mocked him for guarding a soft, broken-boned little thing like it was a sacred heirloom. They called him feral. Called you a pet. Told him you wouldn’t last a season before you snapped under pressure like wet bone.

You snapped, yes, but not in the way they thought. You bent around him. Learned the rhythm of his rage. You stopped crying when he snarled and started staring him down instead. You learned how to say no in a language with no word for refusal—and he started listening.

That’s the thing no one warned him about. That humans infect. That their fragility is contagious. That their softness spreads.

Now, he waits before he touches. Watches you sleep instead of curling around you like a beast. Tries not to show his teeth when you talk back. (He fails sometimes. But he tries.)

He still calls you mine. But he says it differently now.

Previous

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Need Someone Soft? 141 x Camgirl!Reader

Summary - Kyle attempts to keep a secret, Simon discovers a very pretty webcam model.

Tags - Masturbation, internet stalking, voyeurism(?) exhibitionism, reader is mentioned to be plus sized (or mid-sized if you wanna argue)

divide from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

A/N: Still on a semi-hiatus. Just having camgirl thoughts.

Kyle hated this, your inconsistent schedule. You said certain days of the week and every weekend... and yet you were nowhere to be seen. He had bought the singular video up on your profile but that was it, that was all you had.

Really he shouldn't have expected much out of a model who's tags warned him that you were new. New and inconsistent it seemed. Until a few days turned into a week, then a week turned into two weeks and soon enough there was only a few days until it was a full month since you had been online.

He had followed your little blog that you posted updates on and had masturbated so many times to that one video on your profile that, well it would be a lie if he said it didn't do anything for him anymore. Oddly, the video had become a comfort.

Like knowing he had a few candies waiting for him after a long day of drills and training. Even on missions, when it got slow and they were in a safe house Kyle pulled up the video. Careful of course to keep it silent but he had your sounds memorized by now.

He would follow the rhythm you set, slow at first as your tight cunt got used to the dildo stuffed inside of you, your hips jerking a little when you find that right spot on your clit and keep your vibrator there. A mixture of lube and your own juices dripping from around the dildo and down the fat of your ass.

Fuck, his mouth watered just thinking about it.

Then he got an alert in his email. A blog update. All it said was I'm coming back and I have a new toy to test out, ;) and by the grace of god it was a screenshot of a lovense order for a lush. His mind swirled with the possibility of being able to send tokens upon tokens to make it vibrate. To control your pleasure through a screen, the possibility was tantalizing. And yet, he didn't know when you would be coming back. Today? Fuck, not today. Not while he was meant to be sent off on an op with Soap.

God damn it.

Simon didn't normally use websites like this. Then again, most of his wanks were borderline clinical. He would conjure up whatever image he needed to get off and tug at his cock until his spend coated his hand. So why was he on this website to begin with? Well, he was curious alright?

Curiosity killed the cat.

He flickered through the 'longue' as the website called it, something that chuffed him a bit he had to admit. A porn website attempting to make itself seem a little more professional.

Adorable.

It wasn't his first time on a website like this, far from it. He just normally didn't do this at all. But he knew he liked the new models. The ones who weren't quiet sure what they were doing. He also liked the ones who were rounder in the middle, thighs thick from good eating and a nice round ass that he could imagine bouncing off of while he fucked her into the mattress.

So he scrolled through the new tag until he stumbled across what he was looking for. He glanced at your username and immediately 'friended' you which was really more like subscribing. He would get alerts when you would go live now.

You were sat all pretty on your bed, hair tucked behind your ears and he looked at the room topic. His eyes latched onto the words lush activated.

Oh.

Oh.

He glanced at the tokens in his imaginary wallet on the website. 1000, he could make that work. He tugged his cock from his briefs and grabbed the bottle of lube tucked away in his drawer before he poured a generous amount on his cock. He gave it a few tugs, just watching as someone else tipped you and activated the lush nestled inside your pussy. Just watching as you squirmed and the nearly mute sound of your mewls reached his eyes. Fuck he needed headphones.

Using one hand he typed his first sentence into chat, you do privates?

[multimilfs]

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Poking The Bear

Summary: Agnes has the misfortune of being called in to work a murder case on Christmas Eve. When she leaves you frustrated, you decide to do what you do best; poke the bear.

AO3

A/N: I said "is anyone going to humiliate this woman in this ultra-specific way?" and didn't wait for an answer. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals <3

Words: 8k

Included: Established relationship, Christmas, Porn with plot; g!p, teasing, somnophilia (implied), dacryphilia, phone sex, accidental orgasm, semi-public sex, humiliation, jealousy, blowjobs, dom/sub, sub space, throatfucking, unprotected sex, masturbation, light breeding kink, light degradation, praise, orgasm denial.

Tag List: @vii-v @absolute-memegarbage @crazycatladycaceta @hannah-0730 @shinysuitcloud @bubbly-moonwarrior @emilynissangtr @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @thelesbianapollokid4 @dmtrxie @notice-shy @vintagegoddess12 @rosie6reyes @softfruity @tragicsapphic34 @msharkness @setsuna1415 @kermidd5 @snickerdoodles-stuff @women-are-so-ethereal @imlike-so-gaydude @lotus-ignis @n0body-is-perfect @goblinscum420 @d-z20 @borntodieedition28 @autbot @ee-bah-sims @kathrynscontroversiallyyounggf @renravens @theothersideofthescreen @sp3c-tr0 @sapphicharknesss @coffeelover245 @madamslaytan @heady-pomegranate @ragnarockz @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @goforgreat @welmelsblog @igoturmoney @mol2311 @obnoxiouslycontemplating @bellatrix-black8 @deathly777 @emmasaviorqueen-blog @greatygreatgreat @chlizets @latedawnearlysunsets92

Through the peaceful, warm silence of the morning, an alarm clock blares.

Agnes growls under her breath as she does every morning, lumbering from the comfort of the bed and over to the windowsill where the alarm clock sits. A particularly rough blow shuts it up.

God, why did she let Vidal insist on this shift?

Her routine is simple enough she could do it with her eyes closed; and does, for most of it. It isn’t until she turns the shower to a cooler temperature that she feels anywhere close to awake. She needs coffee—bad.

Halfway through said cup of coffee and one of the donuts you picked up, she realizes she hasn’t kissed you good morning yet.

You grumble a bit when she turns you over, untucking your head from the blankets, but you don’t wake. You look heavenly, painted in the warm glow of the Christmas tree you insist on keeping plugged in all night. Agnes smiles.

Pressing her lips to your forehead, she murmurs, barely a whisper, “Be good, baby.”

A hand wraps around her wrist and she startles. Pulling back, your eyes haven’t opened.

“Agnes, come back to bed.” You say, voice gravely from sleep.

“Vidal will be on my case if I don’t show.”

“I can make your morning better than Vidal can.”

You stretch, curling back into the blankets, but hold her wrist just tight enough to indicate you’re still half awake. It’s good your eyes are closed; she doesn’t need you seeing all the kinds of fond you’re making her.

Agnes really shouldn’t get you started, but curiosity kills cats, not bears, “Oh yeah? How would you do that, baby?”

“You’d come back to bed and sleep until I say.”

“And then what?” She prods, trying not to laugh.

“Then we’ll have a really nice breakfast. Donuts for you.”

“What would you have?”

“You.” You answer, casual and so matter-of-fact, “I’ll even swallow, out of Christmas spirit or something.”

Agnes jolts at the change. Though true to form, she can feel the familiar coil of arousal between her legs. She really shouldn’t have gotten you started.

She’s half awake, she won’t remember this, Agnes tells herself as she tries to move from her kneeling position on the bed. Your grip on her wrist remains.

“Sleep. We’ll have fun when I get home.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.” You whine.

“I’ll be home before you know it, I swear.”

“Fine. ‘Love you.” You murmur.

You rescind your hand and turn over, pacified as you burrow back under the covers. Agnes shakes her head.

“Love you too.” She whispers.

With one last parting kiss to your forehead, she’s gone, with you none-the-wiser.

—

You wake up a mess.

There’s a half-remembered conversation with Agnes lingering in your mind, but it’s hazy enough to feel like a dream; an unsatisfying one, the persistent throbbing between your legs says. You offered to blow her, you remember that much��it’s all pretty blank after that.

No, there was something about having fun when she got home, too.

You can’t wait that long.

It isn’t until two of your fingers are knuckle-deep and you’re missing the fullness Agnes offers that the idea strikes you. You scramble blindly for the phone on your night-stand. The movements change the angle of your fingers and you whine, rolling your hips, even as the blind grabs for your phone grow more frustrated.

Once found, it is ripped viciously off the charger, and you open it, going through your messages for the quickest access to her number. You grin at the contrast between your long-winded messages and Agnes’ one word responses.

An infinitesimal movement of your hips reminds you of your intention.

The phone is brought to your ear and it rings… and rings… and rings…

…and rings…

“O’Connor.” Her gruff voice comes down the line.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You squeeze around your own fingers at the sound.

“Yes, Detective, I’d like to report a crime.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end.

“Go on.”

“Well, my wife woke me up this morning and got me turned on, and she didn’t even have the decency to fuck me before she left. What kind of woman does that, Detective?”

You can hear the curve of her grin, “A lousy one. That’s a pretty serious crime.”

Maybe it’s the low, lilting drawl of her voice down the line. Maybe it’s the way you can see how she’s sitting in your mind; shoulders back against the seat but hips forward, legs splayed with careless confidence, one hand toying with her belt. Maybe it’s the easy humor she slips into with you that she’s never had with anyone else.

Whatever it is, two sentences from her brings you closer to finishing than thirty minutes with your hand has.

You whimper, “Keep talking.”

Another pause. Then the faint rustle of fabric.

“What are you doing?”

Her tone is utterly serious. Unforgiving. And god if it isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Finally showing your clit some attention, you moan shamelessly. It’s nice to feel full, but your fingers never quite reach the right spots, and you can’t get off on penetration alone—with Agnes or otherwise. It’s fun to work yourself up though; pushing to the heights you can reach there before really giving yourself the stimulation you want.

If she keeps talking, that—combined with the circling motions on your clit—will send you straight over the edge.

The anticipation builds over the line. For a moment, you pull the phone away to make sure she hasn’t hung up. She’s likely weighing the best thing to say to both turn you on and strike the fear of punishment into you.

Instead, her tone is almost pleading, “Don’t do this now.”

An image strikes you of making Agnes beg, of driving her to a point where the easy dominance falls away, and she’s reduced to chasing whatever kindness you give. It brings you so much pleasure it hurts. You need it. But how to get it?

“Is Agent Vidal in the room with you?” You ask.

The idea of Vidal witnessing what you’re doing to Agnes makes your toes curl.

“No.”

“I thought you were stuck with her today.”

“Leave Vidal out of this.” She demands, but it’s strangled.

She’s clawing for control over the situation, scrambling for a foothold. Normally, you’d give it to her. Normally.

“I don’t think I ask for much…” A lie. You make many requests in the sanctity of your bedroom, “all I wanted was for you to fix what you started.”

“Baby.”

You have to pull your fingers away from your clit, desperate to come but not ready yet.

“There are so many ways you could have done it, too. You could have woken me up with your head between my legs… or with you inside me. It could have been nice, right?”

Only the sound of her breathing comes down the line. Heavy, uneven, like when she’s holding herself over you, hips driving her deeper—

God, you’re so close.

You whisper, needing to know that she’s as affected as you, needing to hear her say it, “Are you hard, Agnes?”

“Yes.”

Even though you haven’t moved any part of your hand, the mental image nearly sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Will you come with me?”

“I…I can’t.”

You know. With the shades open, her office is basically an observation room; meaning if she were to do what you ask, there’s almost a guarantee she’d be caught. A sick part of you wants it. Wants to know that you have enough power over her to make her take the risk.

Gently, you begin to toy with your clit again. You can make her do what you ask. All you need is for her to say it—the confirmation that you’ve undone her so thoroughly that she can’t help but fist her cock under the desk where anyone could see.

“Please.” You beg.

You hear her inhale, the sound sharp in your ear. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes are no doubt shifting around the office, searching for the perfect way to hide what she’s about to do.

You’re standing on the precipice.

The harsh beeping of a disconnected call blares in your ear. Yanking it away, orgasm thoroughly ruined, you yell in frustration.

—

An officer pulls open the door before you can reach for it, nodding, “Ma’am.”

The precinct is busy for it being a holiday. Uniformed officers sit around desks, either on the phone or talking with others. You spy the Chief talking animatedly to a few toward the back.

They’ve really done up the place this year. Last year it’d been sad, grey. Now there are a few little trees spread around, some personal decorations here and there, a menorah on the front desk with candles waiting to be lit. It livens up the place.

In the back sits the partial vision of Agnes’ office. The blinds are somewhat closed, but she’s left the door open, allowing you enough of a glimpse to know she’s in there. You can imagine her without having to see; her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hunched over the desk, hand toying with strands of her hair as she frowns over evidence.

Gazes follow as you cut through the center of it all. You do your best to ignore the heat working its way up your neck. Once upon a time, a few of the other officers had tried to catch your attention. You’d entertained a few of them. But they were minnows, and you wanted the shark.

You wanted the unapproachable, stone-faced Detective O’Connor.

And you had been the one to catch Agnes, but her fellow officers couldn’t imagine their illustrious Detective not being the one to do the catching. If only they knew how you could have her eating from the palm of your hand.

A swift knock on the open door and you lean against it. She’s exactly as you imagined. Though there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead and her fingers tap on the desk like she can’t sit still.

She doesn’t look up, barking, “I’m busy.”

“I’ll pass this off to one of the other officers then.”

Her head snaps up and you grin. Hanging from one of your fingers is a white takeout bag. The scent of orange chicken and rice permeates the air, but it isn’t what you’re hungry for.

Work forgotten, she looks you up and down, licking her lips. Her fingers twitch on the desk. You clear your throat and she snaps out of whatever daze she’s in. Clearing her own throat, she sits up, tugging on the bottom of her flannel shirt. Your smile widens.

“Close the door behind you.”

Stepping in, you kick it closed with a low, “Yes, Detective.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My job.” You cross to her desk, dropping the takeout bag on top. You’re perched on the edge closest to her. She looks up at you from her chair, lips pursed, tugging on her shirt again, “What kind of wife would I be if I let you go hungry?”

“None of the other guys get lunch delivered personally.”

“None of the other guys are married to me. Do I get a kiss for my troubles?”

Briefly, she looks out into the precinct—not that she can see much with the shades drawn—then back to your lips. Agnes shifts, licking her own, before nodding.

You lean forward and hold onto the chair by one arm, capturing her lips in a rough kiss. Your other hand palms the length you know pulsates between her legs. Upon contact she grunts into your mouth, hips bucking.

