#ease of a spiral just built in right now is hard not to fall in to

[adlibitur]

not to be old me on main again but

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Teeth

Part 21

Masterlist

Werepanther!Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: Full moon insanity, angst, mentions of stalking, oral (f), consensual, rough, unprotected sex.

Hard shout out to @idaofinfinity and @ittybxttykxttytxtty for helping me so much through wanting/ not wanting to write. I push myself too hard, I know, and I am forever grateful that you both encourage me to take breaks. I hope this rocks your socks off.

It’s stuck in his head.

The way you looked when he told you he was leaving.

The pain in your voice, the smell of your despair in the air.

There was no one more sorry than Billy Russo right now.

He sits in the isolation room of his design, his head resting against the concrete wall, the panther whining like a pained animal inside his mind, agonising over the way he hurt you, begging him to go back to you and make things right.

He closes his eyes.

He hadn’t meant to do it like that, so suddenly, he was going to ease you into it, tell you he’d gotten a work call, that he may have to respond, and then apologetically depart a while later, hoping to free you of some of the pain.

Instead, he’d blurted it out in the same moment that you’d finally admitted to him that you were ready.

To be fair, that very admittance had been the catalyst that had shoved him into an early spiral, the beast inside of him had started roaring in his mind, he’d almost lost control right in front of you.

He'd done it to protect you, that’s the only thing that puts him at ease. The possibilities of what could have happened if he were to remain in your presence worried him. The first time you'd been together, he'd bruised your wrist, there was no telling what he might do accidentally with the full moon almost overhead.

He takes a deep breath in and he can smell you, your scent still lingers on him. He'll have to get rid of his clothes if he plans to stay sane in here.

The panther fights him, tries to force him to shift prematurely. He groans, his entire body aching as he tries to resist it. He falls onto his side, his teeth elongates, breathing shallow. 

He fights harder, tries to manage his breathing like Frank taught him all those years ago. He hates the way he doesn't have control the way other shifters do, that his past still affects him, even now.

He'll never be free of it, he worries he'll have to hide from you on every full moon to protect you from the beast inside of him, he'll always have to look over his shoulder, too afraid to lose control, too scared to give in to himself.

At least he can let go here, far enough away where he can't hurt you, or scare you with his bloodlust. 

One of the bones in his shoulder bends. He grunts, takes a deep breath, waiting for the impending break to happen, his body trying to reshape him before he's ready.

It's the fight that makes it more painful, if he was compliant in his loss of control, the shift would hurt less. The pain helps though, keeps him human. He feels the burn of sweat as it drips into his eye.

After a few agonizing moments, the wave subsides, and he can sit up once more, leaning against the wall. 

There are two screens across from him, built into the wall to protect it, one shows the live security footage surrounding the abandoned building he was in, near the outskirts of the city, the other shows the security footage of his home.

He's got a couple of cameras on the surroundings, but there's one in particular he watches, the only one inside of his house. It sits in the corner of his kitchen, overlooking the main hallways, and just in the corner he can see his living room as well.

He did warn you about the camera before he left, advised that he might check in from time to time. He wonders if that was your motivation for sitting at his kitchen counter and working right now.

He takes a deep breath, relaxes, watches the way you look while you work.

It sort of calms him, to see you, there’s just something so peaceful about you and the way you move. He wants to lie beside you and watch you, he yearns for those small moments where you're deep in your own thoughts.

Outside, he hears the soft drops of rain beginning to fall, like static, it fills the room, helps him focus his thoughts.

Now more than ever, he thinks about his dreams of lying next to you, something in his chest unknots, the idea of eternal peace at your side eases him into a shallow sleep.

.

The first night after Billy left was the worst.

It wasn't the silence, so much as the lack of his presence in the house. It's like you could feel his absence, as if something warm in the room had disappeared, leaving your very insides frigid. 

You'd tossed and turned in your own room, struggling with feeling too hot or too uncomfortable, fighting hard to succumb to your exhaustion, but nothing would let you. 

You’d drank tea to calm yourself, quiet music to soothe your mind, you’d even tried an audiobook that you’d listened to a thousand times because the voice actor had a particularly soothing voice.

Nothing.

There was always something wrong.

After a few hours of frustration, you'd sat up, pushed your sheets off, and stepped softly into the hallway.

You'd approached his room slowly, not out of fear, but with curiosity, wondering what his room would look and feel like when he wasn’t here to fill the space. Pushing his door open, you'd felt something so different overcome you.

It had been so much cozier in his room, the warmth you'd been searching for had cocooned you the minute you'd taken a seat on his bed. The sheets were soft on your legs, you couldn't resist lying down.

You could smell him, his earthy scent with just a touch of citrus and when you'd closed your eyes, you swear he was still here, right around the corner, out of reach, but still present.

It leaves an excited twist in your stomach, that you can curl up in his bed, grip the pillows he sleeps on, breathe him in.

It makes falling asleep so easy, that you could never understand what the problem was in the first place.

While getting ready for work the next day, you push open his closet door, searching for something of his that you can wear, to have him close. 

You grab one of his blazers, finding a way to match the aesthetic so that it looks like it belongs to you.

It’s a little big on you, welcoming still, and you steal a scarf as well to battle the chill outdoors.

At work, you feel a thrill at wearing his items, delight in the fact that no one knows you wear his things and you sleep in his bed.

Work is monotonous without him though, every little spare minute you have makes you want to amble up to his office excitedly, only for your thoughts to stop in their tracks at the reminder that he won’t be there.

Dinah even checks on you at lunch, and while you’re happy to see her, her responses are clipped and perhaps a little more frigid than usual. You wonder if it’s because of his absence, if the only reason she bothered to put up with you was because of him. 

You try not to overthink that. Maybe it was something as simple as her own job being frustrating.

She takes off shortly after checking in, leaving you alone with only your thoughts to keep you company.

It’s a big difference from life with him to life without him, the only thing keeping you intact is that there’s only one more day and then hopefully he’ll be back with you again.

At the end of the day, you smile politely at Sergei as he holds the door of the car open for you. Outside is freezing, and you’re glad to be in the warm vehicle, shedding your jacket and scarf as the heat soaks into your body.

The moon is full, and so effortlessly beautiful tonight, you can’t help smiling up at it, wondering if the myth about shapeshifters and full moons were true.

You marvel quietly at the realisation that you knew shapeshifters existed, and yet you managed to not tell a soul. You raise your hands, fingers tracing the panther hanging around your neck, hoping that wherever he was, that he was okay.

.

The back of his head hits the wall, sweat cascading down his neck as he pants.

All he can hear is his own rapid exchange of breath, and the sound of his fingers clawing at the concrete below him.

He grunts, pressing his teeth together as another wave of pain hits, his vision going dark, one of his ribs snap and he flinches, hunching forward.

It was almost time, the moon only hours away from its peak, he feels saliva drip from his mouth as his teeth grow too large for his mouth to remain closed.

The soft rain from before falls more intensely now, he imagines what it would feel like on his skin, uses the thought to steady himself. He’s been fighting the shift all day, but soon he’ll be able to give in, soon, the panther and him will become one.

Something on the monitor catches his eye. Someone moving through the downpour outside of the building. He can’t see their face, can barely make out the figure with the way his vision swims.

The cameras follow the motion, he watches something be left at the front door of the building.

He struggles to a stand, reaching for his phone hidden behind the monitor, uses his thumbprint to unlock the large iron door keeping him in the basement.

He tries to be quick, but his struggle with the panther slows him down, by the time he makes it to the front door, any trace of the stranger is gone.

He suspects it may be the stalker, but he can’t risk the chase right now, reaching to pick up the item left behind, a small lightweight box.

He gives it a hefty shake, hears the sound of fabric swishing.

He knows he shouldn’t be opening it, but instinct has taken over, he doesn’t smell anything dangerous, but opening a potentially dangerous package is still risky.

He blinks in confusion when he finds one of his scarves folded neatly in the box. Eyebrows drawn together, he pulls the scarf out, he can smell his own scent on it, and something else that drives him to bring the material up to his nose for a deep breath.

His eyes roll back in his head when he catches the pure scent of you, and when he finally breathes in your sweet pheromones, he finally realises the danger you’re in.

He scrambles back into the basement, tripping, the panther fighting him with full force. He initiates maximum lockdown and throws his body as far away from the door as possible. 

You’re ovulating, he can smell it on the scarf, and the timelines make sense. He shakes his head, clenches his fist as the clawing inside of his mind grows frantic.

The beast inside of him wants you. Now. It fights to go to you, to find you, wherever your sweet body hides. He wants you, to drink you greedily down until he’s satisfied.

He’s your biggest threat now.

He hits the wall, again and again, fighting something intangible with every bit of himself.

The scarf is at his feet, he doesn’t remember bringing it in, but it barely matters now, he reaches for it, brings it to his face again, before flinging it away.

The sound of his own heartbeat fills his ears, the sound of his breathing all accumulates into an overbearing din in his head. He tries to cover his ears but it doesn’t help. 

Everything is too loud, growing louder by the second, until it’s too much, until he can’t take it anymore.

Billy squeezes his eyes shut, and lets out a pure, unrestrained roar.

And then, everything quiets.

He straightens, takes a few calm breaths.

He finds his phone, typing in the four-digit pin, and answering the security question with ease despite his complete inability to think. When he’s done, his hand crushes it into fragments before dropping it to the floor.

He steps out of the room, the full moon above head, with only one destination in mind.

.

Your evening had been peaceful as you’d learned to appreciate being alone. You’d sipped on a warm mug of tea and sat in his sun room while the rain had poured all around you. 

It was calming, and when you’d closed your eyes, you’d imagined him behind you, tucked against you while the world moved around you. It was such a serene thought, it made you miss him so much more. You wanted that with him, and you could only hope that he would want that too.

The evening had been uneventful, you’d taken out your laptop and sat in his kitchen to get a little bit of work done, hoping that he would send you a message to tell you he was doing okay, but you know that was unlikely when he was this busy.

The rain had gotten progressively worse, and by the time you’d climbed into his bed, it was almost a full downpour.

You’re sleeping soundly in his bed when the sharp crack of thunder wakes you.

You wake with a gasp, vision hazy as you blink, another flash of lightning waking you up just a little more.

You sit up, rubbing one eye as you look around.

A large shadow looms in the corner of your eye and you gasp, turning to it, your heart jumping into your throat in fear.

The room is moderately lit, and you manage to discern Billy almost immediately, the panic in your body dissipating.

“Oh my fucking God, you scared the shit out of me.” You gasp, keeling over to rest your head against the pillow, trying to calm your racing heart.

He doesn’t say anything, and the next time you look up at him, he’s still in the same spot, staring at you. He looks a little damp, his hair slicked back and you figure he must have walked through the rain to get here.