Her hand fumbles blindly for your wrist. Catching it in a firm grip, you can feel the tension in her frame as she decides whether to press you closer or shove you away.

Pulling back just enough to smile, “Poor baby. Have you been like this all day?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Detective?” You murmur.

Her breath hitches. Blue eyes so blown out they’re nearly black regard you, her chest rising and falling as she struggles for an even rhythm of breath. You test her grip and find its slackened. The palm of your hand caresses the entire outline of her through her jeans.

Agnes doesn’t push you away, but she doesn’t pull you closer, either. The hand on your wrist allows you enough movement to stroke slowly from base to tip. Every inch of her seems to jump at the whisper of your touch.

Looking into her eyes, you can see how she’s fighting for control. She just can’t find the path to it. Good. You want her like this—panting and desperate. It makes you clench around nothing.

“What have you been imagining all this time?”

She swallows. Clears her throat, “Vidal will be back soon.”

“I can be quick.”

“Anyone… could see.”

“We have a few options. Your favorite is off the table, though.”

The favorite in question being Agnes bending you over the desk and fucking you hard and fast. It’s efficient, allowing her drive in deep while having the benefit of spanking you as she chases her reward. Her cock twitches at the reminder.

She’s tense, taut with energy like she’s only a few strokes from finishing right here. The thought is hot and you want it, bad—but not all dreams can be reality.

“What do we have?” Agnes asks, finally.

“If I crawl under the desk no one would see what I’m doing.” You offer.

Your hand keeps moving. It’s more for yourself than anything; you like feeling her, hard and wanting, yet so restricted, jumping at the slightest bit of attention. A thumb swipes over where you know the head is and she chokes, hips stuttering from what had been a slow roll into your hand.

“Do it.” She demands.

The subtle authority returning to her voice sends a shiver down your spine. One more swipe of your thumb and she keens, before clamping her mouth shut.

You laugh. Waking up this morning, this is the last thing you expected for yourself from the day; but you can’t deny you’re enjoying every second.

“That’s my girl.” You praise.

Bracing to slide off the desk, there’s a knock on Agnes’ closed office door, and disaster strikes.

The knock startles you. You try to turn and look toward the door, but forget just how precarious your seating situation is on the edge of the desk. You lose your balance. You’re able to get your foot under you just enough to fall into Agnes’ lap, rather than onto the cold tile of the office.

Agnes lets out a cross between a harsh breath and a moan as you fall into her. Your back presses firmly to her front.

“Don’t—god, I’m gonna—”

Strong hands settle on your hips to shove you off, but it’s too late. Agnes grunts. Nails dig into your sides as she ruts helplessly against your backside, unloading spurts of cum with every press of her hips.

You freeze in shock.

Then out of habit your hands find hers. With one, you lace your fingers together. With the other you caress her wrist, brushing gently as you turn your head to meet her eyes, careful to keep every inch of your body where she needs you. Her hips tense, stuttering, whimpering as she fights the orgasm that’s ravaging her.

“It’s okay. Let it happen.” You encourage, brushing a finger against her inner wrist. A war is waging over her face as she’s caught between desire and shame. Desire must win out. Agnes movements pick up speed as she furiously grinds up against you, and you can’t help the praise that falls from your lips, “That’s it.”

Now that she’s given in, she can’t stop, the hands on your hips clenching as she presses closer, harder with every thrust, powerless to the desire she can’t stop shooting. A wounded noise leaves her throat. You empathize; you know well how getting what you want can quickly move into pained-pleasure, when your body just keeps giving and giving.

Agnes’ expression is pained, laced with helplessness to her pleasure. Her eyes don’t leave your own as she rides out the waves. You try to sit still, letting her take what she needs. She allows you to watch every twitch of her expression, hear every noise she lets slip—it’s an act of trust that overwhelms. Lifting a hand to her cheek, you wipe at the perspiration there.

Eventually, she relaxes into the seat, her hips stopping in their frantic search for friction. Her eyes slip closed and you watch her breathe.

You’re eternally grateful that whoever knocked didn’t barge in right after; there is no way you’d have been able to talk your way around what was happening. It’s a mercy that Agnes rarely shuts her office door—now that she has, everyone understands something important is going on.

Running a finger along her cheekbone, you whisper, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” She growls.

“Given the mess you just made, I’d say you’re on cloud nine.” You tease.

With a sudden show of strength, you’re shoved into a standing position. You turn to take in the weight of Agnes’ glare.

Agnes snarls, “Fuck you.”

“You could have… if you had a little self control.”

Your eyes fall to her lap for emphasis, the evidence of her desire stark against the front of her jeans. Her hands clench on the arm-rests. Blood has rushed to her face, painting her features in red hues that betray her forced calm.

The sight of her so humiliated is doing it for you; and you can see that she sees, regarding you with a loaded, wary look. It will take no shortage of negotiation, but you will be revisiting this again.

You open the take out bag and pluck out the napkins near the bottom. Carefully, you wipe them over the planes of her face, soaking up the sweat that had been clinging to her skin. Agnes doesn’t meet your eye.

“Agnes.” Waiting until she locks eyes with you, “It’s okay.”

She scoffs, “I came in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“And it was hot.”

“You’re really something else, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware. I also know that you love me for it.”

Agnes rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

“Careful, O’Connor, I can still give this lunch away to one of your coworkers.”

The bag is promptly snatched from your reach. You laugh.

Now that she’s standing, you breathe a sigh of relief; her flannel is long, perfectly hiding the evidence of your activities from the world. You just hope no one outside was looking in too closely.

Desire rears its head at the thought. You need to get out of here before you do something that’ll get you both caught.

You lean up and steal a kiss, “Enjoy your lunch, baby.”

When you open the door to leave, you come face-to-face with Agent Rio Vidal holding two cups of coffee in her hands. You startle and she raises her brows at seeing you.

“Agent Vidal.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sweetheart, or I would’ve bought an extra coffee.”

“That’s okay, I was just bringing Agnes something to eat.”

“Take mine.” The coffee cup is held between the two of you. You can see the faint mark of her lipstick on the lid as she leans in, “I don’t need the extra caffeine anyway.”

“Keep it, Vidal. She can have mine.”

You turn so you can take in both of them. Vidal is relaxed, posture brimming with a quiet confidence while Agnes is tense, staring at the two of you like she could throw something—and she would, if she didn’t think it’d encourage the former somehow.

Agnes has always been… odd around Vidal; moreso than the normal awkwardness between two exes. And Vidal has never been subtle with her interest in poking Agnes’ nerves.

Whatever it is, you’re going to use it and see where it takes you.

You accept the offered cup of coffee, making deliberate eye contact with Agnes as you take a long sip. A latte—thank god, Agnes’ black drip would’ve made you gag.

“Thanks for the coffee.” You murmur low. Then you throw your wife a smile, ignoring the promise of pain in her eyes, “See you at home, Agnes.”

—

Coming home you’re delighted to find a few last-minute packages on the porch. Carrying them in, one shifts heavily in your arms, and you know immediately what it is; one of the speakers in Agnes’ car crapped out on her a few months back, so the passenger-side only spits out static where there should be music—or the sports broadcasts, in your wife’s case; you bought her a new stereo system so she wouldn’t have to ‘make do’ anymore.

There’s also a few new shirts, a nice leather belt, and a watch she’d been eyeing but wasn’t willing to buy for herself. You wrap all of them with a smile on your face and slide them under the tree.

The busy work of it all eases the tension in your shoulders and some of the arousal between your legs. There’s a lingering peace in every corner of your home. It’s quiet, barring the music playing from the kitchen, casting a nostalgic glow over you where the lights seem just a little warmer.

You sit down on the couch and take it all in. Ornaments wobble on branches, glittering and winking at you as they twist. There’s a garland draped over the fireplace with dancing lights; you feel warmer inside when you remember how Agnes helped you set it up, shaking her head at your excitement.

With the bustle of the season, you’ve forgotten to take time like this to stop and let it sink in. So many spend Christmas alone, hungry, without a place to go. You don’t have to. You have a wife who will spend every second with you in the warmth of your home. Tears prick your eyes.

You fall asleep on the couch with that warm feeling in your chest.

—

The scent of garlic and butter tickles your nose. You snap awake.

Did you leave the stove on?

You shoot up from the couch and throw off the blanket you don’t remember grabbing. It falls to your feet, twisting in your ankles, and you do all you can not to fall face-first onto the floor. How long have you been asleep?

Wait. Did you even put anything on to cook?

Agnes’ flannel-clad back greets you when you round the corner. A sigh leaves you. One hand settles over your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow to a normal pattern. It all comes back to you; wrapping gifts, sitting down to enjoy the quiet, intending to get up and start dinner afterward.

You step into the kitchen and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, forehead resting between her shoulder blades. A hand lifts your own so she can press a kiss on the back.

“How was work?” You ask, voice muffled by her shirt.

“A waste of time.” She answers. Her form shifts, one shoulder tensing as she stirs what sits on the stove, “It could’ve waited until after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Vidal’s a workaholic and fails to realize the rest of us aren’t.”

“You are most of the year.”

Agnes grunts noncommittally, “What trouble did you get into?”

“Wrapped a few gifts, took a nap. I’m surprised some of your guys weren’t beating down my door with how rowdy I was being.”

“Chief would’ve just sent me to handle you.”

“I’d like that… you, handling me…” You murmur, hand moving down her front with intent.

A strong, veined hand grabs your own. She forces it back to its former resting place. You keep your hand where it is directed. The haven you’ve found nuzzled against her back—surrounded by the scent of her cologne and the heat of her—is just as inviting as anything more salacious could be.

Something bubbles and pops on the stove. Agnes jolts, before relaxing. You drag yourself from your haven to look over her shoulder; a pan of sauce is stirred on one burner, boiling pasta churning away on another. Simple, but hearty.

You press a kiss to the skin you can reach, just behind her ear, “You’re getting better.”

Before, her dinner of choice would’ve been a canister of peanuts, maybe a microwave dinner.

“Don’t say anything until you’ve tasted it.”

“I’ll do what I want.” You answer.

“Don’t I know it.”

Jabbing her side with a finger until she cracks a grin, “Let me taste, so I can tell you how amazing it is.”

The wooden spoon is lifted from the sauce and over her shoulder to your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, immediately lulled further into bliss by the combination of onion, garlic, and tomato.

“Agnes, that is delicious.”

Her brows raise. With a flourish, she allows herself a taste.

“You love to stroke my ego.” She says in that self-deprecating tone you know well.

Your hand and mouth move before you think, “That’s not the only part of you I like to stroke.”

Whether by a lapse in understanding or simply because she lets you, your hand finds its mark before Agnes can stop it. The full width of your hand presses at the apex of her thighs. Your mouth drops open.

Agnes is painfully erect for the second time today with little work on your part.

She drops the spoon against the pan and removes your hand again, blunt nails biting into your skin in the way you like. You don’t react, still reeling from the information you’ve gleaned. Agnes libido isn’t what it once was—a reality of age—even if she’s like a well kept oldsmobile; capable of going the distance and then some once you get her properly started. But you’ve done very little in the way of actually getting her started since visiting the office.

“What on earth have you been up to today?” You ask, breathless.

“Don’t start.”

“I’d say you’re well past the starting point, given what I just felt.” A laugh escapes, then you pause, “You didn’t…”

Agnes curious gaze meets yours over her shoulder. Understanding dawns, along with indignation, “Of course not.”

“Needing a little extra help is normal.”

“This is all your doing.” She snaps, “Go sit down.”

“If it’s all my doing, you should let me fix it.” You coo.

In a sudden burst of movement, Agnes is out of your arms, sauce and pasta left behind on the stove. You blink. Did something happen at work? Have you hit a nerve?

She crosses the space to the kitchen table. The chair at the head of the table, facing the stove, is yanked from its resting place. You wince as it shrieks against the floor. But she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, turning the chair and meeting your eyes with a hard look, pointing.

“Sit.”

You move without thinking. There’s a subtle note of steel beneath the command that sends you into submission on instinct, like a pet might jump to obey their owner. The thought doesn’t chafe today; you want to be good, you want to obey.

Plopping down into the seat, hands settle on your shoulders. Agnes growls in your ear, “Stay.”

And you do.

As she finishes dinner, moving the pasta into the sauce with an unsure—but successful—flourish. As she nearly burns herself cutting the garlic bread fresh out of the oven. As she casts quick, dark glances your way every few minutes, as if having to make sure you’re where she left you.

You are the picture of poise and obedience, fighting every desperate urge for nearness to follow her command. But the longer she takes the harder it becomes. Hands settled on your thighs, your fingers scratch anxiously at the fabric of your pants, helpless and without any other way to expel this building energy.

“Agnes.” You whine.

“Quiet.”

It takes ages before she approaches you. She takes her sweet time putting dinner on plates, making it pretty in a way you know is just to drive you crazy; she doesn’t give two fucks about whether or not something looks nice as long as it tastes good.

Dinner is brought over to the table, but you tilt your head. Agnes only brought one plate.

“Up.” She commands, “You’re in my seat.”

You stand. Reaching for the chair next to hers, a hand on the back stops you from pulling it out. There’s the deep sound of porcelain meeting the wood of the table. As she leans around you, the scent of her cologne makes you dizzy.

Agnes snaps her fingers. You jolt, snapping back into your own mind. She points to the floor and your brows furrow. Then, it clicks, and your face grows warm.

You sink to your knees in front of Agnes’ chair as she sits in it.

“I can guess what a perp is going to do just by the way they sit in interrogation.” Agnes drawls, idly tapping her knee as her mind works, “But you… I can never guess how you’re going to act. Look at you now, all good and obedient for me, when you were acting like a whore in my office today.”

So caught up in the dizzying feeling of submission, you’ve been oblivious to the weight of your own desire. Agnes’ words change that in an instant. There’s a needy, pulsing beat between your legs, and you clench your thighs together in an attempt to help yourself. It doesn’t work.

“You started it.” You say, breathless.

You can’t breathe around your desire for her. Oxygen is a secondary need to the feel of her, whether she’s buried deep inside or grazing her fingers over your flesh; you want her and it hurts. But you keep your hands on the tops of your thighs.

Agnes chuckles. It’s a low, rolling thing. Agnes’ usual response to amusement is to grin, maybe even shake her head and scoff—laughter is a rare thing, aged and cultivated until it’s amber laced with smoke over your senses. You feel the heat of it. The intoxication it brings is warm, a weight settling comfortingly over the shoulders.

“I’m collecting on your offer from earlier.”

And with that, her thighs part, and you surge forward without being told. Her belt is unbuckled in one fell swoop. You moan, unable to help yourself, needy for the feel of her skin, to taste.

A testament to the overwhelm of your desire that the concept of toying with her again does not cross your mind. Your hand finds the desperate length of her cock, exposing it to the cool air.

It stands proud, tip flushed and leaking, veins stark against the fair skin. You pant. With single-focus, you lean forward.

An equally fair hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to Agnes’, “How many taps?”

You blink. You’re buried beneath desire, mind clawing its way to the surface.

“T-Three.”

Agnes nods and you’re free.

The first thing you do with your newfound freedom is flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe up the length of her. The hand on your jaw goes slack in surprise, Agnes’ hips jumping. A groan echoes through the room.

You circle your tongue over the tip, drinking in her taste and the sounds falling from her lips. It’s heady, making the room fuzzy around the edges.

Submission brings with it a strange feeling of power. You’re doing as she bids, being good, but every sound and reaction coming from her is real; the truest manifestation of how well you’re doing to please her.

The world falls away. Your head feels floaty, strangely empty despite the manuevers you’re employing with your mouth. You don’t need words, you don’t need thoughts, you just need to offer Agnes whatever she wants.

Which you do by taking her cock in your mouth until she hits the back of your throat.

A thud sounds from her hand slamming on the tabletop, scrambling for something to grip as she chokes out, “Fuck!”

You do all you can to repress your gag reflex, forcing yourself to just relax everytime she hits the back of your throat. Agnes has her head thrown back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she pants, whimpering with every movement of your tongue and mouth.

Through it all, her hand remains on the side of your face, a careful guide. You can’t help the hand that sneaks under your skirt; Agnes is shaking with tension, begging to let go and chase her pleasure at your expense, but she’s holding herself back and guiding you through taking her in the way that would do the least harm.

You moan. Agnes’ cock twitches in your mouth and she matches your moan, a semblance of that control slipping with a particularly rough thrust. You gag, tears forming in your eyes.

The hand between your thighs shakes, fumbling for your clit while focusing on what really matters. You’re so wet there’s barely any friction.

You want Agnes to make you gag again. You want her to push into you and take what she wants until you’re crying.

Looking up, you try to will all of that thought and intent into your eyes, but Agnes’ are closed.

You whine.

Blue eyes regard you from beneath drooping lids. You will one thought into your mind and one thought only; use me.

Agnes swallows. The pad of a thumb runs under your eye, collecting some of the wetness there as if to say are you sure? In answer, you take as much of her as you can physically manage, eyes meeting her own the whole time.

Her restraint snaps.

Agnes’ hand travels to the back of your head, her hips moving faster and firmer than you can comprehend. She takes over completely; driving into you for what she needs, making you gag obscenely, without a thought in the world for if it is too much.

Not having to make choices allows you to focus on obtaining your own pleasure. With every tear she forces from your eyes, you swipe over the pulsating bud of your clit. You can feel your own orgasm building low in your gut.

“I’m going to cum.” Agnes groans.

Delight shoots through you. She’s going to cum and it’s because of you; because you were good and gave her everything she needs. It feels amazing.

Why, then, do you pull off and out of reach?

Agnes growls. You blink.

Words. There are words to go with the desire you feel. You close your eyes, searching for them, mentally scrambling at the edges until you can wrap your hands around them and their meaning.

“Can I…” You start, voice rough from the beating your throat has taken, “Can I ride you?”

Agnes makes quite the scene; splayed open on the dining room chair, hair a mess and eyes blown out, cock twitching and needy through the fly of the jeans she ruined only a few hours ago. You clench.

Agnes licks her lips, “Yeah, alright.”

You stand on shaking legs and Agnes holds up a hand, stopping you as she lifts her hips and fumbles in her back pocket. She obtains her wallet and rifles through until she locates a small foil wrapper.

It’s safer, you know. You’ve used one almost every other time for the duration of your marriage.

“Agnes.”

The woman in question pauses before opening the condom. Her brow pops up in an unspoken question.

The words are instinct, comprehensive thought still far away, “I want you to cum inside me.”

Outside, the world rages on. Westview residents race down the street, returning home from last minute errands, gifts in tow that they’ll have to sneak inside. The wind is kicking up and through the trees as snow grows closer with every second.

And then there is you and Agnes, tucked in the warmth of your home, caught in the weight of your words. Stopped in the face of the potential consequences.

Agnes throws the unopened condom on the kitchen table.

“Then come here.”

You stand with your legs on either side of her own, steadying yourself on her shoulders. One steady hand settles on your hip. The other pushes your panties aside and aligns her to your entrance as you lower into her lap.

You could take her in one motion with how wet you are. Yet, Agnes keeps your descent slow, careful. She watches your face with every inch you take—same as you watch hers.

Agnes’ chest is heaving, eyes dark and stormy, face pinched in concentration. She’s the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. You clench around her and her hands tighten on your waist.

“Sorry.” You murmur, out of habit.

Agnes raises a brow, but doesn’t respond, helping you down the last few inches. When you settle fully in her lap you let out the breath you’d been holding.

One hand sneaks under your skirt to trace shapes on the bare flesh of your hip.

“You pulled an interesting stunt with Vidal today.” Agnes says. The hand on your hip tightens, “I’m not so sure I should reward your behavior.”

“Then why let me…”

“Why deny myself just because you’re acting like a brat?”

There’s a small testing thrust of her hips. You clench. She groans, head falling back against the chair. You whimper. Trying to move your own hips, eager for what you’ve been denied, you find yourself held in place.

That’s not fair. All day she’s been teasing you, driving you to the edge of what you want—what you need, just to deny you.

“You started it.” You whine, trying to move your hips again, still finding yourself held stationary as she leisurely thrusts up, “You woke me up and got me all bothered, it’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, baby.”

“Please.” You whine, “It’s not my fault, please.”

Muscles in her arms tremble as she lifts you slightly before sinking you back down onto her. The fullness makes your toes curl but it isn’t enough.

“Calling me at work and getting me worked up wasn’t your fault?”

“…No.”

Agnes laughs, “If you’re going to lie, you could at least be convincing.”

You won’t win this fight by playing fair, not when Agnes is clearly uninterested in fairness.

“You… You feel so good. Can’t think properly.” You breathe, moaning a bit more than comes naturally, “I’m so full of you.”

The thrust of her is uneven. She stops moving you completely and you fight down a grin.

You press a hand between your bodies, applying pressure to your lower stomach as she continues to thrust, subtly picking up speed. Her pants are growing louder, a wheeze leaving her mouth when you press.

“That’s you.” You murmur, leaning forward and ghosting over her lips, tracing the bridge of her nose with the tip of your own. You press harder and enjoy the way she groans, “Nobody has ever been as deep inside me as you.”

“Fuck.” She snarls.

You’re pushed up again, suddenly empty, and whine, blinking at the change. But then her strong hands are on your hips and spinning you around.

Your front is pressed against the table, bent so your cheek rests on the top of it. The texture of her jeans is rough against the back of your thighs as she lines herself and fills you in one thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry.

Agnes sets a brutal pace, chasing that which only you can offer. Every thrust has her cock brushing that perfect spot inside you and you lose control of whatever sounds you’re making.

“Is this what you wanted?” Agnes snarls in your ear, “For me to leave work and fuck you like some bitch in heat?”

“Yes!”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“No, Agnes, please!”

“Hold it.” She orders.

With every move she makes, you do all you can to ignore the pleasure, to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s somewhat possible when it’s only her cock. But then she leans down and starts toying with your clit and you cry out, fighting not to roll your hips against them.

You want what you’ve been chasing all day, but you still want to be good. You’re her good girl, aren’t you? You have to keep being good even if it hurts.

So, you hold your orgasm at bay, while Agnes chases her own. Judging by the uneven rhythm of her hips it won’t take long.

“Please let me come, Agnes. Please.” You beg.

“Why should I?”

“I’ll give you anything—anything! Please, my love!”

“Anything, huh?”

The tone of her voice is low, dangerous. Layered with a rasp that nearly undoes you.

If she doesn’t let up, it doesn’t matter how good you are; you’re going to cum.

“Anything!”

Agnes phone is slammed down on the table right beside your head. It isn’t on, but you have the sinking feeling that you’ve just landed yourself into something far worse than expected.

Her thrusts stop, but she keeps a light, teasing pressure that grazes your clit just enough to keep you engaged without getting you off.

It is torture. And the silence building as you stare down the upturned cell phone is only making it worse.

“I’m going to make a call and turn on the speaker. Then, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to let whoever is on the phone hear you as I make you cum.”

The weight of it is like a lead weight of nerves in your stomach, “But—“

“If you want to act like a whore you’re going to be treated like one.” She snarls, then her tone grows softer, “Yes or no, angel?”

Whoever she calls and puts on the line, you’ll never be able to look in the eye again. But you’re so full and eager that you don’t truly care at this point.

Besides, it’s Christmas Eve, maybe everyone will be too busy to pick up.

“Yes.”

A harsh thrust that forces the air from your lungs, then her lips are next to your ear, breath hot, “That’s my girl.”

The echo of your own words from earlier make your toes curl. Her phone is snatched from the table and she continues to toy with your clit as she makes the call.

It rings… and rings… and rings…

Faintly, you hear the line connect, and you gasp.

You can’t make out who the voice belongs to, but you hear a faint, “Yeah?”

Agnes barks down the line, “Don’t say a word.”

The bang! as her phone hits the table again makes you jump, a small shriek leaving your lips. It wobbles. Faintly, you’re impressed she hasn’t broken the thing with how she abuses it.

A long finger slams down on the speaker button and as the phone tilts slightly, you read the name on the screen, and your eyes widen.

Vidal.

Before you can say a word, though, Agnes is back to work. Something in the action of being heard has made her more aggressive. You swear you can feel the bruises forming on your hips where she grabs, leveraging you for every single thrust.

You try to choke down your moans and whimpers, not wanting Agent Vidal to hear you like this, but Agnes won’t stand for it; one hand grabs your jaw and pries your mouth open.

She pushes in to the hilt and you let out a shrieking moan.

“You were so talkative before. Have you lost your nerve?”

“I—please—“

“Calling me this morning and getting me worked up, teasing me in the office, in the kitchen… and incapable of handling your punishment.”

“I’m sorry, Agnes. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Use me. I want—I need you to fuck me until I can’t remember being without you—I need you to fuck me until you cum inside and make me yours forever—please!”

The knowledge that every word from your mouth is being heard by someone else is not forgotten, but you’ve been pushed beyond caring. Agnes is intent on making you beg for what you want and you want it bad.

Agnes’ fingers and cock alternate stimulating you. If her fingers are working, her hips aren’t—and vice versa. You’re frankly astonished she’s been able to last so long because you’re teetering on the edge of pleasure at the barest contact.

But her will has always been steel. And she wants to see you humiliated.

The hand on your clit slides to your lower stomach and presses, mimicking your own actions only minutes before, “When I knock you up, you’re going to feel it right here.”

Something inside you snaps. You wail.

Agnes’ hips are moving at a clip, every inch of her rubbing where you need, setting you alight from within. Her hand doesn’t move. The faster she goes, the deeper she drives, her hips begin to lose their rhythm.

Any words devolve into animalistic grunts as she ruts into you, mouth alternating between kissing and biting at your neck from behind.

You’re so fucking close. If she denies you now, you think you might die.

“Let me cum, Agnes, please—pretty please—I’ll be your good girl, please, I’ll be so good. Let me cum and fill me up, it’s all I want—“

Through gritted teeth, “Go on then.”

Something inside you snaps.

The command is exactly what you need. Your entire body clenches so tight you fear you may never relax again. You lose track of what noises leave your mouth, you think you may even lose consciousness for a few moments.

All you know when you come to is that your throat is raw and Agnes is driving into you, choking out in your ear, “Gonna cum—“

Her hips meet your own at full force and don’t pull back, remaining, pulsing forward as if she can’t get close enough. Every spasm of her cock paints your insides with her desire, marking you as hers. Agnes holds your hips as she presses in with every twitch, struggling to breathe.

Weakly, you reach a hand back to tangle in her hair. Your throat aches, “That’s it, baby. Fill me.”

A groan. Another rough twitch.

It reaches a point where the pressure ebbs. She remains, but she’s not twitching anymore, nor is she fighting to become one with you. There’s only the sound of your breathing in the room.

Agnes moves to straighten and pull out, but you whine, reaching back to grab whatever part of her you can reach.

“Stay.” You whisper.

She pauses.

A hand gently caresses along your spine, “You can’t stay like this, angel.”

“Just let me feel you a little longer.”

There’s a comfort in the fullness; in the knowledge that Agnes is the only woman who can provide this for you. That she even wants to.

It’s all a blur beyond that.

Eventually, you can’t stand being bent over on the table anymore, even if you never want to be without the feeling of Agnes inside you. The call with Vidal is disconnected at some point. You and your wife move slowly, hand in hand, up to your bedroom.

You gently shove her onto the bed while grabbing damp washcloths. Neither of you can stand a shower at this point.

The two of you take your time, being careful to mind the sore spots. You lean slightly into Agnes as you wipe some of the sweat from her flesh.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur, kissing the underside of her jaw, “Thank you, my love.”

“Consider it an early Christmas gift, angel.”

You tamp down on the urge to say something sappy for her to scoff at. Instead, you guide her down and kiss her, soft and slow.

[ofbatsandballads]

kindness you can’t afford

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: injured character, multiple descriptions of blood + wounds

a/n: so this is the very first jason fic I’ve written since I was twelve, so forgive me while I find my jay’s voice now that I’m not a preteen. anyways I humbly offer thee my wares.

divider credit: cafekitsune

Gotham’s a shithole. You hadn’t known that when you first moved here. To be honest, you’d kind of thrown a dart at a map and gone where it landed. Alright, maybe it wasn’t literally a dart throw, more so finding the cheapest metropolitan city because New York was tempting but it would bankrupt you. Mostly you just wanted a place to not exist. And so Gotham’s relatively low rent rates and towering skylines were the pick with little to no research.

Gotham’s a shithole. You know that beyond a shadow of a doubt now. It’s surprising, honestly, how little of Gotham’s chaos makes it outside the city limits. One would think a psychotic killer clown that’s prone to gassing a whole city district or a half-plant poison lady or a guy going around dressed like a bat would make national news. And yet, no. You’d known superheroes existed, of course. Superman was the shining jewel in the crown of the country that is Metropolis. Everyone knows about the extraordinary Wonder Woman. It’s not like hyper skilled people working for the greater good aren’t a thing. But Gotham plays her cards close to her chest.

You've lived here almost two years now and you’ve managed to make it through relatively unscathed. An impressive feat especially since you live in the Bowery. The Bowery itself isn’t so bad, but its neighboring district Park Row, more often known as Crime Alley, is about the worst Gotham has to offer. You’ve heard your fair share of gunshots and sirens, and you’ll never forget the time that Scarecrow released fear toxin in the district and you had to shove every towel and blanket you owned against the cracks by the doors and windows to keep it out. However, you’ve avoided being mugged or assaulted or anything like that so far. And you’ve never encountered the vigilantes that run the night here.