It unsettles you a little, you tilt your head, examining his white t-shirt and joggers, noting that his beard has grown a little longer than when you last saw him.

When he tilts his head to mimic you, face stoic,  you gulp.

“Are you alright?” You ask, stomach flipping as he takes a slow stride toward you.

You study the serious expression on his face, wondering if he was angry at coming home to find you in his bed, even though he had offered it to you before he left. 

Maybe you’d overstayed?

“I can leave if you want.” You suggest sleepily, pulling back the sheets to begin climbing out of his bed.

“Stop.” He says, and his low voice, almost a grovel, sends tingles down your spine, though you’re unable to separate the excitement from that small seed of fright within you.

You watch him approach, and after a small second of thinking, you feel the need to voice your concerns over the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re scaring me a little.” You confess on a breath.

He blinks, and then stops moving.

“I’m sorry.” He finally says, taking a step back, “I- shouldn’t be here.”

For the first time, you finally see the Billy you’re used to.

“No, it’s okay.” You say quickly, climbing out of bed to take his hand in yours, his rough palm sending tingles up your arm.

“You just scared me a little, I wasn’t expecting you back, but you can sleep next to me, I don’t mind.” You tug him to the bed, but he pauses just before you can climb in.

You look back at him in confusion, and then your stomach flips when his other hand raises to cup the back of your neck. Though his touch is gentle, it warns of something untamed below, pulling you closer to him.

You blink slowly, as scattering sparks spread where he touches you, mouth parting at the feeling he gives you, so much need for him swells inside of you.

He pulls you against his chest, and you go easily, wrapping your arms around his torso to try making him feel more comfortable. Though his hands are cold, his chest is warm, reminding you of how badly you’ve been longing for him.

His arms wrap around you too. You feel his face press to the top of your head, hear him take a deep breath, before a low rumble leaves his chest.

“You smell good.” He says.

“Thanks?” You offer, unsure.

His hands move, reaching down to grip your hips, and then smooth over the small of your back. You suck in a deep breath to fight your own urges.

He kisses the top of your head softly, and then he’s cupping your jaw to tilt your face upward, eyes fluttering closed as his lips meet your forehead, then adjusting your head, to place another to your temple.

“You’re pretty.” He murmurs into your ear, before he kisses your cheek. 

“Thank you.” You breathe, more accepting to his compliments now,  eyes still closed as his lips roam over your cheek, growing closer and closer to your mouth.

When he gets close to your mouth, he pauses, making your chest grind with want.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, a hit of teasing in his voice, as if you would deny him, as if you could. You smile softly, tilting your head up.

“Yes.” You say in a hushed tone, biting down hard on your lip to keep you oriented.

“Sure?” He baits, his mouth at the very corner of yours, his breath, featherlight on your skin, your desire like a pit in your throat that refuses to be swallowed.

“Why are you being so mean?” You whisper, as his lips grow closer, your eyes are barely open, but you still catch his devious smile.

He pushes at your shoulders, a shocked gasp of surprise leaving your lips as you feel your feet slip from under you. You fall backwards, his soft bed catching you easily.

Almost immediately, you sit up, looking up at him in disbelief, unaccustomed to such… ferity. 

He doesn’t let you speak, or even think, before he moves, cupping your face in his hands and slanting his mouth over yours.

An explosion goes off in your head, your hands gripping the sheets almost painfully, eyes squeezed shut, trying to press your lips even firmer to his. Everywhere he touches, burns with blistering sparks.

You’re so much more than eager, beyond desperate for this taste of him, one that you’ve been yearning for, from the very first moment you kissed him.

A sigh against his lips, reaching your hands up to cup the back of his head, pull him closer so that he doesn’t come to his senses and pull away. You feel like a piece of a puzzle, relieved to be slotted into the place you belong, somehow knowing without a doubt that he was that place.

He groans passionately against your lips before pressing forward, guiding you to shuffle back on his bed so that he can crawl atop you.

You stay like that, sharing feverish kisses with each other, a quiet challenge between you to even think about pulling away. 

His hands move down, tugging your nightdress up so that he can fit himself between your thighs, your clothed cunt coming right into contact with his straining erection.

It feels euphoric, the burn of needing him, separated by only a few layers of fabric. He groans into your mouth, hands reaching to secure your hips in place, taking the opportunity to grind his cock against you in return.

You gasp, more a hitch of your breath than anything else at the delicious contact, turning your head away to try catching your breath.

It’s not something he takes kindly to, his fingers wrapping around your throat in warning, his thumb against your jaw to guide your face back to his.

His eyes are dark, almost bottomless with the way you can see no light reflecting off of them. You don't have much time to look at him before his lips are on yours once more, something searing hot, desperate clawing at you.

Your moan is broken against his mouth, your stomach twisting as you realise you need so much more than what he’s giving you right now.

“Please.” You murmur into his mouth, hoping he understands you. You arch your back, offering your body to him.

A low grunt leaves his throat, and suddenly the top of your dress gets torn into two. 

Your breasts spill out, and he moves from your mouth to kiss at your neck. 

You whine, tilting your head to give him more access, tingles spreading over your skin at the way his mouth feels. Your hands roam his back and shoulders, feeling at his damp hair, a painful desire to explore every inch of him you can reach with the tips of your fingers.

“Billy.” You hum, and you hear him moan in response, his hand reaching to palm at your breast, your clit pulsing in retaliation.

You shudder when he plucks at your pebbled nipple gently, rolling your stiff peak between his expert fingers. Your skin tingles where he touches, sparks cascading over you.

A sharp sob leaves you, your legs wrapping tightly around his hips, the friction there is only enough to tease. Your brain begs for relief from the ache of wanting.

Your head falls back against the bed, too much pleasure searing your system to focus, his mouth working your body into a boneless mass, desperate for him.

You whine when his lips seal gently around your nipple, feeling a delicious tug inside of you, his other hand reaching for your untouched breast.

The breath leaves your body, head tossed back, feeling him, the way you yearned for him in the last few days.

The sound of your dress ripping further draws you out of the fog of desire clouding your head, you look down, realising that he’s torn your dress right down the middle.

You blink, a little confused at the strength he must have to tear through your dress without even hurting you in the process. 

You suck in a deep breath, feeling some thinking redirect from your cunt to your brain, looking up at him, watching the way he studies your exposed form.

He lets out a shaky breath, withdrawing from you a little.

“I think you should run.”

“Billy?” You say his name for an explanation.

“I’m not- myself, and the things I want to do to you-” He huffs, drawing away completely.

There’s a war going on inside of his head, you can tell by the look in his eye that his desire is getting the best of him.

It’s exactly how you want it.

“I'll run if you promise to chase me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you meant.” You challenge, sitting up and climbing out of his bed, “Stop fighting yourself, and come take what’s yours.”

When you say your last words, you drop the tattered remains of your dress from your shoulders, watching his eyes refocus on you.

He stands too, large body looming over you, lightning flashes again, painting him in a sinister light for a few microseconds.

“You have no idea what I want to do to you.” He grunts, taking a step forward.

You take an equal step back, playfulness in your eyes.

“I think you want to chase me, and I think  I want to be chased.”

A primal sound leaves his throat just then, and your eyes widen in surprise. All you can interpret, is that it’s the pure sound of him letting go of his own resistance.

You take another step back, and then another, left only in your panties, you make it to the door of his bedroom before he begins to move.

Thunder cracks, somewhere in the distance, and you make it to his dark kitchen before he catches you.

His body is pressed firmly to your back as he wraps an arm around you.

“Telling you to run was a bad idea.” His hands reaches up to cup your breasts, you groan, tilting your head back as his broad hands explore you.

His voice drops to a whisper.

“It just made me want to catch you more.”

His hand grips your throat, tilting your head up so that he can kiss you.

It’s more passionate than before, mouth pressed hard to yours, tongue delving past your lips in an effort to devour.

His other hand slides over your stomach, all the way down until his slender fingers slip below the waistband of your panties.

You gasp when he touches you for the first time, careful fingers pressing in, no doubt feeling how wet you are.

He grunts, presses his mouth to your temple.

“You’re so wet for me sweetheart, is this what you wanted? Were you lying in my bed just waiting for me to find you?”

You can’t even speak, lips parted, eyes rolling back as he gently circles your aching bud.

Warm, all around you, his scent and his body, all of it filling your head with desperation.

His grip on your jaw tightens, and you peek your eyes open to look up at him.

“Answer me.”

“Missed you.”

He lets out a sharp breath, one that could be mistaken for frustration, if you didn’t know him, but you do, you can almost feel how hard he’s trying to hold on to his control.

He spins you, pressing you back until your behind bumps his kitchen counter, his eyes are so dark, and the only time you can see his face is when lightning strikes outside.

You don’t know what he’s going to do, but somehow, with the domineering way he looks, the last thing you expect is to watch him drop to his knees.

Eye level with your cunt, he leans in, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“So fucking good.” He says roughly, voice low as if he meant to say it to himself.

He reaches forward, grips each side and tears the soft material into pieces.

When you’re finally bare for him, he looks up, sinister clarity in his eyes, no control left to be seen.

“Ask me.” He commands.

You gulp, unprepared to speak among the desperation in your throat.

“P-please.” You breathe.

He keeps his eyes on you, shakes his head slowly as if you've said the wrong thing.

“Don’t shy away from me now. Ask.”

“Can you- please-” You close your eyes for a moment, trying to find the willpower, “-lick my cunt?”

He's silent for a while, and you have to peek your eyes open to see him.

He looks calm, a devious smile on his face as he nods.

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” He vocalises, before leaning forward to kiss your thigh.

His kisses are meaningful, trailing from mid thigh all the way up, his beard scratching along your skin slowly, forcing you to grip the edge of his counter to keep your balance.

After a moment, he grows impatient, hands wrapping around your hips to pick you up and seat you on the edge of the counter.

You gasp.

Holy fuck, how did he just do that?

You don't get any time to reflect on it before he's spreading your legs, wide, wider, shouldering his large body between your thighs as if he owns the space, kissing at the seam of your cunt gently, as if asking further permission.

You groan, the torment of having his mouth so close burns at you, and yet you can't find the strength to say something, or even move, only able to feel.

He kisses, and kisses, and when you're sure his lips must be sticky with your arousal, he parts his lips to glide his devilish tongue against you.

Though you’ve felt the expertise of his tongue before, the sensation still draws a gasp of surprise, the reminder of what this man is capable of, flooding your head. He grips your thighs, you can almost feel the ardour in his grip, before he pushes upward, forcing you to lie back on his countertop.

You go slowly, settling for resting on your elbows while you watch him slide your legs over his shoulders.

His dark hair between your thighs sparks an untamed flood of desire, going right through you, burying its need directly into your bones.

His tongue slips against your clit, the motion so smooth that your mouth drops open at the pleasure he so easily delivers. With purposeful pressure, he tastes you, drinks you down, something insatiable blooming in his eyes as he glances at you.