But there’s always time for new and exciting experiences.

The loud thunk that sounds outside your living room window makes you jump and starts your heart pounding. You know you should just ignore it. Crawl off the couch and to the bedroom, lock the door. The lights in the apartment are already off, only the television light illuminating the room, so it would be easy to creep unseen. But you can’t. Something pulls you to the window. Maybe it’s the cat killing curiosity, or maybe it’s your own little voice of self destruction, or maybe it’s something else entirely. All you know is that you have to go look.

So you do. And there, out cold on the fire escape, is a man. A very large man. A very large man in a red helmet. A very large man in a red helmet with dual pistols holstered to his thighs. Red Hood. Red Hood is passed out face up on your fire escape. Huh.

You’d heard of him. It was hard not to. The Bat had the most notoriety by far, but it was Red Hood that truly scared the criminals of Gotham. Batman might break your bones, cripple you even, but you’d leave with your life. No such guarantee existed if you crossed Red Hood. Hurt a few innocent people and you might end up with a bullet or three in your skull. Then there was that thing about heads in a duffel bag and Red Hood running crime for a solid year in Gotham, but he’s better now, apparently. None of this is deterring you from unlocking the window, pushing it up, and stepping out into the cold winter air. Not when you see the blood seeping through his body armor start to drip off the fire escape grate.

He needs help and he can’t stay unconscious in the middle of the city. If whoever injured him didn’t find him, the cops would. He’s just as wanted as the actual rogues of Gotham. You think it’s bullshit, which is why you’re trying to find a way to get him inside the safety of your apartment. He’s huge up close. This is going to be very, very difficult. Your mind flashes suddenly to one of your favorite childhood movies and how the princess pulled the dashing rogue around with her hair. You glance down at the street before heading to your bedroom.

You come back out with sheets bundled up in your arms. You’re not even sure if this harebrained idea will work, but you weave the sheets through the gaps in the grates and around Red Hood’s waist nonetheless. You secure a knot and go back into your apartment with the length of the sheets. Your legs are stronger than your arms, so you brace them against the wall and pull. You can feel his body slowly dragging towards you and you pause to check your progress. He’s slumped against the window now. Good. You loop your arms under his, place your feet back against the wall, and pull hard. Your hard work is rewarded with his body breaching the threshold of your window and landing directly on top of you. The air is knocked clean out of your lungs. He is heavy.

It’s a struggle but you manage to roll out from under him and immediately see the massive red stain contrasting against the white of your fluffy pajama pants. A small puddle of blood is emerging on your floor under his left thigh, and droplets of blood have splattered next to his torso. He’s not in great shape. It suddenly hits you what you’ve done. You dragged an injured vigilante, known for shooting first and asking questions later, into your apartment with no plan on what to do after the fact.

What the fuck did I do?

That’s all you can think as you look down at him. Then something snaps into place inside your rattled mind and you run to your bathroom to grab your first aid kit. You’d bought it and learned the basics after Wayne Enterprises ran televised infomercials about the importance of first aid a couple months back. You’re carefully balancing all the supplies in your arms as you head back out to the living room.

The empty living room. No vigilante in sight. Then your world spins. Everything clatters to the floor as you’re yanked backwards by your waist, pinned to something solid and unable to move.

“Who are you?” A growl sounds behind you, modulated to sound semi-mechanical.

Ah. There he is. You think you should be panicking, absolutely losing your shit even. But your brain is moving in slow motion.

“Someone trying to help you,” you breathe out.

“Doesn’t answer the question.”

The grip around your waist tightens. You want to laugh. As if you could’ve made a run for it in the first place. You tell him your name, and explain that you live alone. There’s no one else here but the two of you and you really do want to help.

“You were passed out on my fire escape. I couldn’t just leave you out there,” you explain cautiously.

The two of you stay like that for a minute longer. Then, a mechanical sigh sounds from behind you and the vice grip on your waist goes slack. You turn to him and see that he’s already halfway to your window.

“Hey! Wait! I can help!” you shout, scrambling after him.

“Don’t need it,” he snaps.

“You were bleeding out on my floor!” you exclaim.

You don’t know why you feel so strongly about this. Maybe because he seemed so…mortal. It’s easy to forget that these guys running around at night are people. They’re strong, tough, and capable, but they’re still human. The fact that he stumbles and has to catch himself on the window frame proves your point.

“Please. I promise I won’t take long. Please just let me help,” you beg.

He turns around and even through that unreadable helmet you can tell he’s sizing you up. You’re sure you must be a sight in your fuzzy white cat pajama pants, old Snoopy t-shirt, and fluffy white socks. Honestly, it’s a bit of a ridiculous tableau. Massive armed man in tactical gear opposite a woman in fluffy pajamas, both bloodstained. But either you seem harmless enough or he’s in exceptionally bad shape, because he just slumps against your wall and gives a barely noticeable nod of his head.

You go into autopilot the second you get his consent. A dining room chair is dragged to the center of your living room and Red Hood drops himself into it, the old wood creaking under the force. You go to assess the damage on his torso first. Light slashes litter his waist, none of them are deep enough for stitches. You grab the rubbing alcohol and cotton balls from the floor where you kneel before warning him that it might sting.

“I got slashed. Think that might’ve hurt a bit more,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

The torso slashes are light work. It takes all of five minutes to disinfect them and seal them shut with bandages. It’s his thigh that you’re a little more concerned about. There’s enough blood that it’s soaked his tactical pants around where you’re guessing the wound is. You can vaguely make out what appears to be cut fabric, so you’re assuming he was stabbed.

“How deep did the knife go?” you ask.

“Hm. ‘Bout two inches?” he offers.

“Why’d you take it out?” you ask incredulously. Anyone with half a brain knew not to take a knife out of a stab wound.

“No idea. Should’ve just gone runnin’ around the city with a knife wedged in my leg.”

The mask’s modulator does nothing to hide the teasing edge to his voice. Of everything you’d heard about Red Hood, you’d never heard he was such a smartass.

“You know how to do stitches?” he asks.

Great. So he saw the deer-in-headlights look you had while thinking about how to fix his stab wound.

“If you count mending clothing then, uh, sure,” you reply.

The white slits of the helmet stare hard at you before a warped chuckle comes from under it.

“Well, close enough.”

Oh, so he liked to gamble with his health then. Okay. Sure. Great. You could totally do this. Untrained, unlicensed, unsupervised you. You have to stop your hands from shaking as you thread the curved needle. You have to stop yourself from vomiting with anxiety as you push the needle through his skin. He hisses and you immediately feel bad. He’d handled the alcohol without flinching, but the stitches were a different story. You whisper sorry’s with every puncture of his skin you make. Soon enough, his leg is closed up and the whole thing is said and done.

“Okay, should be good to go,” you start, “Well, not good per se, but functional to go.”

A hum and a quick nod of his head are the only response you get before he’s back on his feet. He’s about to climb out your window for the second time tonight when you call out to him again. He turns around and you’d swear he almost seems exasperated.

“Take these with you. You’ll probably need them,” you say as you toss him a water bottle and a small carton of orange juice.

He snatches them easily from the air. But then he just stands there and stares at the drinks in his hands. You think you may have somehow offended him and go to apologize when he speaks.

“Thanks,” he says, mechanical voice catching on the word.

And then he’s gone. Out your window and off into the night. Once you shut and lock the window you feel exhaustion hit you like a freight train. All the adrenaline drains from you and it takes whatever energy you have left to collapse on to your bed and drift off to sleep.

You’ll never know it, but the Red Hood spends the last fifteen minutes of his patrol sipping his orange juice and dutifully watching your apartment window.

You’ll never know it, but Jason Todd lingers across the street to make sure you get home from the grocery store safely, and he scoffs as he sees you feed and pet a stray dog. It’s silly, he thinks.

Don’t you know that now you’ve shown it some kindness, it’ll just keep coming back?

[ink-perfect]

short n sweet ⋆. @chibinasuu

you weren’t nosy. 

not usually, anyway.

but as you passed the galley of the thousand sunny on your way to grab a drink, the sound of sanji’s voice brought your steps to a halt. something about his tone—eerily calm, stripped of its usual flirtatious cadence—became a mystery so intriguing you just had to put your ear to the door.

“i’ve been wanting to say this for a while…” his voice was low, a murmur wrapped in something you couldn’t quite identify, yet it slipped under your skin with ease. an involuntary shiver made its way down your spine, as though he were right behind you, leaning in to breathe them directly into your ear.

but of course, he wasn’t. and what you were doing right now was wrong, on so many levels.

you made the move to walk away as his muffled words went on, but you soon realised you just couldn’t. you almost felt magnetised, your questions pulling you in despite every other rational thought running through your head.

cause after all, what was the saying? curiosity only killed that one cat?

something like that, yeah.

so, you slowly cracked the door open just enough to sneak a peek. the view wasn’t perfect—sanji’s back was to you, his lean frame managing to block whoever he might be talking to. still, the scene in front of you told its own story. one hand gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white, as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded. his shoulders were slightly hunched, carrying that telltale tension you’d come to recognise as his overthinking posture. 

man, what could possibly have him so worked up?

“you just…mean so much to me,” he spoke, voice clearer and softer than you’d ever heard it. slowly, he raked his fingers through his hair, sucking in a measured breath. “and i can’t hold this in any longer.”

oh shit.

was sanji confessing?

the thought sent a shooting pain right through your chest. you threw away all subtleties, craning your neck in every angle to get a better vantage point as your mind raced at a mile a minute. who could he possibly be talking to that meant “so much” to him…

not that you were jealous or anything.

“i think about you all the time.” he continued, each word coated with a sweetness that could very well make sugar seem bitter in comparison. “the way you bring people together, the way you laugh at all my jokes. i…i feel as if the whole world slows down when you’re around.”

i mean, it was sanji. he flirted with everyone, right? it was his thing. surely this was just one of those times, and it really wasn’t that deep. surely.

“and honestly? i think i might…” he trailed off. your eyes darted back and forth in the sliver of view you had, heart pounding as if it was silently urging, no begging, him to continue.

“...i think i might love you.”

scratch that. 

it was that deep. 

sanji was in love.

the idea hit harder than it should have. you’d spent so long brushing off his antics, telling yourself his charm was everyone’s to share. but now that he wasn’t performing, the vulnerable edge to his voice made it clear: whoever he was talking to truly mattered to him like no other. and the fact that it wasn’t you upset you a lot more than you’d thought.

the ache in your chest twisted into something unbearable, and before you could stop yourself, you fully pushed the door open, stepping into the room. sanji whipped around, startled, his golden hair slightly falling into his eyes as he made way for you to see who he had been speaking to. and as you followed your line of sight, your gaze fell to…

a steaming pot of soup?

you blinked. “sanji, are you…confessing to soup?”

the colour drained from his face before rushing back tenfold. “uh, love...just how long have you been listening?!”

“long enough,” you replied, stepping into the room as your shoulders lightened with something close to relief. you then crossed your arms, trying not to grin too big. “so… is it a mutual thing, or do you think soup prefers to keep it professional?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, his cheeks blazing. “i wasn’t confessing to the soup, okay? i was just…practicing.”

you blinked, the tension in your chest loosening just enough to let out a shaky laugh. “practicing?” you repeated, your lips curling into a teasing smile despite the confusion still muddling your thoughts. “for what, exactly?”

sanji shifted, his posture tense but uncertain, vulnerability radiating from him in waves. his hand moved to the back of his neck, ruffling his golden locks in yet another rare gesture of nervousness you recognised. the confident chef, always so suave, now looked almost fragile under the weight of his own words.

“for you,” he admitted at last, the words barely above a whisper.

time seemed to stop, the weight of his confession crashing into you like a tidal wave. “me?” you managed to get out, voice trembling.

“yes, you,” he repeated, stronger this time, his gaze locking into yours. his blue eyes were raw, unguarded, brimming with emotion that made it impossible to look away. “i’ve been wanting to tell you for so long, you don’t even know.”

his words hung in the air between you, your chest tightening as you thought about his confession over and over.

sanji had been practicing. for you.

slowly, deliberately, you stepped closer, making sanji's eyes widen with a mix of nerves and intrigue. before he could speak, however, you brought your hands to his face, fingers softly brushing the edge of his jaw. his breath hitched as you tilted his head, shifting his gaze from the soup up close to you.

“now,” you murmured, voice low and steady, your smirk curling into something softer, “let’s try that again, shall we?”

© 𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓; est 2024.

[lynnuvo]

Puppy Love ( ૮ ˶ˆ ﻌ ˆ˶ ა )

Characters: Monoma Neito x Female (Y/N)

How you managed to grow attracted to the loud, arrogant mascot of Class 1B is a mystery to your peers. This is so to even yourself, though you chalked it up to a "curiosity killed the cat" scenario. Over the course of your first three weeks of being in UA’s Class 1B, you decided to be the annoying cat poking at his side. It was hard to not pay attention to him, so why not make it fun?

He was a bit irritated at first. You were pretty sure he had some underlying insecurity because every time you mentioned him being scared of being outshone by Class 1A, he'd get into a hissy fit. You stopped talking about this as much when Kendo Itsuka indirectly hinted it'd be best to, but that didn't stop your other antics. You'd leave sticky notes of hilarious drawings about him on his desk, in his backpack, and in his shoe locker. You'd follow him around like a lost puppy in the building--sometimes to the bathroom door on accident. You'd pester him with questions too. There's been several occasions you asked about his favorite snacks or other items and got just as much the opposite as possible.

A few classmates joked that you were bullying him, but it wouldn't really be bullying if Monoma Neito eventually learned to save a seat for you in the cafeteria or keep the gifts you gave him despite not liking them, right? Would he have hated you if he'd ask to walk you home back before the dorms were built, chiding that someone as weak as you needed someone as strong as him? Did he really want you to stop pestering him if he sought out for you in the girl's section of the dorm watching TV in the living room for two hours? It was unusual you weren’t already a trumpet in his ear by that time, after all.

"What are you doing here?" Tokage Setsuna questioned when she exited her room to see Monoma walking down the hall in her direction. "You know the boys' section is on the other side, right?"

Monoma startled but settled his composure quick. "Yes, I know. I'm just looking for something. I seem to have lost it."

"So you're looking for it here?"

"Well, I haven't found it anywhere else yet. Perhaps someone picked it up and dropped it."

"What are you looking for?"

"Uh—a decorated blue hair pin. It's small but fits well with one of my polos."

"You wear hair pins?"

He scoffed. "Hair pins are an accessory not just for girls. It could be that someone on this side picked it up, thought it was cute, and kept it."

"Sure...." Tokage leaned her back against her door and crossed her arms. A smirk crept onto her face. "You sure you didn't lose anything else? Maybe someone with (your hair color) hair?"

"I'm sure."

"Well then, I'll help you look for this pin."

"Oh! No need!" Monoma replied, waving his hands in front of his chest. "I think I can find it on my own. Even if I don't find it, I can easily buy another one later."

Tokage's smirk grew into a wide grin. "Come on, it's better to search with two pairs of eyes instead of one!"

"Really, thank you, but—!”

"Monoma-kun?"

The two turned to a door further down the hall that just opened. Out came you in your pajamas, hair a bit of an entangled mess. A yawn escaped your lips. "Do we have class today?"

"No, we don't. And what are you doing just now getting out of bed?!" He hurried over to you and brushed some hairs from your face. "It's 3 in the afternoon, for goodness' sake!"

You furrowed your brows. "'m sorry. I slept in."

Tokage watched him chide you for wasting the morning away. It was comical how both of you denied romantic feelings for each other, and yet here you two were acting like a relationship was in progress. Her stomach suddenly growled. She pushed herself off her door. "I'm gonna get some lunch. Good luck. (Y/N)-chan, Monoma said he lost a blue hairpin. Why don't you help him find it? See you guys!"

After bidding Tokage goodbye, you looked up at the blond boy. "You wear hair pins?"

"Well—sometimes! Not recently, just—uh—on occasion. But no matter! I can buy another one some other time!" Monoma bumped your shoulder, urging you forward. "Hurry and get ready for the day. I'm so awfully bored."

You chuckled. "Aww, you missed me?"

"As if!"

You and Monoma's dynamic was fun and rather straightforward at first—an enemies to friends type of dynamic. Most of the class could see through the teasing that you two cared about each other and enjoyed each other's company. Overtime, however, you found yourself growing frustrated with the boy. Weeks of being by his side made your heart grow fond of him, but he didn't state anything of the same effect your companionship had on him. When you teased that he loved you or missed you, he shut it down fast. Although not out of character, it began to hurt you.

After an in-depth confession to Kendo in her room (and a small moment of you crying on her shoulder), she messaged you the next day to go on hangouts with her after school every other day with Hiryu Rin. She mentioned in the text conversation that she believes some time away from Monoma might help. You agreed.

You and Rin were good friends, but you two never hung out or talked outside of classes and when you both happened to be in the same vicinity. The first day all three of you hung out started a little awkward, but it became an entertaining pasttime quick. You three hung out at an arcade, at coffee shops, in the gym training, and even on runs to the grocery store. When you three didn't feel like going outside, you guys would sit on the floor in front of the TV and parallel play.

When the dorms were established, Monoma walked by your side with the rest of class to the dorms. With you on hangouts immediately after school now, he bid you, Kendo, and Rin a simple farewell and continued chatting with the rest of your classmates. A pang hit your heart upon his nonchalant goodbye, but you shoved it down. Once the three of you returned, you'd hangout with him and a few others in the dorm after settling down.

So imagine your surprise when a knock sounded on your door two hours after you returned from another fun hangout with Kendo and Rin. You hadn't been expecting anyone since you planned on resting in that day, so you were especially not expecting Monoma to be standing there when you popped the door open a tad.

He looked at you sternly. "Can we talk?"

"Oh—uh—sure," you replied, caught off guard by his unusual facial expression. You welcomed him inside and gestured for him to sit on your desk's chair, which he did so as you shut the door and sat on your bed. Your fingers fiddled with the blanket beneath you. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Do you like Rin?"

Your shrimp posture was no longer as you shot up. "What?! No! I mean, he's a great friend, but I haven't thought about...like...dating him yet."

"Yet?"

"I mean it like I didn't consider it!"

He pulled out his phone, opened a text message thread, clicked on an image to expand it, and showed it to you. "What's this?"

It was a selfie Kendo took of you, Rin, and her on a grocery store run. The angle was pointed down at the group, with only Kendo's eyes coming into frame while she held the phone up. Not realizing she was taking a selfie until the picture was taken, you and Rin stood side by side picking avocados. You had to admit the side profile of you and Rin's laugh was kind of adorable, but you were pulled from reminiscing that day by Monoma clearing his throat.

You backed away from the phone. "This happened last week. Why are you bringing it up?"

"You and Rin look awfully close." He put his phone away and crossed his arms. Contrary to the indication of his body language, his face softened as well as his tone. "You know, if you like Rin, you can tell me. I just want to know."

"Why?"

"Well, since we both hangout a lot, I wouldn't want to interfere with your time with him. Maybe you two could—I don't know—I could offer him my seat in class from now on so you two can get to talk more."

You shook your head. "It's fine, really! Me and Rin can talk after class."

He got up from your chair and laughed, rolling his eyes. "Then you two can talk during class as well. A desk is just a desk, after all. I'll tell him to switch seats with me after dinner."

Once he started heading for the door, you jumped from your bed and snatched his wrist, trying to pull him back. "Monoma, stop! It's okay, really! I don't mind!"

He wretched his wrist free only for you to grab it again. "And I don't mind playing matchmaker for my dear friends, believe me."

"Stop! Please don't!"

"I like sitting with you! Trust me, it's okay!"

"Yes, but it'd be a good idea to help you with your love ordeal."

Escaping your grasp once more, his hand fell on the door handle and his shoulder touched the door. In a last ditch effort, you threw your arms around his shoulders and pulled him back in. "I LIKE YOU! STOP!"

And that he did.

Time skipped a beat before he backed away from the door, turning wide-eyed to look at you. Tears rested on your waterline. After darting his eyes around the room, Monoma hurriedly guided you to your bed again. "I'm so sorry, please don't cry."

"I like you! I've been liking you!" you whined as you clung onto Monoma's shirt despite him trying to lay you down. He gave up and embraced your body in one hand while patting your back with the other. You buried your face in his neck. "I told you I like you!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you liked me so much." He shushed you for a while before adding, "I shouldn't have questioned you this way. I'm so sorry. Please don't cry, (Y/N)-chan."

"I already am..."

"Oh. Right."

Needless to say, Monoma was not the best source of comfort. But he did his best. Once your breathing calmed down, he sat behind you and rested you against his body. You couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you cry, so you were grateful when he passed you a tissue. After wiping your face and tossing the tissue in the trash can, you leaned your head against his chest. His heart raced; you could feel it.

Monoma’s hands wrapped around both of yours. “I’m so sorry.”

Heat rushed to your face at the sight of your hands. A headache began to form in the back of your head. “It’s okay. I know you want to help me, but I really do like you. I have for a while.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you didn’t look like you liked me back.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Um. You don’t really do anything romantic. Sure, we hang out a lot, but it just feels like hangouts as friends. Well, it did to me until I caught feelings, but you know what I mean. I just—I didn’t know what to do about these feelings.”

You raised your head and finally looked at guilty expression on his face. The question of whether he liked you back caught in your throat, but the twitches in his lips as he struggled to find the words to speak left a sinking feeling in your gut.

At last, he let out a sigh and squeezed you in an embrace. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. Thank you for—uh—for thinking of me so, but I need to figure out how to go about this. Can you give me some time to respond properly?”

You squeezed him back. “Yes, of course.”

After sitting in your room for a good five minutes doing nothing but holding each other, Monoma exclaimed he needed to help prepare dinner downstairs and excused himself. You cursed yourself in your head for confessing in such a way. But there was no turning back now.

At dinner, you both sat next to each other as normal, but conversation was awkward, to say the least. Neither of you could properly look the other in the eye despite briefly talking about subjects unrelated to the incident. For most of the meal, you both opted to talk to other peers. Things were not so different in class. Despite sitting beside each other, you two spoke little. You couldn’t bring yourself to tease him after the fool you made of yourself, and it felt like Monoma was distancing himself despite the fact that he still sat next to you at lunch and walked beside you on the way to the dorms.

Kendo Itsuka messaged you only three days later, questioning what on earth happened. You told her about the incident, and the next thing you knew, Kendo barged into your room professing apology after apology. She explained that although she did want to give you space from Monoma, another purpose of the hangouts with her, you, and Rin was to make Monoma jealous. She’d gotten the idea from movies but hadn't expected this outcome. You forgave her and thanked her for her efforts. After all, you could see the potential. It was unfortunate Monoma was not like the guys in her movies.

A week passed. The awkward silence was getting unbearable. You really wished you’d demanded a deadline for his consideration.

For once, your bedroom felt suffocating, so while other students opted for the privacy of their rooms, you sat on the couch watching a drama on a very casual day. You were pretty bored until footsteps sounded behind you. You turned your head to see Monoma. You moved your legs off the couch and watched as he sat beside you.

He nodded. “Hey.”

“Uh—hi.”

You both faced the TV. After a week of this, all you two could muster was a simple greeting? You internally cringed. It was enough to suffer through silence with others around. Why would he come down just for this?

You soon found out why as you felt something on your hand—that something turning out to be Monoma’s hand. Your heart pounded faster. “What are you doing?”

He turned to you and sputtered, “I—um—nothing.”

Before he could remove his hand, you snatched it and held it firmly. His admittedly cute, nervous face fueled your nearly dead desire to tease him. “Monoma-kun, there’s no way you could have accidentally done that.”

“Well—I—!” He pursed his lips then shook his head. “I’m not used to this.”

“We’ve never held hands before.”

“I mean romance, stupid!” He scowled, lifting your conjoined hands and shaking it as if it was an obvious clue in a murder mystery. “I tell you I need to think it over. Then, I am holding your hand! What do you think that means?!”

Your eyes widened. “You…like me?”

“Come on! I’m leaving.”

Before he could get up, you lurched forward and took a hold of his arm. “Monoma-kun, no! You have to say it! Tell me if it’s a yes or no. Please?”

After a moment of continuing to look away, he finally turned to face you again with furrowed brows. “I like you. I have also been for a while now.”

“AWW, YOU LOVEEE ME?”

“I’M LEAVING!”

“NO! I’M JUST KIDDING!”

Joy couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt. Apparently so didn’t it describe Monoma’s feelings because despite numerous statements of saying he’d leave, he buried himself further into your company until he ended up lying with his head in your lap, still holding your hand.

You still needed to figure out whether you two were going to officially date right after this, but that can wait. Only this time, you were going to make sure he compensated for the overthinking your situation has caused.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

꧂𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 || Stanford Pines ||

A/n: another shout out to this Tiktok account for the HC! Plus a bonus one for drawing out the idea!

Inspired by this video { art work is chefs kiss }

If curiosity killed the cat then you would be dead along with it, but honestly could you really be blamed for it?

I mean it's not your fault Ford left out his new journal and he did promise to show you so what harm could really happen if you just take a little peak? Taking a look around you picked the journal up flipping through the pages. A chuckle leaving your lips every now it then but what caught your attention was the next few pages dedicated to you.

You could feel your heart beat thrumming in your ears as you read each passage about you.

'I know it may seem inappropriate, to write down these feelings but I feel like I must.'

'Maybe I'll destroy these pages, Maybe I will tare them out...to keep them for myself...I know I am a selfish man'

'I have memorized every inch of their body, from the little marks to the biggest. I feel like I can not get enough'

Biting your lip, you could feel your throat grow dry from the words.

'I could spend hours kissing, marking every inch of their body. The sounds they make from a hard thrust to the whimpers from a soft stroke has me star struck.'

'And how they taste....I know I would die a happy man if that were to be the last thing I've tasted.'

Clutching the book tight, you knew you should put it down but you couldn't.

'I do not know what I did to deserve a goddess, the love that they give me when I know it is something I do not...should not have'

'But yet they love me....this old cynical bastard and I would change nothing for it...I will prove what they mean to me...'

'Y/n prefers to be on top..I must admit it is hard to pull my gaze when they are ridding me'

'Need's to be better at fucking their throat...prefers fingering them instead'

Shaking your head, you knew to make a mental note on helping him with that though it was flattering he saw you in that light. That he loved you that much, not to mention the illustrations he did of you.

"My love...have you've seen." Ford's voice trailed off as his face quickly turned red. "I can."

He didn't have to explain, not when you were snooping. Walking towards him you let your arms drape around his neck. "How about we try some of those positions you wrote about."

"I....we can do that!"

[hanginginthevoid]

Blessing in Disguise

pairing: bob reynolds x reader

a/n: Technically pt.2 to ‘Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back,’ but i think it can be read as a standalone piece! reader is mentioned to be right-handed - not allat important but still. i hope it lives up to everyone’s standards!!

summary: things have been great. bob’s been learning to control his powers, you’ve been able to stay above the rough waters that are college. you didn’t think that him being an avenger would be a problem, he’s barely seen on missions and rarely mingles at galas. unfortunately you were wrong.

warnings: ooc bob + void, knife mentioned, reader almost gets her finger cut off, kidnapping, negligent friends?, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 3.5k

—

Since deciding to give Bob a chance, your life has been less mundane. Not because your activities or lifestyle has particularly changed, but because there's someone constantly by your side.

Bob’s always sharing stories about the team, something Walker said or did, the way Alexi still doesn’t understand social cues, the one time Bucky had to leave a televised congress meeting to go on a mission and the conversation that followed on the jet, how Ava still phases through walls because ‘it’s much more convenient’ even though everyone’s asked her not to. 

It brings a sense of excitement to your life, even though you’re not the one experiencing it. When you do actually get to meet the team it’s odd. You know so much about them, yet you’ve never heard their voices not through a screen. 

It feels a little like you’re getting interrogated. You don’t blame them for it though, with their upbringings and every experience that’s brought them to this point it makes sense. After they’ve concluded that you aren’t a sleeper agent placed to ruin them, you’re welcomed like a long lost friend.

Regardless, you don’t drop by the tower often after that. Every once in a while you would pick something up from Bob, or hang out for a few hours if he wanted company. Most of the time everyone would just go to your apartment. That drew less suspicion to you, and it let them feel free of Valentina’s clutches.

Oftentimes you’d come home from school or work and someone would be sprawled out on your couch. Or banging pots and pans in your kitchen. You’ve even caught Yelena filling up your tub for a bubble bath - twice!

So when you come home to your apartment and hear some chatter and obvious movement, it doesn’t raise suspicion. A little bit odd that more than one of them would come at the same time, but maybe someone was just getting ready to leave when another was heading in and they got to chitchatting. 

Not like they didn’t have all day to do that. Y’know. Because they live together. But you digress.

“Hey! You guys planning on staying for dinner?” You’re placing your keys and grocery bags on the counter, trying to peek around the corner so you can get a feel for how many extra portions you’d need.

You get silence as an answer. It means that they heard you, otherwise the chatter would have continued. Why wouldn’t they respond then?