He delves into your cunt next, reaching for a pure taste, sighing through his nose, you watch his eyes blissfully close for a moment as his tongue dips into the most intimate parts of you.

He groans into your cunt, warm breath across your skin, and then all bets are off.

Your clit is given attention next, swipes of his tongue that make you almost dizzy with the pleasure of it, licking at you just right, steadily pulling you closer and closer to the idea of an orgasm.

There’s no pretence of teasing behind it, his tongue gives an expert display of what he’s capable of, gliding in circles around your bud, licking you softly ever so often to let you catch your breath.

Your skin tingles, the air in your body held in an almost stasis state within your throat, being exhaled only to be inhaled in the same moment. 

Your elbows begin to protest the hard counter, and you let yourself drop against the chilly surface, appreciating the sensation against your burning skin.

He buries his tongue within you again, groaning, and then you feel as he drags the appendage out and back to your clit.

He caresses you with every part of his tongue, from the very tip making gentle flicks to the flat of it, that rolls evenly over you. Pleasure burns inside of you, building up, your body tensed and trembling slightly, silently begging him not to stop.

You whine, reaching down, in hopes that he’ll take your hand, and he does so easily, fingers interlocked, squeezing, desperate to come.

Ravenous now, the pace of his tongue increases to a near frenzy, outside, the rain matches his mindset.

Little sounds of desperation leave you, whimpers as he brings you close to your peak with just his tongue, doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, he centres your whole world around his mouth in these moments, whether he intends to or not.

It’s gradual, it’s euphoric, you feel yourself so close to the precipice, with nothing but him on your mind.

You say his name, an appreciation of him, and all that he’s capable of.

Thighs trembling involuntarily, you raise your head to look down at him, your hand squeezing his tight, pleasure building, and building, a rubber band, pulled tight, about to be snapped.

You find his eyes on you, half-lidded, The appearance of calm, but somehow all you can see is a predator eager to devour.

It's that very look in his eye that tips you over the edge, falling back with a cry as you shatter against his dexterous tongue. You forget how to breathe as hot sparks of spread in your veins, burning, decimating your very ability to think. Your thighs tremble, chest heaving and you can feel the vibration of your heart as muted waves of bliss crash through you.

He licks you softly as you come, prolonging your orgasm, ensuring that every ounce of thought is wrung from your head with just his mouth.

When you've given him your final shiver, and you rest sated on his counter, does he finally lift himself up from between your messy thighs.

Lighting strikes when you meet his eyes, something odd about the way he's looking at you, that makes you feel like if you try to run, he would not be kind about catching you.

That is, if you could run, but your limbs are jelly at the moment, and all you can do when you meet his eyes is give him a look of adoration.

.

Control, is a distant memory, fading ever further with each minute in your presence.

Billy has only one trick left, and he’s not sure how long it’s going to last.

He watches you struggle to sit up, thighs still parted for him, and he can see your cunt, dripping hot arousal onto his kitchen counter.

His vision blurs, the panther trying to force him to grab at you, roll you over and mount you like an untamed beast. 

More ferarum, an old saying, the belief that though he may be human, and have a mostly human composition, his base desires was designed to be acted in the manner of beasts. 

To mount you like one, to fuck you like one, there’s millenia old genetics gripping his disposition by the neck and demanding he do what he was made to do.

And his solution? The answer to his problems, is the very thing driving him to insanity.

You.

Because when the beast inside of him demands your body, he presses his nose to your hair and takes a breath. When the beast demands to bite you while he takes you, he drops to his knees and tastes your cunt. 

And now, when the beast is demanding to rut into you like an animal, he takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes. 

How sweet they are, eager for him, willing to be devoured, and he knows you have no real idea of what you’re asking for.

He leans in, watching you struggle to move your body into a sitting position, and when you’re close enough, he grips your cheek and pulls you in for a kiss.

Heaven, the taste of your mouth, everything about you wraps him into knots, tangled in the web of your desire, and he’s not sure if he’s ever felt so eager to be owned.

But then your fingers reach for his shirt, and he has to stop you while he has the capacity to think, having distracted the beast with the feeling of his lips on yours.

Reaching out, Billy stops your hands as they reach for the edges of his shirt, looking into your eyes for a long moment, unsure of why he’s hesitating when he has you here, ready for him.

The idea of your hands on his bare skin makes the panther tug at his mind. Why was he stopping you? He could almost feel the promise of your soft hands, his stomach curling in desire.

He feels the beast take advantage of his muddled mind to seize control once more.

.

You can’t see too much in the low light, but you know there’s an internal battle being fought in his head. You try to be patient with him, to let him decide if he wants to continue or not, and try to be okay with whatever act he decides on.

You’re definitely not expecting him to reach through the darkness and grip your jaw.

But god, does it feel good. 

“Had enough?”

It’s definitely not something you expected him to say.

It’s hard to shake your head with his fingers pressing into your jaw but you do your best to anyway.

“Please,” You whisper, unable to voice your need, “Please.” 

You feel his grip on your jaw tighten.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His voice is so deep it washes over your bare skin like a gentle caress.

“You. I’m asking for you.”

He lets out a sharp breath.

“You shouldn’t want me.”

And yet, you do.

You whine, moving a hand slowly between your thighs, your intention is to either ease the ache inside of you, or get a reaction out of him.

You get the latter, with his hand reaching out to stop yours.

When he does nothing, you groan angrily.

“Please, please, please fuck me, Billy.”

In the darkness, you can’t see his grin, but you know it’s there from the way he says his next words.

“That was all you had to say.”

And then so many things happen at once.

He grips your hips, lifting you off the counter and bringing you against his body. You squeak in surprise, not enough time to marvel at his strength before one hand is under your ass, supporting your weight, and the next hand is gripping the back of your head to kiss you, hard.

You respond readily, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips while eagerly tugging his shirt up.

Smiling into the kiss as he has no choice but to let you undress him, raising the hand gripping your hair to help you get his shirt off one arm, and then switching hands to keep you supported while you pull his shirt free in totality.

Almost immediately, your hands are on his bare torso. You sigh happily into his kiss, reaching around to trail your fingertips over his back. He grunts against your mouth, taking you somewhere with smooth steps.

When your hands trail down the front of his body, he pauses his movement to assist you in getting his pants off. Perching you on his small kitchen table, he fumbles for the button and zipper of his pants before kicking it off. Your hands keep roaming his torso eagerly, over his defined biceps and shoulders, and when it’s not enough, you lean in to place open mouthed kisses all over his collarbones.

He groans, turning his head to kiss at your cheek, one hand tilting your head so that he can pepper kisses along the side of your face.

You look down, finding his swollen cock gripped in his fist, his open pants hanging low on his hips. The tip of his cock is a dark pink, almost a purple in the low light, a bead of precum slowly presenting at his slit.

You know he's going to hate that he's wearing his pants later, so while he's distracted by kissing your cheek and stroking the remarkable length between his legs, you push his pants down lower, hoping that he'll understand and kick them off.

You don't get the chance to make sure they're fully off- he grips your jaw, turning your head up to his.

Such a beautifully sinister face, the promise of pleasure so close.

“Are you ready for me?” He asks, his voice a husky timbre.

Honestly, you didn't know, but with the amount of arousal you were feeling, the way your thighs and ass were messy with want, the knowledge that your body was at peak fertility, made your odds look pretty good.

Plus, you didn't think you had the sanity left in you to make sure. You wanted him badly, and you wanted him now.

You swallow, eyes demure as you nod your head.

He grips your jaw harder.

“Say. It.” He hisses.

“I want you in me.” You breathe softly.

You watch his eyes roll closed, lips parted, breathing shallow. A sharp nod, before he’s lining his cock up with your entrance by feel alone.

You bite down on your bottom lip really hard- clenching the moment you feel the head of his cock press against you.

“Easy,” Billy soothes, his hand smoothing over your shoulder and down your back, “Relax for me.” He whispers, bringing his mouth to your ear.

You give a shy nod, taking a deep breath as he eases the tip of his cock into you.

A little broken sound leaves your throat, your head falling against his chest. Your centre flutters involuntarily, clenching around him, pulling another soft whimper from you.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He hums, pressing deeper. 

When he hits an uncomfortable point, stretching your cunt wide, your breath hitches as you drag your nails across his arm, silently asking him to wait, please.  

He does, hands gripping your hips, aching for some semblance of sanity as he feels you all around him.

When you’re feeling okay, you shift your hips closer, silently asking for more.

It’s a trial, taking him, despite how wet and aching you are, even though you’ve been dreaming of this for days, your thighs tremble as you breathe evenly in an attempt to accept his girth.

“Billy.” You mewl, nails clawing at his biceps, squeezing tight as he finally fits the last inch of himself deep inside you.

You can feel him so eternally deep, the tip of his cock snug against your cervix while your lungs heave air, unable to comprehend the pleasure of being so full.

Trembling, your eyelids flutter as he draws out, and then back in again, thankfully, slow enough for you to accommodate.

He takes an audibly sharp breath, before you feel him lift you off the counter.

Your mouth drops open in shock, hands wrapping around his shoulders to steady yourself, and you feel his hands, their firm grip on your ass as he begins rocking you slowly on his cock.

There’s absolutely no way- he steals your thinking with a rough thrust- mouth dropping open as his cock rubs that delicious spot deep inside you.

He lets out a soft grunt that makes you clench, pleasure clouding your brain, removing each thought until you’re a puddle of want.

His pace is even, calm, he moves you as if you weigh almost nothing, lifting and dropping you on his own whim, his breathing is uneven, sometimes deep, and other times shallow, but you feel that has more to do with the grip of your cunt than the weight of you.

He clenches his jaw, eyes fluttering as he begins to make deeper strokes, you struggle to hold your body upright, leaning against him, your head on his shoulder while he uses you to please himself.

It’s more than good, better than anything before, he gives you just what you need and maybe a little more. You feel full, stretched, like this is what you’ve been craving for most of your life.

You sink your fingers into his shoulders, trying to fight the tears of ecstasy threatening to fall. His skin is warm, a little groan on each breath.

It flutters in your ribs, the tug of something intoxicating deep inside of you as he fucks you like this, as if he owns you and the very pleasure you experience. Your cunt clamps down around him, desperate, warning, that you were going to shatter around him very soon.

You say his name, head tipping back to allow more air into your system, as if that could help you manage the impending act of falling apart.

He makes a low sound, almost a growl, makes you shiver, your thoughts being scrubbed from your mind as his cock fills you repeatedly.

It's too much, and then there's a rush of pleasure inside you, starting from your center and working its way into your head. You sob, body rocking against his, locked tight on the brink of insanity.

A sharp cry spills from your mouth as your vision goes white, his hands tighten on the flesh of your ass, going still when you clench around his cock.

It feels like you're locked in that haze of pleasure for eternity, head tipped back, eyes closed, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you grip his cock like life depends on it.

Then comes the tremors, falling against him, your entire body quivers, waves and waves of sizzling euphoria, carving its way up your spine, pooling somewhere in the back of your head making all your limbs feel so sluggish.

He holds you through all of it, cock deep, kissing your deepest parts, breathing shallow, eyes dark, filled with want.

.

When you come on his cock, his thinking fragments.

All it takes is the flutter of your walls around him, the way you look while you take pleasure on his cock, the smell of your skin, your moans filling the air, he doesn't think he's ever been this far away from sanity.

His mate is beautiful.

Made just for him, and him for her.

The beast inside of him demands he claim ownership, raw instinct to bite into your skin and mark you, leave traces of his spit and his cum on you so that everyone will know that you’re his.

The taste of your cunt lingers on his tongue, he doesn’t remember that he’s a man in these few moments after he feels you come.

All he can think of now, is the magnificence of his soulmate, and the ways he’s going to ruin her, the ways he’s going to reshape her until she wants for only him.

He feels his teeth sharpen, feels you lean in to rest your head against his shoulder. 

It would be so easy, his mouth is so close, he could tilt his head and sink his teeth into your skin and you would barely feel any pain because he’d be fucking you through it, making sure you come at least three more times before he releases your skin from between his teeth.

He leans in, rubs his lips to your shoulder, to the very spot he’d bite, feels you clench around him in response, almost as if you’re asking for the same thing.

He closes his eyes, feels the push of the panther in his head, almost goes along with it.

It’s the smell of your skin that stops him. He stands there, breathing you in.

Fresh strawberries, making his mouth water, so deliciously ripe for him, all for him.

Sweet and small in his arms- hurting you would tear him apart.

It gives him the willpower to raise his head, to suck in a deep breath and remember that the predator was not all that he was, that he could choose differently.

He would simply, choose you.

.

When your orgasm finally subsides, all you can do is rest your head on his shoulder, clinging to him, in hopes that he never releases you.

He moves, holding you so easily that you have no idea how it’s even possible.

When your body is placed gently onto his bed, you only get a few moments to settle before his cock is pressing into you with more fervour than before.

It knocks the air right out of you, his thrusts are deep and fast, chasing his own orgasm now that he’s given you yours.

You moan, feeling him fill you so roughly, so deeply that you know you never want him out, you squeeze the walls of your cunt around him, silently begging him to stay deep inside of you, to empty himself there, a primal voice in the back of your head telling you that this is what you were made for.

His grip is tight on your hips, his breathing is shallow and hitched, broken up with low grunts, that makes your brain rattle with want.

He’s like a coiled predator, moving his body against yours, holding you firm so that he can plunder the deepest parts of you as he so pleases.

He leans down to kiss you, but doesn’t linger in favour of fucking you harder, your head tilted back, moaning in bliss to high heaven.

It works you up to another orgasm so quickly that you can only whimper in warning, trying to tell the amazing man above you that he’s your undoing without ever uttering a word. Your fingers grip his arms, wherever you can reach, nails pressed to his skin because you feel like you’re floating and you need him to tether you.

Something clicks in your brain just then, as he’s inside of you, the shallow pump of his cock lighting up every uncharted part of your brain, flooding your body with euphoria, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

It’s almost like self discovery, though, you’re not sure what you’ve found, all you know is that you’re open, and vulnerable beneath him, and through your watery vision- as the first hot tear spills from the corner of your eyes, and you catch sight of his parted lips and pinched eyebrows- you understand something you didn’t before.

That this is where you belong. With him, under him, taking him. 

“Good.” He grunts above you, and you force your eyes to focus on his gorgeous face.

“You feel so good.” He says again, and you whine, cunt clenching as he keeps his thrusts short. You can feel how wet you are in the ease of his motions, your body accepting him, you can feel him with the most intimate parts of yourself.

After a moment, he goes deeper.

You let out a strangled sound, barely capable of breathing with the sheer size of him in the deepest parts of you, you reach to grip the sheets instead as you fear you might hurt him, your body shaking with the desire to fall apart around him.

His mouth parts on a harsh breath, and your eyes drop down to his pink mouth, something odd about the way his canines look, your brain too blissed out to focus.

His teeth are sharp, and there’s something about his eyes.

“Please.” You beg, aching for another orgasm, lost in the rhythm of his cock inside of you, his thrusts growing so forceful that you shift up the bed with each thrust, the headboard bumping the wall each time as well.

“I-” You try to say, looking into his eyes, a low whine slipping from your throat, trying to tell him, to convey to him that you’re on edge and close to orgasm.

He understands, like you knew he would. Billy leans into you, taking up all the space around you, one hand sinking into your hair, holding you in place, his other hand interlocking with yours.

“Mine.” He rumbles, right into your ear, your skin tingles at the low timbre of his voice, you feel his teeth, scrape over your neck and you gasp.

“Cum. Now.” He orders, and your entire body shudders almost instantly. You cunt flutters involuntarily around his cock, you hear him let out a low moan as your clenching around is cock gets more intense.

A broken sound leaves your mouth, and then the dam breaks. 

You sob endlessly as pleasure overtakes your system, burning like wildfire in your veins, consuming everything and leaving only bliss in its wake. Your body thanks him, quietly, unable to do anything more than experience pleasure at the whim of his fingers and the steady motion of his cock. He holds you through all of it, an anchor that grounds you as you lose all thought. 

His lips pepper kisses over your neck, it only makes the pleasure that much sweeter. 

Above you, Billy growls loudly, you feel him make one final thrust, before he orgasms too, filling you with his cum, making you feel whole in a way you barely understand.

He stays inside of you for a while, cock twitching, you swear he fills you so much that it could almost spill out.

“I’m sorry.” Are the first words he whispers to you through shuddering breaths, his hands cupping your cheeks to encourage you to meet his eyes with your glassy ones.

“Are you hurt? Please tell me if I hurt you.”

You reach up to cup his cheek too, so happy to have him here with you, finally realising how much you really missed him.

Could he be yours? Really yours? Would he spend the rest of his days making you feel safe and loved and happy the way you were feeling right now?

Was that a real possibility for the two of you?

“I’m okay.” You finally gasp, thick emotion in your voice. You grip the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair to pull him down for a kiss.

Outside, thunder rumbles across the sky.

.

Your kisses are soft, meaningful, but it doesn’t take long for them to grow frantic again, and before you know it, his cock, having never gone soft, resumes fucking you once more.

Your body is ready for more, prioritising pleasure over whatever mild soreness you may feel. He fucks you to another orgasm before flipping you over onto your hands and knees.

He’s deeper now, your eyes roll back in your head as you rock your hips to meet his, a quiet slapping fills the room.

He reaches around, grips your throat to pull you up.

Your back pressed to his chest, his mouth tickles your ear.

“You can take it can’t you?” He asks, breathing laboured.

You mewl, nodding, his hips meet yours in another hard thrust.

 “Isn’t this what you wanted, sweetheart? What you-” He kisses your cheek, “ -and that pretty little cunt has been begging for?”

“Uh-huh.” Is your only vocalisation.

“So sweet for me.” He says, almost to himself, before he makes you see stars.

.

Your hair splays around you as your body falls to the bed, his cock filling you with his cum yet another time.

He stays inside of you for long moments, not pulling out until he absolutely has to.

You feel his spend spill out of you, you try to keep it inside.

He’s covered in a sheen of sweat when he crashes next to you, breathing rapid just like yours is.

You look into his eyes, and you see the corner of his mouth tick up into a smile, both of you fully understanding that this would not be the last time you fuck tonight.

.

When he takes you against the window, your legs wobble. He solves the issue by picking you up once more.

One hand pressed to the glass, the other under your ass, you’re not even sure how it’s possible that you’re being fucked in this position, but honestly you don’t care as long as he keep filling you with his deliciously large cock.

.

It’s almost morning when you finally fall into a deep sleep, wrapped in his arms, his fingers trailing in slow circles around the small of your back.

You breathe contentment, a bliss you’d never even thought was achievable, sated in his arms and you know there’s nowhere on earth that could be better than this.

.

You groan when he slips your still tired body into the warm bath.

You barely peek an eye open, feeling him slide in behind you, you turn so that your front is pressed against his.

His hands are firm yet gentle, washing the dried sweat from your skin, pouring warm water onto your shoulder, carefully swiping his fingers through your hair.

“ Wha’ time is it?” You mumble sleepily, lips half pressed to his collarbone.

“After twelve, we slept for a while.” He murmurs softly, sleep still clinging to his voice.

“We fucked for a while too.” You sigh.

He chuckles.

.

You ride him in his sun room after breakfast.

Or maybe that was lunch, the details seem irrelevant.

He piles you high with toast and eggs, bacon that tastes almost as good as the sex had been, and when you’re full, you can’t help the way your hands wander over his skin.

It’s not on purpose at first, you just want to enjoy his presence, tracing your hands up his shoulders to play with the hairs near the nape of his neck.

But he closes his eyes, makes a soft groaning sound when you gently scratch his scalp.

And then of course, you have to kiss him.

One soft peck, and then another, you find yourself pressed against him, tongues dancing, the grip of his hands on your hips, pulling you closer and closer.

He seats you on his lap and you can feel his stiff erection through his thin boxers and all bets are off.

You place a kiss on his lips after, telling him you’ll be right back, taking the empty dishes down to the kitchen and using the bathroom before heading back.

You find him lying on his front, sleeping in a beam of sunlight.

He’s face down, the light of the sun revealing his true hair colour to be more of a dark brown that the black it usually looks like, his breathing is soft and even, and you curl your hands into fists to resist reaching out to touch his bare back.

You smile fondly, noticing he’s not where you left him, figuring he must have moved into the sunlight before falling asleep, very much like a-

Like papers reshuffling, you feel your thoughts build a conclusion you didn’t even know you were looking for.

Of course, it had been right in front of you all along, staring you right in the face and you hadn’t even realised.

You raise a hand, touching the pendant hanging around your neck.

The memory of the way his teeth looked last night- that you’d sworn was just a trick of the light, the unexplainable way he’d lifted you- effortlessly strong in a way that you’d never seen a man do.

The way the animal had come to you, bringing your most beloved possession back, after you’d cried in his arms about the very thing.

You let out a soft breath, leaning against the doorframe to come to terms with the undeniable truth, that Billy, was the panther protecting you.

.

.

.

A/N: I didn't initially intend to stop here, but the length of the chapter grew to unmanageable lengths, I'm very sorry about the unintentional cliffhanger.

[hirsheyskisses]

Hello, Hir. I wanna request something spicy for Mysta Rias who is waiting to be spoiled. Thank you!

❝You make me want.. to do things.❞

┆Fembodied!Reader x sub Mysta Rias

┆┆Warnings: NSFW. Minors, DNI.