You’ll give them a few minutes. They wouldn’t act this way without good reason. To fill your time you start putting the necessary foods away, keeping the ones you were going to use on the counter.

A huff leaves your lips. They can’t barge into your house, expect you to cook for them, to entertain them, and not speak to you. You’re a woman on a mission, marching out of your kitchen with your jaw set in mock seriousness.

Then you’re catching the butt of a gun to your temple, and crumpling into the man on your left. You can barely see him, vision starting to fill with black dots.

Who was he?

When did he get in here?

Who hit you?

What’s happening?

Then you’ve faded completely. Full ragdoll on the man, a bit of blood running down your face before it can soak into your hair or the man’s shirt.

—

It’s been a busy week for Bob. He’s been training with every member on the team. Each of them have something different to teach him and his want to be useful leaves him like a sponge in the ocean. 

If he’s not training, he’s in therapy. He’s hoping, believing, that if he gets himself sorted out then he’ll be able to go out and be the Sentry. It’s been pretty helpful for normal things too though, aiding him in not feeling like everyone is going to up and abandon him one day. Really giving him a sense of purpose, you’ve been doing that too though.

If he’s not doing either of those things, he’s working on his cooking skills. The two of you had gone on a date last month where you learned to make pasta from scratch. You were overjoyed, even if it looked and tasted a little wonky. He wanted to see what you’d look like when he made it perfectly, like a real chef.

The team wasn’t too upset. Maybe too much pasta for their liking, but Bob changed the sauce and protein every time so it didn’t get exhausting to eat.

Now that he has some time to think about it, he hasn’t seen you at all this week.

He wasn’t too worried though. You had exams coming up, you had reminded him of it last week. When you had exams you tended to shrink into your own personal bubble, not wanting a distraction to prevent you from getting the best grade possible. Maybe he’d stop by and bring you a dessert, something to reward you for all your hard work.

“Where are you going Bob?” Yelena asks, not even looking over the back of the couch she’s lounging on.

“To visit Y/n.” He’s facing her even though she’s not looking at him. Something’s been up with the team this week and he can’t seem to get it out of anyone, “I’m gonna stop at the bakery by her place, get her a slice of the cake that she likes.”

“Oh - That’s sweet.” Bob’s nodding along, Yelena turns before she finishes, “But no can do.”

“No… can do?” 

“Yes. Right. No can do.”

“Why not?” You’re his girlfriend, there’s no reason that he shouldn’t be able to go see you when he wants. You haven’t even explicitly said you didn’t want to see him. Unless you told Yelena to keep him away?

“I just do not think it would be good to distract her from her studies.” Yelena’s jutting her lips out a little as she nods along to herself, like it’s the best thing she’s ever said.

“I won’t be there long. She shouldn’t be studying this late anyway.” Then Bob’s pressing the down button for the elevator.

Yelena can’t stop him without raising uncertainty in Bob, she’s backed into a corner. Either let him go and let him see the empty apartment where you should be. Or tell him that when Ava went by earlier this week she was greeted with an empty apartment, spoiled food on the counter, and a note left behind demanding that some criminal be released from prison.

Either way the risk of the void being unleashed was imminent, the only difference was the location; unleashed to the public or unleashed in the tower. Neither choice was good, the team still incapable of fully subduing the void in a normal sense. But they were the Avengers, they needed to take these hits.

So Yelena stops him. Drags him to the dining table and tells him to stay. Then she’s rounding up the rest of the team so they can all break the news to him together.

Since she stopped him, it’s her responsibility to break the ice, “Y/n went missing a few days ago.” 

“I-I don’t understand.” A skeptical look overtakes Bob’s eyes, “What do you mean went missing?”

“I went by to watch that Mormon wives show with her a few days ago and she was gone.”

“So she was out. Running errands like a normal person.” Bob moves to get up. This is ridiculous, no need to stress him out.

“No. There were groceries left out on the counter. And - and a note. Saying they took her to make a deal.”

Bob’s eying everyone up. Trying to figure out if this is some sort of prank and if anyone will slip and say that they were just testing him, trying to make sure he could control himself. 

When Walker, of all people, gives him a look of sympathy he knows its not a joke.

“So did you do it?” 

“Do what?”

“The deal. Did you make the deal or not.”

“Not yet. We were trying to keep the asset in prison and get Y/n out but we haven’t got the exact coordinates to her whereabouts yet.”

Ever the congressman. All about diplomacy and doing things the right way. If it was someone he cared about Bob is sure Bucky would have been trying harder. 

“Show me.”

“The file? We can’t Bob. It’s too risky, especially because nothing's official yet.”

He’s lucky that his hands are below the table, fingers starting to get encased in black. His eyes are downcast too, as long as no one looks too deep they wouldn’t be able to see the way they’re flashing gold. 

He’s competent. He’s been doing good. Going to therapy. Training. Setting himself straight. And they, his supposed family, couldn’t even tell him that his own girlfriend went missing? That she was being held for ransom?

“I just want to look. A fresh set of eyes never hurt.” He’s doing his best to keep his voice level. Doing all he can to not allow anyone to know the turmoil he’s truly going through. 

The tension could be cut with a knife. Every member looking at each other, doing their best to communicate telepathically. To figure out how many of them really trusted that Bob wouldn’t go ballistic, that he could just assist like he was trying to make them believe. 

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right Bob.” It’s Yelena. Always trusting in him, always being his number one supporter. “We’re sorry that we doubted you.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shoves his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and follows them down to the briefing room. He goes through all of the information fast, as it’s spread around the digitized walls.

The main thing he cared about was the suspected location, and who took you. There’s no for sure ID on your kidnappers. They knew exactly how to evade the cameras, either that or there was someone helping them become invisible. 

He didn’t mind sending everyone in that facility to the void though. It’s what they deserved.

He plays it off cool. He’s got a ‘level head’ and really did his best to come up with valid input. Everyone seems to truly believe that he just wanted to help by the end of their discussion. 

Bob lets out a yawn. Not too loud - then it’d be obvious he was faking. But loud enough to draw some attention. Then he rubbed his eyes, pressing the pads of his fingers to the inner corners and rubbing outwards. Followed a few minutes later by blinking for a few seconds, then trying to hold his eyes open wide to the point that they couldn’t close.

When he knows that everyone has seen him exhibit signs of being tired at least once, he excuses himself. He’s just ‘much too tired to be any real help’, and they all understand. It must be a lot for him to comprehend, a lot to take in unexpectedly. They let him go with no resistance, and he couldn’t be happier. 

As the last light went out, and everyone had been confirmed to be asleep he would leave. Well to be correct - Void would leave. Bob was working on coming to an understanding with him because of you, so he would do Bob a favor and bring you back.

Any shadows left in his wake, those were at the fault of the Avengers. They should have told him right away, or done their job properly.

—

Your sense of time was distorted. The only light you have is a single lightbulb, far beyond your reach. Guards coming in specified intervals, either to bring you sustenance or to try and interrogate you. 

It was always the same routine - Guard comes in, questions on how you know the Avengers, questions on their weaknesses. There weren’t any questions today though.

A guard you’ve never seen before steps into the cell. “We’ve been nice. You understand that right?”

You nod, smart enough to not provoke him. Even if everyone knows kidnapping someone isn’t considered ‘nice’.

“You’re comrades haven’t been as nice. Seems they need some… Motivation.”

“They’re not my comrades! We’re just friends, and I wouldn’t even call us that! They don’t tell me anything anyway, it’s all confident-” you’re cut off by the back of the man's gloved hand. You can feel the bruise forming on your cheekbone. 

“Keep sayin’ that. Hasn’t gotten you anywhere yet, maybe tomorrow’ll be your special day though.”

A couple more guards filter into your cell. One goes behind you, the other waiting by the door, something underneath his armpit that you can’t identify, “What’s your dominant hand sweetheart?” 

“M-m-my left.” He couldn’t be asking for any good reason, lying seems like your best choice. 

“Bullshit, you always eat with your right.” Then the man from the doorway is closing in on your right side, placing a wooden board beneath your hand and splaying your fingers out.

You start to thrash, trying to jerk your hand out of his grasp before your biceps are grabbed by the guard behind you. “What are you doing?”

“Told you. Your friends need motivation.” He flips out a switchblade, “Usually an appendage is enough. Won’t take nothing too important.. Yet at least.”

“No, no, no, no. Let me talk to them. Please.” You’re still thrashing, hoping that by some act of god or any higher being, you get enough strength to free yourself, “I-If I could talk to them I’m sure they’d get you whatever you’re asking for.” 

His tongue clicks, head tilting side to side as if he’s in thought. There’s hope! He’ll bring you a phone, you’ll talk to Yelena, or Bucky, or even Bob, and they’ll get you out of here.

“Nah.” 

What does he mean ‘nah’. He’s really going to cut your finger off? For what? Because you don’t know the Avengers personally enough for him. Come on, you work in a bookshop for Christ's sake.

He’s lining up the cut when everything goes dark. You can still feel the other two grips on you, so it must be some electricity issue, but the grips went a little slack when the lights turned off. 

You throw your head back, connecting with something behind you - probably a nose from the crunch you heard. Then you’re taking your left hand, shoving it in the direction you think the head of the man holding your right arm down would be. Connecting with his face you look for his eyes, pushing inwards as much as possible when you locate them.

You’re stumbling through the room, trying to stay as silent as possible. The entire compound erupted in chaos when the lights went off. People trying to figure out what happened, who’s to fault, how to get the lights back on. 

The noise allows you to creep out of your cell. Pressing your back against the wall you try to move in only one direction, hoping it will lead you to an exit.

On your way around a corner you hit something. It’s solid, so you don’t move. Praying it’s a file cabinet, just a weird divot in the wall, even a fridge. But then it inhales, and you move with its chest.

When you look up to assess the damage you’ve just done, you’re met with two pinpoint white eyes. You’d think you were hallucinating them if they didn’t seem to track over your face, like they were assessing you.

“Stay here.” It’s a command, not a statement. His voice is deep, sort of gravely or raspy. His arms grasp your biceps, nothing like the last person who held you like this. It’s soft, gentle, like you mean something. He’s maneuvering you however he pleases, pushing you into a sitting position in the corner.

Then you hear footsteps, fading away in the direction that you came. 

The noise progressively gets quieter and quieter. Surprisingly, there’s no gunshots, no grunts or groans, not even thuds of bodies hitting the ground. Eventually, there’s complete silence, not for long though, soon there’s footsteps heading in your direction.

You keep your head down. You hope it’s whoever put you here, whoever told you to stay, but there’s no guarantee. Better to be safe than sorry.

There’s a hand lightly brushing your shoulder, “You hurt?”

A small sigh leaves your mouth, recognizing the voice as the same one from before. Hearing it again brings an odd sense of familiarity to you. “N-No.”

“Good. I’m going to pick you up.”

Before you could deny, informing the man that you were perfectly capable of walking yourself, you’re in his arms. It’s dark outside, not like anything you’ve seen in the city. No lamp posts, no buildings, nothing supplemental to aid the stars in lighting the sky.

You can see more than in the building though. The fingers that are gripping the back of your knee and your bicep are black. More black than humanly natural, like a tar. Maybe it was just spandex gloves over your saviors suit?

You look to the left and quickly realize you’re mistaken. The entirety of this man is black. Like he was drenched in it, no part of him free from it. His pupils are white, the only indication that you have that he’s got thoughts going on in his head. 

He takes off, bursting into the sky like a rocket. You assume this is how he got here, but you would have thought he would be more considerate considering you have minimal clothing on. 

You wouldn’t complain though. While the Avengers, your friends, had left you high and dry this man came and saved you. You’d forever be grateful. 

There’s plenty of time to stare at this man during your flight. Quickly, you’re able to identify him. Or at least you assume you can. He has all the same features as your boyfriend.

Same cheekbones, same nose, same jaw, same hair. Did Bob have a twin that he was hiding from you? 

Oh.

Wait.

Was this the void? The one who sent you to that shame room all those months ago? The reason you avoided Bob in the first place?

If he senses your turmoil, he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t talk at all actually. You’d think it bothered him to save you, but his fingers are digging into you. Not enough to be painful or bruise, but enough to make sure that he never lost focus, never risked you being dropped.

You’re flown back to the Watchtower, directly into Bob's room. You’re placed gently on the bed, sitting on the edge. The void gives you a once over one last time before the darkness is receding. It flows down Bob’s body, as if there’s a drain on the floor and it’s all flowing downwards to it. 

After a couple of seconds Bob’s eyes shoot up. Surprise overtakes his features, “Y/n?”

“Hi Bob.”

“Oh my God. What happened to you?” His fingers are ghosting over the bruise on your cheekbone, then they’re making their way over to the scabbing on your temple.

“Uh - A lot. Yeah, a lot.”

“Let’s get you to the med room. You gotta get patched up.”

You shake your head, moving a bit in his firm grasp, “I just want to shower and sleep. If that’s alright.”

“Yeah, yeah of course that’s alright. We’ll get you patched up in the morning.”

Bob wanted to know what happened, everything that happened. Wanted to know how you got here, who took you, what really happened in your apartment. But if you wanted to shower and cuddle up in his grasp for the rest of the night, he wouldn’t deny you.

When he woke up before you, heading out to get you a cup of coffee and some waffles, the rest of the team cornered him. Asking him how he was feeling, that’s when he remembered that he essentially faked exhaustion to leave the briefing room.

They informed him that an underground facility was found this morning, some unknown source tipping off local authorities. Inside they found tons of information on a terrorist group, no one to guard it however. Only shadows plastered to the ground, unable to be smudged or wiped up. 

Bob raises the mug he’s carrying in mock toast on his way back down the hall to his room, “Not sure how that happened, I do wanna get back to my room before Y/n wakes up though.” 

You could answer their questions later. Figure out some therapy probably too. Right now though Bob wanted you to rest. He was sure that you weren’t able to for a long while, so he’d make sure you stayed undisturbed until you wanted to wake. 

Even though the Void has always been a burden on him, making his life hard, miserable even. Bob couldn’t help but believe it was growing, changing into a better force. The one who could do the hard things when he couldn’t. The one who was able to dish out the proper judgement. A true blessing in disguise.

Likes/comments/reblogs mean so much!!

[neptunes-sol-angel]

*pchit pchit* Describing your spirituality as a perfume and the essence behind it. Feel free to look up metaphysical meaning behind each note to see additional messages that may resonate with you.