"Remember the safeword, Mysta?"

"Red.. Not that you'll fuck me well enough to make me need to use it." Mysta said, cockily as he could muster. Though, truth be told, he was hard and standing proud already.. earlier, he'd talked about having you dominant him, but god, he'd never expected you to take onto the role so quick. After talking things through with the limits, he, without much complaint, allowed you to tie him to a chair, a blindfold him.

"Then be a good boy, and do as your told."

"Fu.. yes sir.." Mysta managed, before your lips collided with his own. You were so - rough, already. Feeling your dominant energy, the way your hand tangled up into his hair and yanked his head back for a better angle, leaving a pleasurable stinging in his scalp- fuck. Already, pre-cum was leaking from his tip. "fuck, touch me."

His whole body seemed to shudder. His cock twitching and pre-cum gently smearing on his stomach, as you scoffed with such a venom that made Mysta want to cum on the spot.

Fuck, you were hot.

"You're such a disaster, I dont think you can be making demands right now, dear."

There’s a fight in his eyes, you can see it when they narrow ever so slightly, but he gives, head falling back and hanging off the chair. His thighs tense beneath yours and his cock jerks, "...Yeah."

Your lips moved to his neck. Leaving rough marks as you traveled down. Each time you touched him, electricity coursed through his veins, making his body tense so much more, his cock so much more needy. A low whimper escaped from Mysta as his hips roughly bucked, desperate for some form of friction.

"Needy, are you?"

You hissed into his ear, your hand gently wrapping around the base of his cock, dragging the head against the slickness of your cunt before sinking down just the smallest amount, barely enough to tease.

You eased your way down at an agonizingly slow pace. Relishing the looks of pleasure and annoyance that crossed over Mysta's face, the soft gasps you knew could come out as whimpers. The soft clinking from behind Mysta told you he was fighting the cuffs- so you ran your hands down his arms, not so gently grabbing his wrists. "Hey. Be a good boy.. And take it. Don't fight.."

His breath hitched nervously and he nodded quickly, a choked moan leaving his lips. Mysta's forehead falls, pressing into your neck as he bucks up, not enough to move, but enough to knock you uneasy. His mouth opened instantly for an apology, but you growled into his ear. "Enough of that."

"Keep being a brat, and I wont let you cum at all.."

For a moment, you don't move. Watching the sweat roll down his neck and chest, taking just a moment to enjoy your lovers body. Toned in all the right places, and while maybe not the most physically 'built' he's strong, and can always balance out. You were calm, adjusting slowly to his cock inside of you.

Mysta, on the other hand, was fidgeting desperately; wanting so badly to feel your pussy move, to feel your walls tighten, anything. His back arched away from the chair ever so slightly, realizing you didn't plan on moving.

"Please.. please, let me move, (Name), let me fuck you.." Mysta begged, trying to dislodge the blindfold from around his eyes, desperately tilting his head to the side, but to no avail. Your mocking, almost evil chuckling echoing and sending heat spiral to his cock, growing more desperate. "I'll be good. Please, please.. Ill make you- feel good too.." His voice cracked as his head angled towards you. You could sit forever and watch his facial expressions, watch him bend and break beneath you forever. But alas, he was being so good..

"You'll be a good boy, hmm? Well.. if you'll be good.." Your lips turned up into a smirk, arms wrapping around his neck, "Well, i suppose I can give you a reward.."

Your body slowly began to rock against Mysta's, and his body arched again; jerking against his cuffs and trying to buck up to increase the pace, but with your hand pressing against his abdomen, it didn't seem he could break it.

Every slow roll of your hips makes the electricity darting through his body even worse, unable to stop the bit of drool that tumbles out of the corner of his mouth.

But his hips rut anyway, trembling palms sliding along the back of his chair. Mysta didn't want anything more than to key those stupid fucking handcuffs.

You can’t help but let out your own little moans, growing a little closer to the edge with every grind of your heat against his body. Your hands search his chest, pinching at his rosy nipples until he whines out in complaint, bucking up with a desperation you’ve never seen before. 

“W-wait,” Mysta gasps, the odd metal clinking as he yanks at the restraints. You drive yourself back down, ignoring his complaint, moaning when the tip of his cock just barely brushes your sweet spot. Your attention refocuses there, forcing him deep as he could, again, and again, and again. “You’re gonna make me cum, please let me, I need to so bad.” 

"Then cum for me, Mysta."

You smirk, watching his eyes roll into the back of his head, his hips rutting with a desperate determination. “Almost, almost-” Mysta cuts himself off with a broken sounding cry, head falling back as he chokes on his own breath. Your walls tighten and suck him of his milk, soft whimpers escaping you. He hears none of it, just barely aware of you telling him just how good he did.

“Now then,” You coo, tugging at his soft hair, lifting yourself, just enough to the air to reach his slick cock and he shudders, wide-eyed and speechless. “How about you give me one more.” 

Mysta whimpers almost immediately, heavy and exhausted, and every part of  his body seems to throb and ache. You rock against him anyway, and it’s the only warning that he earns before you began to ride him with a rather fierce pace.

“Fuck.” Mysta whispers, tense with disbelief. He ruts into you instinctively, “Oh fuck, you’re not going to- oh.” 

Every motion hurts, a pleasure so painful it’s impossible to think of anything else but the way his body reacts, growing hard inside of you. 

“Oh fuck, g’nna cum again, so close- I  can’t, I can’t.” He sounds helpless, but doesn’t do anything to fight back. Mysta's so mindless with pleasure, wanting nothing more than to see you, drool that slips from his open mouth, tongue running uselessly over his lips. 

“Mysta,” You cut in, and the tone makes him force his eyes open even through the glaze, “Give me your color baby.” “Green- ” The man gasps like he can’t get the words out fast enough, back arching off of the chair and you can hear the stick of leather against his skin. Mysta was chanting the words as fast as he could, “Green greengreengreen-” 

"Then you can." You slide down on him, then lift up just a bit, "and will."

“Please-” Mysta forgot what he had been begging for. His body is a living contradiction, brain-melting among the gooey warmth. “Too much-!” 

"Feel so good, Mysta. Feel.. so good." His hips were rutting up, like a dog in heat at this point. His whimpers mixed with your soft pants and moans, Mysta's back arching and leaning, trying to get deeper into your sweet hole. "Wanna cum, wanna cum please.. s'too much.. ive.."

You press a gentle kiss to his lips. Gentle, but firm.

"Have you been a good boy, Mysta.. My, i'm not sure I can let you until you say it." He could hear your devilish smile, the mocking venom in your voice. Shame burned in his chest alongside a humiliating excitement.

"Fuck.. fuck! I've.. i'm your good boy." Mysta whimpered, trying so hard to thrust harder, listening to your moans, indicating your own high nearing. The tip of his cock was glistening inside you, he was so close to bursting..

“My good boy gonna cum? Make a mess for me?” You whisper seductively, and that’s all it takes for him to come undone. His thighs go limp beneath you, head thrown back, as he released inside you for the second time.

It’s the rather adorable sound of his groans and whimpers that send you over, finally giving in to that knot in your own stomach as you sigh happily, a shudder running down your spine.

Your hands find the cuffs no soon after, clicking them open with unsteady hands and the first thing Mysta does is pull you to his chest, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling deeply.

You press a kiss to his forehead. Both of you had returned to.. fluff. He was panting softly, pressing gentle kisses to your neck. Your fingers ran through his hair, massaging his head and back, enjoying eachothers presence.

"...So much for me not fucking you good, huh?"

"...fuck you-"

GWAHHH- i had a bit of inspiration for this, but damn- im kinda proud of myself.

[hpimaginesandblurbs]

can u do more sub harry or neville with mommy kink smut and soft dom george with innocence kink smut please? i love your writting <33

pairing: george weasley x reader 

warning(s): 18+, fingering, mentions of oral (female receiving), mentions of handjobs, innocence kink 

a/n: this was supposed to be a blurb but i just couldn’t stop. i decided to go with george because i don’t write for him as often as the others. and just a reminder that requests are still closed so if you send me anything right now it will likely get deleted. as always, enjoy! 

Kissing George was an experience you thought was like no other - not that you had much experience to go by. George was your first real boyfriend, therefore your first everything that comes along with that. 

In the weeks you had been dating, neither of you had taken it further than kissing - you because you were too nervous about your inexperience and him because he respected you too much to push anything on you too soon. 

And not that you would ever know this, but George was infinitely turned on by your innocence. Every time you blushed at his praise, every time he had to explain a dirty joke to you, every little noise you made when he was kissing you left him rock hard in his trousers. 

And tonight he’d be going out on a limb, but he was almost certain that you were ready for a little bit more. He was just waiting for his moment. 

It came quick enough. His hands were sliding up your sides, barely grazing the skin on the sides of your stomach, and your thighs clenched together fiercely. Every little thing he did turned you on, but it was all you could do in the moment to ease the ache you felt between your legs. 

He broke away from the kiss with a raised brow and a cocky smile, looking at you from where you were both laying on your sides on his bed. “Is my girl turned on?” He asked simply, not wanting to tease you too much. 

You immediately felt your skin heat up and your eyes went wide. Flustered and unsure of what to do next, you could only give him back a small nod, doing your best to maintain eye contact with him. 

He gave a small chuckle but gave you a playful smile shortly enough, easing your worries slightly. “And would you like me to help you with that?” 

You furrowed your brows just slightly, a bit confused. “How?” You asked, knowing full well he knew that you weren’t quite ready to take that step just yet. 

“You seem to like my hands. Isn’t that right, baby?” He asked teasingly, a hand slipping down to caress your bare thigh that had been hidden underneath your skirt. 

You managed to give a steadier nod than earlier, but your pulse had significantly increased at the prospect of what he was offering. 

“Open your legs for me, pretty girl,” he told you, but to your ears it sounded more like a command than anything. A command you so desperately wanted to obey. 

You turned slightly on your back and let your legs fall open, your skirt still covering his destination. 

“So good for me,” he mused, his lips trailing kisses up your neck, only making you that much more desperate. 

“Please,” you whimpered, sure you had never been this aroused in your life. 

His head popped up to reveal the shit eating grin he was wearing. “You don’t have to beg for anything tonight. We’ll get there one day,” he said, winking down at you. 

Just the thought of one day having to beg for him was enough to send you into a dizzy loop of scenarios in your head. It was enough to distract you from the way his fingers were trailing up your thighs and into your underwear. 

You gave a startled noise when you felt his finger trail up and down your slit, feeling for himself just how wet you were for him. 

“You’re fucking soaked. Is this all for me?” He asked, looking down at you in awe as his fingers explored your most sensitive spots. 

“Yes, George,” you managed to get out before a loud moan fell from your lips when his finger circled your clit. You felt a new flush creep back over your skin, never having made that sort of noise before, not even when you were alone and it was your own hand. 