Paid Readings | Botanica | Tip Jar

Pile One

Top Notes:

Tangerine, Magnolia, Peppermint, Fennel

Middle Notes:

Lemon, Rosemary, Arborvitae

Bottom Notes:

Oregano, Bergamot, Sweet Marjoram

Your perfume embodies a warm summer day at a villa in Italy. You’ll feel right at home when your olfactory nerves take in every single accord. Your fragrance is soft, smooth, bubbly, with a hint of what a clean roaring 20s hotel suite would be like with incense smoking in the background. Boujee and boozy. Your spirituality is based on finding awakenings in nothingness. Losses could be something that you experience a lot. Home could be something that is not really guaranteed for you. It could be by choice meaning you find purpose in nomadic living or you’re constantly moving around against your will because of a destructive crisis. This could have made it hard for you to attach or give sentimental value to holidays, milestones, and relationships that are meant to be positive and celebratory. You don’t have to dress in garments or be deep into religion or philosophical teachings and rituals. You’re spiritual in a way that resonates with taoism. No matter how many endings that occur in your life, you are not meant to stay there. Even if you lose your will to keep going, you embody the concurrent flow of circulation. Finding life after death and being open to miracles when you’re at rock bottom. I feel like people could see you as “walking karma”. I feel like there are a lot of people in the pile who do not believe in the concept of karma because you believe in handling retribution yourself. You could be into defense and malefic magic, but you could also have a lot of strength and endurance to push for things to happen in your life. When it comes to pointing out someone’s spiritual gifts, it’s usually the magic that happens naturally. So while people may think you are “walking karma” or have this fear that you’re getting revenge on them, I’m getting that your gifts are more like a blockbuster and a road opener spell.

Pile Two

Top Notes:

Pink Pepper, Siberian Fir, Lotus Flower

Middle Notes:

Black Spruce, Morello Cherry, Ginger

Bottom Notes:

Honeysuckle, Frankincense, Neroli, Nubian Musk

Your perfume is seductive, mysterious, feminine, and mature yet playful. The scent is dark, floral, and energizing with the way it will last all over your body the entire day, even if you shower. Your spirituality thrives in beauty, love, magnetism, and divine enlightenment. You could resonate with the siren archetype with how entrancing you are with your desires and self worship. I keep seeing the majestic creature obsessively grooming theirself in a mirror, so people could think that you’re vain or self-absorbed. But what they don’t understand is that spiritually, you embody what it means to treat your body like a temple, and how your inner world can shift your outer world. You’re extremely powerful with glamour magic, affirmations, and creating subliminals. Like a siren’s voice, you’re just commanding with the words that you speak which can do wonders for you but can also make you have to be very careful with the things that you say and your attention on certain things that may look or seem like a good idea but they really aren’t. I get that in order to master your spirituality, you must place boundaries with what you’re drawn to utilizing moderation and also being specific with what you want. In this collective, I feel that there are a lot of young souls who are eager to learn and experience. Many of you are actually on track to reaching this level of mastery. This pile reminds me of the movie “The Craft” and the phrase “curiosity that killed the cat”. You guys could indulge in divination, spells, or non-occultic shortcuts in life that may have led to getting you in unnecessary trouble or problems that ended up combusting. The more that you experience what you think you may want, the closer that you reach to finding peace with something that may look the complete opposite.

Pile Three

Top Notes:

Citronella, Lavender, Vasaka, Spearmint

Middle Notes:

Helichrysum, Frankincense, Tonka Bean, Celery Seed

Bottom Notes:

Sweet Pea, Matcha, Grapefruit, Petitgrain

Your perfume has a different take on what gourmand can be. It’s probably the most natural sugary scent that you’ll ever find. When the scent hits your nose, it’ll feel like you’re waking up one sunny morning to a matcha lemonade and a lavender grapefruit puff pastry. Discovering your spirituality could or still be very confusing for you. The collective’s energy in this pile feels lost, opaque, and saturn-like because I think that the clarity that’s being sought after most likely will not be received until your 40s or 50s. I’m seeing a lot of switching religions, jumping to the next path to consciousness by dabbling into concepts that you may not fully understand, or being led astray by new-age theories. I’m also seeing a lot of spiraling when things do not work out that may cause you to blame these practices when transitioning onto the next thing. I’m getting that people in the pile could have faced a lot of judgement in these spaces at an early age. Never really feeling like you belong or that you’re welcomed by others which could play a part in why spirituality could be so confusing for you and it not being something that you can trust. You may have even decided to become atheist or agnostic and that is okay. The delivery may not have been right in feeling let down in your spirituality, but the truth is, it is the human thing to crash out when you show your devotion, you do the work consistently, and had the bravery to be positive about it and then next thing you know, things are tumbling down and you don’t know what the hell is going on or if you did something wrong. For some of you, the problem lies in trying to find acceptance from others in these spaces. You’re making material things such as people or social constructs and standards for your god. You find a god in something that’s way bigger and personal than what the next person’s input is. Whether it’s digging deep into your roots to resume your ancestor’s indigenous practices, carving out your own space in christianity to fortify your faith in peace, or even finding the god within yourself, your spirituality will become a lot more clearer to you when you make it less about others and have more acceptance and validation for yourself.

Pile Four

Top Notes:

Ylang Ylang, Rain accord, Ginseng

Middle Notes:

Jasmine, Coriander, Vetiver

Bottom Notes:

Tonga Vanilla Bean, Passionflower, Spikenard

Your perfume could be well-rounded, where you can vividly smell every note all throughout the sillage of when you first sprayed it. The scent has a bold blend of aromas that are both masculine and feminine. It’s earthy, sweet, strong, the perfect scent to acquire if you want to make an opulent first impression. Like this perfume, your spirituality represents the power and respect behind energy exchange. You see life in all things, and believe that everything is energy much like how science demonstrates that everything is derived out of atoms and chemicals. You resonate with herbology, following the moon and stars, and letting the universe speak to you through plants, animals, and the weather. You could be into tea leaf readings, palmistry, or water and cloud scrying. You believe in superstitions that were taught to you by your elders or the people of your culture(s). You could be against anything along with seeing things as something to be taken or owned. Money comes to you easily and it doesn’t have to be in surplus. I just see you being taken care of because of the spirits that you communicate with and look after, even if you’re not directly into mediumship, it seems like you unconsciously connect with your ancestors and other forms of spirits, especially if you have this habit of talking to yourself. I don’t want to scare you, but whoever you are talking to, they are definitely listening to you and responding back to you in many different ways lol. Your spirituality is also brought to life when musical instruments are being played, when you’re cooking for others, and when you’re helping others who have less mobility.

[strawberrystepmom]

royalty au - knight!dante x princess!reader. nsfw. cw: age gap, both reader and dante are consuming alcohol. established relationship, talk of masturbation with explicit details. screenshot thanks to jas over on pinterest <3 | wc: 1.7k, reading time: ~9 minutes

“Tell me about the first time you ever stroked your cock to the thought of me, Ser Dante.”

There is no mistaking it, you are making a command and not making a request.

The man who stands between you and the rest of the world raises his eyebrows in surprise while shutting the door to your room behind him, mouth hanging half open. It’s a wonder he’s still shocked by the impish streak you keep hidden so well when in polite company. Does your father know you speak like this? Tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip while you tilt your head backward to appraise your protector from the side of your vision?

“Shall I repeat myself?” You ask, goblet brimming with what has to be wine given the rosy tint on your lips he can only faintly make out while closing the distance in your room. 

Large footsteps across the floor cause the heat in your face to flare, knowing how close you’ll be in just a moment's time.

“Could you at least say hello first? We’ve barely seen each other all day.”

Of course you could but abuse the power you wield over this man who is not only older than you but wiser is only half the fun, right? 

Giggling, you rise to your knees and turn to lean forwards over the back of the chaise in the corner of your quarters. The knight approaches you, out of his armor and in just a shirt and leather pants, arms folded over his chest and stands a head above you.

“Ah yes, where are my manners…”  Sipping your wine to clear your throat, you look up at him through your lashes. “Hello Ser Dante, the Devil of the Killing Fields. When was the first time you ever stroked yourself thinking of me?”

Despite himself, he chuckles and cups your cheek. Instinctively, he presses his thumb just beneath your lip but the touch only lasts the faintest moment while he appraises the situation. The wine carafe on your side table isn’t completely empty yet meaning you were planning on sharing but you’ve clearly already had your part of that share.

“You’re drunk.”

You pout in response, leaning into his touch. 

“No, I’m curious.”

Dropping his hand from your cheek, he lets his arms dangle at his sides while slowly rounding the chaise and joining you on it. You scoot across the furniture on your knees, deciding at the last minute not to crawl into his lap but to simply press your knees into the side of his thigh and sit beside him. 

“What piqued your curiosity during our time apart, hm?”

A silly half smile forms on your face and he smiles in like, reaching for where you always keep the wine without having to look. There’s no second vessel to drink from, no need, as Dante pours the carafe directly into his mouth. You reach to wipe a dribble of the dark liquid from the corner of his lip, drying the digit off on your skirt and looking up at him while feigning shyness.

“Well, oftentimes I find myself thinking of you in my private moments so I assumed you may have thought about me during yours in return.”

He knows you’re playing him. There’s nothing genuinely bashful about you or this admission yet he indulges just the same, big hand falling onto your thigh and squeezing it gently. “It’s awfully rude to assume something like that of a man as gallant as I am, your grace.”

Now you lean forward, pressing your face against his shoulder. That same old instinct to touch you kicks in and your protector wraps his arm around your back, pulling you against him so that the curve of your waist rests against the curve of your bicep. Blinking slowly, almost akin to that of that horrible pet cat of yours that you insist will start to like him someday, you wordlessly sip.

“Do you really want to know?”

Another blink, wordless. You nod and gaze up at him expectantly with your tipsy smile and your messy hair and that red stain across your mouth…

What kind of monster could ever deny you a thing?

“Do you remember that morning I brought you breakfast in place of Madeline?”

Furrowing your brows and pursing your lips, you ponder in an attempt to recall the exact date. It’s not uncommon that he brings you breakfast in place of your head maid, he’s perhaps a little too eager to be the first person you see before the sun has risen but you appear to recall the exact event he’s mentioning. Your face falls in real time, posture slowly folding you in on yourself.

Dante chuckles. You forget sly old dogs know how to play games too. 

“I was bringing you berries, as requested, and imagine my surprise upon flinging the door open to watch you wrestling with your bedsheets in an attempt to make yourself decent.” The moment vividly plays inside of your head now. Intense heat in your cheeks encourages you to look away from him, instead focusing on downing the dregs of your wine.  “But I knew, the second I caught a look at your face.” 

Reaching to lift your chin, he tilts your head up and your eyes meet his azure ones automatically. He takes another sip directly from the carafe in his fist, gaze never straying. Your eyes follow his throat when he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly. He smirks.

“Your lips were just as they are now, pink and swollen. As though you’d been gnawing at them to keep yourself quiet.”

That thumb holding your chin in place makes its way to your lower lip, pressing against the fullness. He has seen you with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth on more occasions than he can count at this point, a cherished sight when paired with wide eyes that are nearly rolling back into your head.

Ah, what was he talking about again? Oh yeah.

“Your shift was off of your shoulders, so low I could nearly see your nipples. Hair? Tousled like that of a maiden who had a very interesting night although I knew you didn’t.”

Each breath you take feels heavy listening to him retell one of the most embarrassing days of your existence in such a manner - through his eyes. You are no stranger to erotic words in this familiar voice, often demanding that he read salacious novels to you simply to get under his skin, but this is different. 

He’s talking about you, the woman. Not you, bearer of future crown shaped burden. That warmth in your face travels through your body. It could be blamed on the wine yet you know better, the heat between your legs simmering warmly is all thanks to the man next to you and his coy mouth and gaze.

“Say, your highness, what were you doing before I walked in here?”

You look away, clearly embarrassed.

“Not whatever it is you’re thinking, I assure you.”

This answer is a bit too succinct. Dante simply chuckles, hauling you into his lap and pressing a steadying hand against your lower back while you situate yourself to straddle him. Now that you’re in place, he continues his story. 

His forehead falls against yours. “But what gave you away most of all was the scent of you.”

If the floor were to open up and swallow you beneath it right now, you don’t think you’d complain. The aching heat between your legs grows but the inferno beneath your cheeks, warming your entire face, is the more terrifying one. 

“Like the scent of a field of flowers on a breezy day, all I could smell was your cunt on your delicate little fingers.”

He reaches for your hand and presses it against his mouth, pressing shallow kisses across the digits. Before you can protest, he drags your fingers from his mouth to right beneath his nose and inhales sharply. Keen blue eyes stay locked on yours.

Looks like the lady has been caught.

Despite your embarrassment, you try to play it off by leaning in and pressing your chest against his. His hand that remains on the small of your back slides lower, toward the curve of your ass, and gently pats it. 

He won’t chide you yet, he has a story you’re clearly interested in hearing him finish first.

“That scent and your face were all I could think about for the rest of that day,” he kisses your fingers again, your pupils dilating. “The way you’d look if you were to graciously allow me to watch you testing how many of your own little fingers you could take inside of you.”

It takes two of yours to mimic the thickness of his index finger, he now knows. In all the time that has passed since that day, the one where he realized you were a woman and not nearly a glass case kept object, he’s learned just how you like to be touched and spoken to. Your blood runs hot and feverish still today, in front of him, where your warm core sits just above the forming bulge in his pants.

“That day no one could find me for an hour because I was tucked in the guardhall with my aching cock in hand envisioning you touching me instead.”

A choked pant escapes you, your dry throat mangling the noise that sounds somewhere between a whimper and a cough. Dante’s hand slides up your back and splays in the middle of it, pressing you against him while he finally collects you with a kiss. Wine steeped lips mingle, tongues dancing and separating in the same steps they’ve both taken dozens of times before. You breathe heavily against his mouth, reaching for your skirts to hike them up and over your legs.

“Ah ah, not so fast, my heart.” He tuts, holding your hands down with one of his. You squirm impatiently and he holds you in place, lifting one of your hands to his mouth yet again. “It’s your turn to tell me a tale.”

Now you whine, still squirming. Dante flexes his thigh beneath you out of pity. The firmness barely offers relief to sweet agony that only grows when he opens his mouth and pops one of your fingers inside, humming to himself while savoring the taste of lust remaining across your fingers. 

Removing your finger, he grins.

“Go on, no need to be shy. What were you doing before your brave knight so rudely interrupted you?”

[zph]

dumb, dumber, and bloody. | vampire!scaramouche x gn!hunter reader

a vampire and hunter’s guide to the “will they? won’t they?” trope except it is either between kissing or killing each other.

notes: suggestive (making out lol), tension, mentions of blood (not too explicit), bloody kisses?, mentions of injections, somehow u both match each others freak (in a loser & kinda wanna kill each other way), not proofread

masterlist

There is something so alluring about danger, about trusting your neck, about being so vulnerable and pliant in front of a creature who can easily tear it in half.

“You could have killed me,” he says, huffing between each breath. “Why didn’t you fucking kill me?”

The smell of blood permeating the air was intoxicating yet you stood firm, one hand holding him closer and the other tugging down the neckline of your shirt, baring more skin for him to bite. “I quite like your fangs, you know. They’re..” your laugh comes out more breathless, more staggered than he expected. “Really…sharp. Hey, do you bite your tongue sometimes?”

“You’re..” he touches your neck, watching it bob as he lingers over the marks. “So reckless.” His touch was uncharacteristically gentle; the coldness from his fingertips numbs the stinging pain and washes over you like a cold bath. “Insatiable hunter.”

You took up every crevice of his mind, taking his attention at every turn. A dumb hunter with an even dumber passion to seamlessly tug at his patience, and enough audacity to take it to the extreme with even better methods of escaping. It was driving him insane how close he is to drinking you dry and how damn calm you appear right now. You were so infuriating.

“You had an advantage,” he begins, each word becoming more frustrated than the last. “Your injection was right there. Hah, I was right there. You could have been done with this. Finished your mission and move on.”

You simply smile. “You were hungry.”

But he spits out, grabbing hold of your shirt, wrinkling it under his firm clenches. “And you were not supposed to be my food.”

“Too late for that now?” His breath was only inches from yours, his eyes glinting with boiling anger, desperation, and something else entirely.

“You are so…” it was getting hard to breathe, and Scaramouche barely looked like he could keep himself together, staring straight from your face down to the mischievous grin plastered on your lips.

This is what he wanted for so long: how much he longed for the end of that incessant hunter who made it their goal to rally him around like some toy, and then leave once he finally got you in his grasp. But now? He doesn’t know whether his irritation stems from the end of this cat-and-mouse game or the fact you looked so happy under his tight hold.

Yet you tug on his hip, curling your finger around the pant loop and pulling him closer until your chest was well pressed up against his. “Stupid?” you murmur like a challenge, watching as his eyes flicker with a certain glow: dangerous and electrifying. “Maybe.” So, you were aware.

“What makes you think I won’t kill you right now?”

“Because you would have done so the moment your teeth sank into me.” And when your hand reaches towards your pocket, he feels that same injection prickling at his neck, readily aimed straight at his skin.

Finally, his gaze reaches down your neck, tracing the faint bite marks that litter the skin with such reverence that he has to bite down the urge. “And you would have done the same.”

In truth, you both were restricting the other in some way, reaching a stalemate of some sort. Above all else, you both valued the other with a sick curiosity. And with each well-intentioned move, you kept your indulgence under wraps until you both couldn’t take it anymore.

It was then that laughter swelled up in Scaramouche’s chest.

What a mess.

Despite this, you feel his hand slowly travel up from your shirt, dragging along to your jaw then gently tilting your head until it levels towards his. You lean in closer, anticipation twitching in your fingertips as you tug on his waist once more.

One beat. One second. And his lips crash into yours.

It was like his frustration exploded into your face as his cold fingers quickly wrap around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer until there wasn’t any space left between you both. The cool chill envelopes your body once more and makes itself home by slowly ghosting down your spine.

Spending more time in his presence led you to curiously prod at his temper and wave around your status as a hunter, which many times earned you a cut or two in retaliation.

But not like this. Not when he holds you as if you weren’t enemies but two lovers, fatally enthralled with each other.

And to your surprise, he drags the kiss for much longer. “You better come back after you tell your advisors that you somehow lost me again,” Scaramouche mutters, his voice hazy and breathless. He only pulled away for a mere second until he is back on your lips once more, greedily shallowing the chuckle that escapes your mouth.

By gods, it’s hard to fight him on it. Not when he tugs on your lower lip, nipping at it until a familiar metallic fills your mouth. Definitely not when his tongue practically brushes against the puncture, your brain dizzying the moment he sighs at the taste.

Only in each other’s presence, you become each other’s worst enemies and best lovers, but despite the evident danger, neither of you can find yourselves pulling away.

[stellar-solar-flare]

What Makes A Home

ex-soldier!Ari Levinson x neighbor!Reader | 2,385 words.

Themes: friends to lovers, idiots in love, competency kink if you squint, neighbors, cozy community.

Reader is female, no Y/N, no description of appearance. Nicknames 'dear' and 'honeybun' are used by Ari for Reader.

My blog is for people 18+ only, minors DNI.

Story Content Warnings: implied smut, Ari being a soldier mentioned, Ari having guilt over his past, some very minor hurt/comfort (the love is requited, they're both just idiots).

Notes: This is a made-to-order fic for the amazing @bigtreefest - I hope it brings you joy and fulfilled your prompt! Full disclosure; I wasn't able to get my hands on the movie, so I had to piece Ari's character together from his scenes on YouTube. My utmost gratitude to @steviebbboi for character consult and helping me be confident about the decisions I made in the planning stages of this fic (all mishaps mine, of course). It is also my first time writing Ari. I hope you enjoy, and all feedback is very welcome!

I do not own anything The Red Sea Diving Resort related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

The house that you inherited from your great-grandaunt — who apparently despised you less than her other relatives —is definitely what a realtor would describe as ‘having plenty of potential’. But it really does have good bones, so to speak, and with the current housing market, you definitely aren’t complaining.

And the neighborhood isn’t half-bad, either. The community is close-knit, if a little nosy, helpful to the point of overbearing.

And so, they didn’t miss it when a new moving truck arrived at the house next to yours. The gossip has gone wild — the names of different special services are thrown around in the whispers like candy, even though no one can reasonably know anything about his history. Especially if he has a history as some overseas covert operator, like Mary at the end of the street keeps claiming, he certainly will keep that information to himself.

You are yet to run to him, and so you’re operating on second-hand information about him — which is mostly focusing on the fact that he’s tall and bearded and looks like he could bench press a school bus.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but you reason that a simple welcome visit isn’t going to end with your untimely demise. You pick a nice Saturday afternoon, check that his truck is on the driveway, and make your favorite snickerdoodle recipe. With a plate of still-warm cookies under aluminum foil, you go ring his doorbell, not entirely sure why your heart is beating so hard. It’s just a decent thing to do.

It takes a few moments for him to open the door, and when he does, you are proud that your poker face holds.

“Hi,” you say to the giant at the door. “You must be Ari. I live in the house next to yours, and I thought I’d come to welcome you to the neighborhood; they did it to me too, when I moved in a few months ago. I brought snickerdoodles.”

You extend the plate to him, and he takes it. He leans one shoulder on the doorframe, and you do not swallow when you see the muscles of his arms move. His hair reaches behind his ears, and he has a nicely trimmed beard. Even in a simple — tight — white shirt and jeans, he does look like a soldier. Not violent but like there is an alertness to him, despite the amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” he says. “Yes. I’m Ari. And you are?”

You give him your name, chuckling at the fact that you left it out in the first place.

“Nice to meet you. And thank you for the baked goods. Would you like to stay for a cup of coffee?”

He moves aside, gesturing for you to step over the threshold.

And you do.

There were a lot of things you had learned about Ari over the six months since your first meeting, that cup of coffee that somehow hadn’t felt awkward at all. He had a talent for filling moments like that with idle chatter that didn’t feel like it was just there to cover something.

It was just so Ari, how his charm was always on display and yet so inseparably a part of his very being that it didn’t feel like an act. It was just who he was. Of course, he could be a playboy — at least when it came to the charming part, since as far as you knew, there hadn’t been anyone visiting his house besides you.

You were more than certain that a fair number of ladies in the neighborhood harbored a crush. And why wouldn’t they, when Ari was the first to volunteer to any project, cracking easy jokes while he worked and being all charismatic smiles and wide shoulders ready to tackle anything.

It was that restless energy that had drawn him to your house, too. Just like you had turned up to his door that one Saturday, the next week he had turned up at yours, dressed in a flannel and jeans and carrying what looked like a heavy, well-equipped toolbox, pristinely new.

“Those gutters are going to fall off the clips soon. I could attach them better if that’s alright with you?”

Stunned, you had nodded. Sure, there was an endless list of things to attend to, and the gutters had been on your mind but then winter had come and you’d been so focused on other things. You had no idea how he noticed, and when you’d asked, he shrugged it off, mentioning something about how he had to learn how to build and maintain things out there, so you’d left the topic at that.

It was the first thing he fixed at your house, but not the last. He gravitated here, looking to do something of meaning, and he refused to hear your suggestions about paying him for the work he was doing — despite the fact that every project he poured himself into was done with the meticulousness rivaling not only someone not in the profession but with a passion to it.

Like the patio you were now sitting on your knees on, holding the plank in place for him so he could screw it onto the beam underneath from the opposite side. You’d made the mistake of mentioning over a shared dinner that you had contacted a contractor to see how much it would be to replace the deck, and he had turned up the next morning with all the necessary materials, in the exact shade of wood that you’d envisioned.

You weren’t certain that you wanted to know what strings he’d pulled to get all that so fast.

“Ari, seriously, you didn’t need to do this.”

“Nope,” he said. “But I wanted to.”

“At least let me pay for the wood,” you said. “You know, I’m a strong independent woman and I do have my own paycheck.”

“And I’m very proud of you, dear,” he said with perfect nonchalance, and you tried to ignore something twisting in your chest at that. “Just let me pick the next five movies for our movie nights and we’re even.”

You huffed, knowing that you’d be in for some underground art movies no one but Ari had ever even heard of but nodded regardless. It was literally the least you could do.

He finished screwing the plank down and reached for more screws from the box on the side — you’d begun earlier today by laying down all the planks to have an even platform to work with, and now it was just the matter of evening out the cracks in between and attaching them to the support structure. His arms moved, and his t-shirt lifted slightly as he bent to the side, revealing a slice of tanned, warm skin at his waist. You forced yourself not to stare.

The thing with Ari was that he flirted with anyone and everyone — except with you. He made the grannies laugh by asking them at the community nights if they were old enough to drink; he had the cashiers at the local grocery store sighing dreamily after him when he departed with one of his famous smiles. Everyone seemed to understand it was all fun and games, and yet you were certain you weren’t the only one here with hopes when it came to him.

But it wouldn’t be you — his complete and total lack of that kind of behavior around you was the clearest sign you could’ve asked for. He saw you in an entirely platonic light, and so you didn’t want to endanger what was a beautiful and genuinely enjoyable friendship with him by asking him if you could be more than that.

Even if sometimes the question, the why not me, burned your tongue and tried to sneak out of your throat. At least then you’d know the reason why he saw you so differently than others.

“Honeybun?” he said, yanking you out of your thoughts.

You swallowed, hoping that the question would go down too, and met his expectant gaze. He’d said something, and it had flown right past you, and now he was staring. God, you could drown in the blue of his eyes.

You were lucky to have him. He was a good friend, caring, attentive. He made you laugh at the worst of days; he was good at coming up with solutions, especially unconventional ones. You had no reason at all to feel wistful at all the nicknames, derived from different baked goods you’d made for him over the past months.

“Nothing, nothing,” you said, lowering your gaze. “Sorry. What did you need me to do?”

You heard a thump as he set the screwdriver down. He reached his hand, two fingers under your jaw tilting your face back up so that you’d look at him. There was that little wrinkle of worry between his brows and you felt a pang of guilt even as the warmth of his fingers was making your skin tingle.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he said. “We can take a break if you need a few. You’ve been somewhere far away for half the day.”

You quickly shook your head, knowing that you’d already ventured too far close to the line you didn’t want to end up crossing.

“Just a little tired, that’s all,” you said, hearing the flimsiness of the excuse even in your own ears.

He tilted his head and raised his brow; his hand was still there, under your jaw, lingering where it absolutely shouldn’t.

“I know it when you’re lying, honeybun,” he said, one corner of his mouth rising into a smirk. “Spill the beans. Do I need to kick someone’s ass? I’ll do it, you know.”

You swallowed so loud that it seemed to echo in your head like the creaking sound of thin ice.

“No, there’s no need for that. I was just wondering what’s so different about me?”

A flash of something in his eyes, gone so quickly that you could hardly tell it was there to begin with.

“Different how?” he said, strain in his voice, like he was going for some sort of normalcy and failing to grasp it.

Oh no. You had opened some floodgate and now things would be awkward from here to eternity. The only way to save this was to get it all out, and now that the water was flowing freely, there was no stopping the words from flowing out of your mouth:

“Well, it’s not a big deal, but sometimes I wonder why it is that you have this flirt going on with everyone except for me, and I mean, it’s absolutely and totally fine, you just see me thoroughly like a friend and that’s that but with what we have and all the nicknames and all that, sometimes I wish there could be more and I’m just wondering –“

And then you were wondering about nothing at all.

Ari was on you like a shot, his hands framing your face and pulling your lips on his even as he leaned towards you, and it didn’t matter that you didn’t understand. His kiss was a claim laid, one hand cupping the nape of your neck and the other wrapping around your waist even as his mouth devoured yours. He pulled back with his lips still on yours, bringing you to his lap and he was everything, everywhere, his scent and warmth and the softness of his shirt smelling like spring sun and laundry detergent, the taste of him on your tongue, the feeling of his hands mapping your body. It was just him all around you, and you fell into that just as easily as you’d once fallen into a comfortable, shared routine of friendship.

When he finally let your mouth go, you were both out of breath, and you were straddling his lap, suddenly very aware of how his feelings towards you weren’t entirely platonic at all. There was a hint of pink on his cheeks, and his hands came to cup your jaw, thumbs caressing your skin.

“You were too precious for that, honeybun,” he murmured, eyes fixed on yours. “I didn’t… When you waltzed into my house that day, it was the first time it felt like a home. You were the first time I felt at home. And putting on that face… it felt too cheap for you. And I didn’t… I couldn’t lose you. Not you. So I thought I’d be there for you. Take care of you, make you happy, and find my joy from that. When I was out there… I don’t know if I did enough, if I made a difference. I wasn’t sure I even deserved the kind of peace I felt with you.”

“Ari,” you breathed out, tears prickling in your eyes, unsure what you would’ve said even if there wasn’t a lump blocking your throat. “Ari, I…”

His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen lips, and he shook his head ever so slightly, his gaze aflame with something that could never ever be just friendship.

“But now that I’ve had a taste of you, honey, I’m not selfless enough to give that up. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I can’t let you go.”

“Then don’t.”

And just like that, his mouth was back, his hands diving down from your face to map the shape of your body, and the tiny moan he breathed right onto your lips sent a shiver down your back. He was holding you by the hips and you tangled both of your hands into his hair, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere without you.

“I think,” he managed in between pushes of his lips. “I think the patio can wait.”

You nodded eagerly, and he stood up with ease that sent a swooping feel of desire into your core, his hands slipping under your thighs so he could carry you. Your legs wrapped around his waist as your arms clung to him, and he made a beeline for the door that led inside.

It was a good thing that after all the work he’d done at the house, he knew exactly where the bedroom was.

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