“Don’t be shy. I wanna hear all your pretty little noises,” he said lowly in your ear, pulling away to watch your face. 

His fingers were skilled on your skin and careful to never leave your clit. Your orgasm built slowly, but you knew you needed more. You needed those long fingers inside of you, something you had dreamed about ever since you started dating him. 

“George,” you whined, bucking your hips into his hand. It was a silent plea for him to move his fingers lower, to put them inside of you, but he wasn’t taking the bait that easy. 

“What do you need, pretty girl? Hm? Use your words,” he told you, but once again it sounded a lot like a command. 

You couldn't seem to stop blushing as another wave of redness covered your skin at his words. You didn’t know what to say to him, but you were desperate. 

“Finger me, please,” you begged, looking up at him with imploring eyes. 

He didn’t even have to say the words to agree, the way his pupils dilated so the black overtook the blue was enough to tell you that he wanted nothing more right now. He quickly shifted so he was kneeling between your legs, lightly playing with the hem of your underwear and looking at you with a question in his eyes. When you finally gave him a brave nod, he slowly slid the fabric down your legs and tossed them off the side of the bed. 

“Open those legs for me, baby. Let me see just how needy my innocent little girl is,” he said, his hands rubbing your thighs to try and gently coax you into doing as he asked. 

Slowly, you let your legs part and exposed yourself to him. You watched him carefully as you did so and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from the spot between your legs. It was like watching a man go through a religious experience. 

“Look at you, baby,” he said, the awe evident in his voice. His fingers began to slowly trail up your slit again, but this time fully for the purpose of teasing you. “So puffy and red and so fucking wet. Absolutely perfect,” he mused, making your confidence go through the roof. You had never thought one man could make you feel so beautiful when you were this exposed. “Am I the first one to see you like this?” He asked, finally tearing his eyes away to look back up at you. 

He knew just as well as you did that he was, in fact, your first everything. You knew he just wanted to hear you say it. 

“Only you,” you said softly, but you could practically feel yourself shaking with anticipation.  

As if those words flipped a switch inside of him, he was plunging one finger into you slowly, your walls forced to stretch around it. He moved slowly, but it felt so good you couldn’t help but throw your head back and let out a moan. 

He kept going, finally slipped a second finger in and curled them in a way that made you see stars. A scream tore its way from your throat and your hips were moving of their own accord, fucking yourself down onto his fingers everytime he pushed inside of you. 

“Fuck yourself on my fingers. Just like that, baby. So fucking good,” he told you, his voice having dropped an octave since the last time he spoke. 

Knowing it turned him on watching you like this only sent another wave of arousal through you, making you that much wetter and bringing you that much closer to your orgasm. 

“You look so perfect right now. One of these days I’m gonna put my head between your legs and put my tongue right where my fingers are. I bet you’ll taste just as good as you look right now,” George told you, his voice just about the only thing that was keeping you in the moment. And the images he was supplying you with were making you shake with arousal. 

“Look at me,” he gave as his final command once he felt your walls begin to grip around his fingers. “Look at me when you cum.” 

You couldn’t help but obey, forcing your head to lift up from the pillow and your eyes found his. They were blown with lust, it was written clear on his face just how much he wanted you. 

Between the look in his eyes and the way he curled his fingers so perfectly, you were tipping over the edge and spiraling into the best orgasm of your life. It took everything you had in you to keep your eyes on him, and he worked you through every second of your climax until you were a shaking, panting mess on his sheets. 

He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, forcing you to whine at the sensitivity. But when he lifted his fingers up to his mouth and sucked on them, a whole new rush of arousal ran through you. It was something you had never even thought of, but watching him do it made you near desperate again. 

“I was right. You taste like heaven,” he told you when he was done, leaning over your body to catch your lips in his. You could still taste yourself on his tongue, a thought that made you shiver with need, but you quickly forced yourself to calm back down as you got lost in the kiss. 

“Did that feel good?” He asked, finally joining you in laying down once more, just as you had begun. 

“So good, George,” you told him honestly, still breathless from your orgasm and the kiss that followed. And when the idea struck you, you felt your body move for itself. You reached a hand out to gently run along his belt, your own silent desire to please him creeping up inside of you. 

“You don’t have to,” he argued gently, moving to push your hand away. 

“I want to,” you said defiantly, the confidence boost he had just given you making you feel as if you could do anything right now. But on second thought… “I just don’t know how,” you told him, looking back down at where your hands were. 

Softly, he curled a finger under your chin and lifted your head up, forcing you to look at him. “I can teach you,” he told you, and you watched as his pupils dilated at the thought. 

“Yeah?” You asked, still a little unsure. 

“Of course, pretty girl,” he said, capturing your lips with his once more, easing all of your nerves.

[elejah-wonderland]

Raincheck

_au_fanfic_tvd

_elejah_one shot

_smutty, 18+

tags_ @eternityunicorn @njeancastro316

*

New Orleans

Elijah pulls Elena into an alley, pushing her softly against the wall, "Damn- I want to take you home and make love to you. I'm sick of this ruse we agreed to."

Elena swallows hard, "Do it- what are you waiting for."

"No can do - at least not tonight" a familiar voice crashes from the end of the alley.

"What now?" Elijah sifts angrily at his brother.

"You two love birds will need to reschedule your tryst." Klaus said. "We need to go back to Mystic Falls. Our sister has found the culprits."

Elijah plants a kiss on the doppelganger's lips, promising a rain-check.

"I'll hold you to that." Elena whispers, before the Original disappears in the night.

*

Three days later

New Orleans, Algiers

Elijah walks in his loft, taking a note that was stuck on the door. "Upstairs, Elena, xo."

Elijah smiles as he makes his way to the bedroom.

"How about that rain-check now?" Elena says unbuttoning her dress.

"Oh, yes" Elijah curles a lustful smile, shrugging his jacket off, swiftly sliding it on the neighbouring chair as he bares himself from the rest of the clothing.

Elena breathes in sharply as he joins her on the bed pushing her down softly, hovering over her for a brief moment, brushing his thumb over her cheek, looking deep into her eyes, soaking in the need, the desire for him. Yes, I want this, I want you. Her eyes gleam at him.

For months had longed to take her flawless, creamy flesh between his teeth, to suck and nip until he marked her as her own.

"Yes, Elijah" Elena gasps softly.

And he kisses her, claiming her mouth, penetrating deep, swirling his tongue with hers. She whimpers, melting against him, meeting the strokes of his tongue with her own, her fingers digging up the brown strands.

Her whole body burns with the heat, the intensity, the overwhelming physical force of the kiss.

Gentling the kiss, he slows down, brushing his lips lightly with hers, teasing their outline with the tip of his tongue, nipping their fullness, finally parting with a peck.

This is just a beginning, his glance promises.

Elena sucks in a gasping breath, as his fingers start to skim down her body like matches grazing over her soft skin, building a fire inside her, that slowly spreads all over.

His every movement makes her quiver with anticipation. It is heaven and hell. She is ready to beg him to stop teasing her, no matter how good it feels.

"Elijah, please"

"All right" the Original licks his lips, locking his eyes with the doppelganger's, clouded with the desire.

Elena gasps sharply when his fingers slip down to her mound, delicately caressing her folds.

"Damn" she moans beneath his touch, biting a hoarse gulp back when his fingers slip inside her.

Her pulse accelerates. The scissoring motion of his fingers work magically sending electric sparks zinging throughout writhing body.

Her little mewls and whimpers make his own need grow, feeling the ache inside him burst into wildfire, but he is determined not stop, no matter how much he wants to taste her, be inside her.

She hears herself whimper louder, turning her head to the side, surrendering her throat to Elijah, who nibbles on her soft skin, sending her into a complete sensory overload.

Ecstasy builts now quickly. Her body jerks up as pleasure starts to spiral through her in pulses, sending electrical jolts right through her. She screams, shuddering violently.

Elijah shifts over, pulling her under him, connecting his lips with hers. His kiss deep and igniting.

She adjust herself, making herself ready for him.

A husky groan breaks against her lips as he pulls her leg up, easing himself in.

She feels incredible. Her soft, silky body flutters like butterfly wings, making his blood run hot and fast. Everything inside him hums with pleasure, love, a profound and intense feeling of completeness.

She moans softly into his mouth, curling her fingers in his hair, as his tongue slowly drags in and out of hers, entwining again with hers, feeling their bodies dance in the fire as his thrusts run deeper and harder. 

And then everything is suddenly a blur as their bodies, still twisted together convulsed in what seemed a never ending climax.

A moment later, they are aware of everything, laying together, in a warm tangle of limbs, arms, hearts beating in sync.

[blu-joons]

DATING GOT7 HEADCANON A⇴Z ⇴ BamBam

A ⇴ AFFECTION

BamBam is more than happy to cling to you, he loves any type of attention, and if affection gives it to him, he’ll happily take it. The second you leave him he’ll pout and groan until you’re back with him once again.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

He was full of confidence, which quickly pulled your attention towards him at the event you both attended. He tried to play it cool, but he could feel your eyes looking in his direction, enjoying the attention you gave him. Being BamBam, he couldn’t help but push things a little more, but when he tripped over his own leg, he quickly regretted it.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

After his little mishap, he thought it was game over for trying to impress you, but when you appeared in front of him with a drink to check if he was alright, he was beyond surprised. BamBam quickly pulled himself together, shrugging it off as no big deal even if his ankle throbbed. He invited you to sit with him whilst he accepted the drink, and after talking for a while, he asked if you wanted to get out of the place with him.

D ⇴ DATES

There’s never a boring date with BamBam, he loves fun, and loves spoiling you too which creates the perfect conversation. He equally loves active and recreational dates, but also is fond to a nice restaurant where he can show you a different, much calmer side to him. He hates dates at home, he likes getting out and doing things, and exploring with you. You worry sometimes about being out in public so often for your dates, but BamBam is always quick to reassure you and put your mind at ease, putting your safety as his biggest priority.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

He’d had a few dates, maybe a couple of passionate nights, but nothing as serious as things were with you. He quite enjoyed being a flirt and having so much attention, but that all changed when he met you. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was about you that changed his personality so much, but he loved having a serious relationship. He loved waking up in the morning and still having someone there, or if he was having a hard time, knowing he had someone to talk to. After being with you, he never wanted to go back to being just the flirt again.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

There were times when BamBam could definitely be quite stubborn, but that never meant he liked arguing with you. If things began to get quite serious, he’d try to crack a joke or nervously laugh to brighten up the mood again, but when you didn’t smile back at him, he knew he was in trouble. He was usually a very calm and relaxed person but when you didn’t react and decided to drag out an argument longer than he wanted to then he’d get a bit frustrated, deciding to leave the room for a while and try again once the two of you had had some time apart to try and relax and clear your minds a bit.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

You’d only ever met his family through calls and Skype, which BamBam hated. He couldn’t wait for the day when he could take you home and introduce you to all of his family. Similarly, they couldn’t wait to meet you either, each of them was desperate to be able to hug you in person and thank you for putting up with BamBam.

H ⇴ HOME

He never thought too much about you moving in with him, until after the first night you stayed over. He had butterflies for the rest of the day, the feeling of waking up beside you, and seeing how you both seamlessly settled into a routine around each other was something he definitely felt he could get used to.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

BamBam was the first one to say, ‘I love you,’ just as he left for tour. He didn’t know when he’d have the chance to see you or speak to you as he moved halfway around the world, and for him, there were no words greater to leave you with than those. The best bit was grabbing his phone when he landed to see you’d text, letting him know you loved him too.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

No on tried harder to mask their jealousy then BamBam, but as soon as you’d confront him about it and the nervous laugh would appear again, you knew exactly what was happening. He’d slowly move closer towards you when he began to get jealous, little showers of affection would arrive that usually didn’t happen, and he’d talk to you, and only you, as much as possible. Each time he knew he’d get a lecture about how he had no reason to feel jealous when you were alone again, but sometimes he just couldn’t help the feeling.

K ⇴ KIDS

Having children was another subject he tried to remain calm about, but secretly he couldn’t wait for the day when he had little ones around for him to spoil. Whenever you asked him what he was thinking about he’d just say it was nothing but judging by his smile you knew he was thinking about something. Seeing you around children as well always made him smile, he knew there was no one else he wanted to have a family with.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

He loved to laugh and joke around, there were very few things in the world that BamBam found serious. Knowing that he made you smile, and laugh was the greatest honour for him, it didn’t matter how he did it, just knowing that he was the reason for it was enough. As already mentioned, he hated awkward tension or serious moments, so he’d often use his laughter and humour to try and bring a bit of light back to a situation, even if it wasn’t quite right for the situation, he’d do anything to get rid of the silences and tension.

M ⇴ MISSING

Before his first trip away from you, BamBam was pretty confident he’d be fine considering he’d spent years away from his family now. For the first couple of days, he was fine, but when he fell asleep in his hotel room alone for the first time, having spent the first few nights rooming with Yugyeom, he really began to miss you. The feeling of not having someone there with him through him completely, and then he began to spiral. All the little things that he began to take for granted with you by his side, built up every day. He never realised how much he actually depended on you being around until you were no longer there.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

You tended to just call BamBam, ‘bam,’ considering he was so fond of his nickname anyway. He loved to call you, ‘princess,’ it would always make you chuckle, and make sure you knew he loved to spoil you.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

He was obsessed with your bum, he loved to lay over it or rest his hands against it when you weren’t expecting it, always making you jump and squeal.

P ⇴ PDA

No one could ever stop BamBam from being affectionate with you in public, he didn’t care at all what others thought. If he wanted to kiss you, he would, or if he wanted to wrap his arm around you, he’d do without a second thought. He wasn’t afraid to show you he loved you, no matter where the two of you were.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

He’d love to ask for your opinion on the things he wore and his style. Shopping with BamBam at times was a nightmare, he was very meticulous on the things he wore, spending hours through the aisles, asking your opinion each time.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Being bilingual, BamBam was able to write in many languages, which often impressed you. In one of the languages that you couldn’t understand, he’d often leave little notes around for you to translate. It was a habit he often had when he was going on tour, scattering little notes around to remind you he loved you. He especially loved when you got the translations wrong and he’d have to sit and explain to you what it actually said.

S ⇴ SEX

He loved to try and dominate as he saw it as an opportunity to show off in front of you. Especially with how much his body has changed recently, he loves to impress you with his strength and move you around by lifting you high in the air. He craves a lot of attention, he wants to be able to feel your hands explore his body and feel your lips trace across his skin, just like he always does with you.

T ⇴ TEXTS

You’d receive many texts throughout the day from BamBam if you were busy. If he was at home alone, he’d ask you to come over, and beg you to finish your day at work sooner so that he could see you and cuddle you.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

He was very much a people person, who had plenty of friends, but out of all of them, every time, he’d choose you. No one connected with him like you did or understood all his quirks the way you’d learnt to.

V ⇴ VACATION

The minute BamBam had the chance to go on vacation, he was desperate to take you home. Weeks of planning had gone into your vacation to Thailand, both from him, but also his family. He promised you the adventure of a lifetime as he showed you all the places that meant the most to him, being able to make new memories with you.

W ⇴ WHINING

He loved attention, if he didn’t have your attention, he’d do absolutely anything to make sure he had it, he didn’t have any boundaries.

X ⇴ XXXXX

Again, he was very affectionate and clingy, and his kisses were no different. Luckily for him, you were absolutely obsessed with his lips and how they felt against your skin. Bambam’s kisses were often playful and teasing, inviting you for more, but he also knew when to give you something a bit more loving, especially if you’d had a bad day or you were beginning to fall asleep.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were the Pebbles to his BamBam, the two of you were the perfect match.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

He sought great comfort from having you there beside him at night, he’d always like to have some sort of contact with you, even if it was just being able to hold your hand under the duvet, he’d take anything he could get.

---

Masterlist

[iamdeku]

Safety: Prohero!Shinsou Hitoshi x Prohero!Reader

He told you not to go. He told you not to go on this stupid mission and you still didn’t listen. Because you never listened. He never listened to you, treated you like a kid, so of course you hadn’t listened to him, of course you had rushed into something you weren’t ready for.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Warnings: Age gap! In this fic reader is in her early to mid 20′s and Hitoshi is intended to be in his early 30′s. Descriptions of extreme violence and injury to reader, as well as mentions of death. This one is a little dark, but ultimately a hurt/comfort fic.

You were ready for this. You knew that. You had always been more competent than Shinsou gave you credit for. You weren’t as new to the hero business as he seemed to think you were. You had gone to school for this, graduated with flying colors, been on good missions and bad missions alike. You weren’t the inexperienced ingenue he seemed to think you were, and you knew you were more than capable.

So, when you volunteered to be a part of this mission, you knew Shinsou wouldn’t be happy about it. What you didn’t know was that he was going to follow you out into the hall, seething.

He grabbed your arm, spinning you around. “You aren’t going.”

You tilted your chin up, shaking your hair behind your shoulders. “Actually, Shinsou, that’s not your call to make. I know you like to forget it, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

You could hear him gritting his teeth, biting down on his frustration for you. You wanted to grab him, shake him, sink your nails down into his arms, rake through the skin there and make him stare at the marks you left behind, make him look at you. Sometimes you wanted to scream at him, “Pay attention to me! See me, see me, see me!” But that would be childish, and you hadn’t been a child for a long time.

A lock of ultraviolet hair tumbled out of his bun, falling into his face and over the galaxy of his eyes. They were the prettiest things about him. Those eyes, that bruise dark, punch drunk gaze that sometimes caught on the edges of your lips, dripped down your collarbones and crept into your lungs, stained them berry bright, wine deep. You hated them, hated the way they slipped down your throat, chipped at your bones like they could drive you into a hollow-sweet-madness, aching into your hips and your knuckles and your knees, every juncture and every joint of you when the deep night swallowed you whole.

“It’s too dangerous. I’m not letting you put yourself on the front line like this. Especially not on a mission I’m not on. What will you do if-”

“What, if you’re not there to save me?” You snarled the words, startling yourself with the way they sting on their way out of your chest. “I was saving myself a long time before you came along. I don’t need a white knight now.”

“Why are you being like this?”

He let go of your arm to run an exasperated hand through whatever was left of his dissolving bun, the hair at his temples starting to gray like winter’s first kiss starting to frost.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, turning away from him, going to leave so he wouldn’t see your face.

It was a lie. You felt like a cornered animal. You never felt this way with Hitoshi, but there was something different about today. You felt raw, on edge with him, like a live wire. Every breath felt like a jagged stab of electricity crackling through you, like every vein in your body was humming a wicked, sickly tune, singing ‘prove yourself’ into the fluttering punches of your heart.

It wasn’t right. You knew it wasn’t right. Tears built up under your tongue with your desire to go back to the way things should be. You wanted Shinsou to smile and tell you not to be stupid kid, shake his head, loop an arm over your shoulder and make you an iridescent rainbow with the color spectrum of his eyes. You wished he would have just told you ‘there’s always the next one’ and eased you into his office, asked you what you wanted for lunch and told you it was on him if you could solve the puzzle at his desk, the one he’d been working on all week. 1,000 pieces. You always helped him with them. You didn’t even like puzzles. You just liked the color purple.

He lurched forward, hand grabbing your arm once more, touch blazing as he turned you to face him.

“Stay back. That’s an order.”

You felt the smoldering edges of your temper flare, stepping even closer, ignoring all boundaries of personal space as your jagged breaths ignited you.

“Make me.”

You could swear you felt the air around you still at his gaze. Those eyes, sharp, sparkling amethysts, tangled in your lips. Your skin buzzed with the proximity, so close, just a breath away from him in your boldness. He snatched his gaze back up to your eyes, caught with his hand in the candy jar, fingers clinging sticky sweet to the place where he had grabbed your arm, dragged down your skin in syrupy spirals to linger at your wrist, light as a feather.

You tripped forward, your balance disturbed by little snowflakes of frozen desire scuttling for space, trying to find shelter from the burn of his gaze and losing it all at the desperate claw of your fingers into his shoulder, reaching out, reaching up to him for the only thing he wanted to give you. Safety. Not his touch, not his love, just a bubble. You were his day job.

You jerked back at the reminder, eyes sparkling brighter than his with something unsaid, choking in your throat, dying a little death. They died so many times, these haphazard hopes, before they dissolved at your feet. All of your snowflakes just melted puddles after all.

You ran from him, feet slapping into the hard agency floors. You didn’t even care how it looked to him, how it looked to anyone. You didn’t want to be having this fight anymore, didn’t want to have to look into his eyes and keep finding will’o’the’wisp traces of all the things you craved.

You weren’t too late to join the others getting ready for the mission, Shinsou hadn’t held you back that much, and so you did. You were lucky to already be half-suited up, as the rest of them were mostly finished already. You hadn’t had a chance to fully change from your patrol earlier that day, and so it was easy to reassemble the pieces of your costume.

“I thought Shinsou said you were sitting this one out?” Somebody wondered, their voice dull in your ears, face blurring.

“Shinsou doesn’t tell me what to do.”

Nobody else questioned you, nobody else bothered. Nobody told you that you really should not be doing this, that it was a bad idea to go on a mission right after a patrol, body tired and worn down, that it was a bad idea to go on a mission so obviously distressed as you were. Nobody told you any of the things Shinsou would have if he had been there, because you had cast him out.

You should have known you would end up here, should have seen it coming, but still, you didn’t. Your protector, your warning signal, had been thrown away. You had forsaken your safety.

The bones in your left calf were shattered. Not just broken, you could tell, but splintered into tiny, agonizing pieces. You sobbed through the pain, but that only hurt worse. The broken rib pressing into your lung shattered into your breaths, shards of it painting the red of your blood-soaked tears. A gash across your forehead obscured your vision, the thickness of your blood as it congealed on your brow spiraling you into a state of shock, fear overwhelming the tepid ocean of your bruise bleached gut. All you could think was that you couldn’t see, and you couldn’t move, and in your blind panic, frozen fingers pressing into a stab wound in your thigh, too afraid to move, to bleed out, it hit you. Shinsou had been right. You were going to die here.

You missed him. Missed the warm touch of his hand on your shoulder when you stayed too late at the agency and he stirred you awake out of your powdery soft dreams, gentle as the caress of your sheets at home. Missed the little jokes he would tell, ones just for you, catching you off guard with a crooked smile and sleepy eyes that jumped for your joy. You missed pulling him out in the rain with you, making him dance because you didn’t care if he complained about old aching bones, you still felt the joy of the rain, still felt it beat into your skin and slosh down to your toes, twirling you around and around and around until you were dizzy and breathless and so, so in love.

A thousand little dreams. A thousand little deaths. Only one finale.

All you could hear through the sounds of the battle raging around you were your broken sobs knowing that this was where you were going to die, knowing that it would hurt like this. Your world burned around you, obscured by the haze of red over your eyes. Someone wailed, keened like a dying animal, and it took you too long to realize it was you. You were the dying animal.

You heard your attacker’s boots first. Thumping through the debris around you, coming for you, coming to finish you. You wish you could have said that your body tensed up, that you prepared for one last fight, but you didn’t. You didn’t have it left in you. Just one more great, heaving sob of terror because even though it hurt, even though it was probably killing you faster, you couldn’t stop crying.

Then you heard his voice.

“I’m here. It’s me. I’m right here sweetheart. Medic! I need a medic!”

“Toshi?” You whimpered, bewildered.

How could he be here? He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t on this mission.

“Red Riot contacted me, told me you were missing, called in backup. It’s me, sweetheart. I’m here.”

You heard his knees hit the ground, and this time your cry was one of relief.

“I’m going to take care of this leg, okay kid?”

You felt his warm hands move your own cold, stiff fingers, pulling them away only to replace them with a makeshift tourniquet that hurt worse than your open stab wound. Once it was in place, you felt his hands on your face. Gently, his thumbs wiped the blood from your eyes, clearing your vision so that you could see again.

He pulled you into his side, propping you up against him.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m right here. Just try to stop crying, okay? I looked you over before tying up your leg with my scarf, and I think you have a broken rib. You’re going to hurt yourself worse.” Despite the situation, his voice remained low and smooth, and if you didn’t know him so well you wouldn’t have been able to detect the urgency present in it.

“I’m sorry, ‘Toshi. M’so sorry. It’s all my fault. I should have listened to you. You were right. You’re always right.”

“Hey, don’t worry about that now. I’m not mad at you. I don’t care about being right, got that? I just want you to be safe. You’re gonna be okay, baby.”

You felt him press a soft kiss to the top of your head and you raised a frozen hand to reach for his own.

“Hitoshi, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry I love you. I’m just so sorry.”

You felt his arms stiffen around you, his hand coming up to raise your eyes to his, searching for something in them.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered. “You don’t mean that you love me.”

“I do.” Warm tears dripped down your salty skin. “I wanted to tell you. So many times. I know you don’t see me that way. I know I’m just a kid to you. But I mean it.”

Hitoshi’s beautiful eyes turned silver with unshed tears, holding you a little closer to him, one hand firmly on your back for support as the other cradled your face oh so gently. Somewhere in the back of your mind you thought about how, if this was the last thing you ever saw, that wouldn’t be so bad. Just Hitoshi, making up your whole world like he always had, secretly.

“I love you too. I love you so much. You’re going to be okay, baby, I promise.”

You pulled yourself up, one hand grasping at his shoulder to sit a little straighter. It felt like your body was being pulled apart, the pain unimaginable. You curled in on yourself slightly before looking up at him, still murmuring soothing reassurances, trying to get you to stop moving.

“’Toshi? Will you kiss me? Please? Just once.”

He fell silent at your breathless request, eyes flicking down to your lips before meeting your own, looking for any hesitation before leaning his forehead against yours. You could feel his breath playing gently with yours, everything but his warm gasps fading away. Carefully, like you could break more than you had already broken, he brushed his lips against yours.

The kiss tasted like ash and blood, like the honey in the bottom of Hitoshi’s afternoon tea and the bite of the candied ginger he chewed on to help with the nausea his quirk sometimes gave him. You felt his breath catch, fingers hooking into the loose tendrils of hair fanning your face. His mouth moved cautiously against yours, a quiet exploration.

When he pulled away, you could almost believe he didn’t want to.

“Thank you” was the last thing you said before the world went dark.

 When you woke up, it took you a moment to orient yourself. After a few minutes of beeping though, you realized you must be in the hospital. The heavy sludge of the drugs weighed you down, but with effort you opened your eyes, blinking to adjust to the lights. You shifted slightly only to find your left hand trapped. Panicked, you resisted the harsh lighting to widen your eyes and look down at it, only to realize that it was Hitoshi.

He had fallen asleep at your bedside, one hand encasing your own, twice the size of it. You stilled, hoping not to wake him as you felt the stubble on his cheeks scrape against the sheets, stirring them slightly. It was too late not to wake him though, his hero senses attuning him to your movement and pulling him up from the depths of his own sleep.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw you, something very fragile in his eyes as he stared at you in your hospital bed.

“Hey, kid.” His voice was a low grumble echoing through the room as he yawned.

“You stayed.” Your own voice sounded very small.

“Of course, I did.” He reached his free hand out to smooth back your hair, eyes lingering over your body. “You had a broken rib and a punctured lung. Your left femur is broken, and your tibia snapped in three places. Your fibula is shattered. They had to go in and replace it with a metal bar. I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I should have protected you.”

You shook your head, tearing up. “No. I should have listened to you. It wasn’t right for me to go. I deserve this.”

“Don’t say that.” Hitoshi’s grip on your hand tightened. “You…you almost died in there. They thought you were going to die in the operating room, baby.”

“You…never call me baby.” It was the wrong thing to notice at the moment, but your mind couldn’t process the fact that you should rightfully have died.

“Well.” He huffed, eyes trailing down to the sheets as his voice grew quiet. “I love you. I understand if you don’t feel the same. I know we say things in the heat of the moment, in the middle of battle. It’s okay.”

You reached for him with the hand not weighed down by an IV, cupping his cheek in your worn palm and ignoring the scratch of his stubble.

“I do. I love you.”

He leaned into your palm, raising his hand to lace his fingers with yours. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

“It’s okay. You’re here now.”

He smiled softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

[owl-with-a-pen]

This is a prompt for @cyclone-rachel who gave me an idea for one of the possible fears Brainy could have faced that would have certainly held a lot more weight in the narrative. Namely, his fear that they couldn’t save Kara in time. 

Thanks for the prompt, Rachel, I hope you like it!

“Everyone strap in for turbulence.”

Brainy left Kelly for his own seat feeling somewhat reassured, although that still did not deter the steady onset of nerves continuing to bud inside his chest.

Just last year, emotions such as these could have been very easily compartmentalised, and though he could still manage such tasks by honing his full concentration, it didn’t escape him how every negative emotion fought that much harder to remain at the forefront of his mind.

Fear had never perturbed him quite like it did now. In the Legion, Brainy had met many a terrifying foe, and had even run into creatures that had fed on one’s basest fears. He had always been used as the voice of reason during those instances - relied upon by his team due to his twelfth level intellect, of course, but also because he had always appeared far more impassive against adversaries of that nature. Indeed, he had quickly become the first line of defence for his fellow Legionnaires when faced with scenarios that involved emotional manipulation.

Brainy hadn’t minded, and at the time he hadn’t considered just how such events might have affected him in the long term. How much grief or torment he’d bottled deep inside without even realising the impact it might have had on his psyche.

Instead, he had felt only satisfaction that he was relied upon to deter such emotional conflicts, even if – in the past – he had at times been the instigator of similar arguments simply by stating fact over softening strategies that more empathetic members of the team may have used in his steed.

It had never been his intention, of course, but now he was beginning to understand the importance of cushioning techniques when it came to dealing with emotional unbalance. Kelly had certainly used them by assuring him he would likely not need to use her coping methods during this mission. Logically, however, Brainy knew that it was only a matter of time before the Phantom Zone affected them all in one way or another.

Brainy shook his head, easing himself back into his chair. He tried to settle his nerves by doing as J’onn had instructed. He snapped the belt over his lap, perusing the control panel before him as he glanced up at the screen mapping out their progress so far, the Q waves that projected continuously from the Phantom, far across the rocky and ancient terrain ahead of them.

Then, something flashed.

A white hot light impeded his vision for barely a moment, but it was enough for him to turn away, blinking against the unexpected hindrance. Harsher turbulence followed soon after, causing Brainy to sprawl awkwardly towards the control panel, holding himself upright. He squeezed his eyes shut, fractals of light still swimming in the darkness, before he looked up again, focusing on the screen’s readings. Such a violent strike against the ship’s defences could have easily created a number of problems, scenarios of which were already whirring at a dizzying pace through Brainy’s mind.

What he found on those screens was far worse than anything he could have calculated.

The Phantom was still present and accounted for, the feedback from the cells confirmed as much. And yet… something was wrong. So very, very wrong.

The Phantom’s Q-wave activity had all but evaporated.

Brainy frowned, reaching for the foreign make-up of J’onn’s controls, quickly mastering the Martian design as he linked with the ship’s mainframe. Perhaps the knock to the ship had caused a communication error with the Phantom’s psionic feedback.

But, after only a few seconds within the ship’s network, Brainy was able to determine that the connection was still well intact. In fact, there were no underlying errors presenting themselves anywhere within the ship. Instead, it appeared that the Q waves had simply vanished.

Which could only mean one thing.

“No, nononono,” Brainy muttered to himself, pressing aggressively at the panel. “This can’t be right. This-” He pushed back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “The Phantom. It lost Supergirl’s scent.”

Brainy only realised he’d announced that to the room when he heard uneasy murmurs begin to circulate behind him. Quick to abandon J’onn’s safety measures, his friends moved from their designated seats, swarming around Brainy’s screen.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked tightly. Brainy envisioned she was stood closest to him, an assumption that was quickly verified when her hand clenched around the back of his chair. “How is that possible?”

“It’s not,” Lena said darkly. “The Phantom’s a superpowered bloodhound, it wouldn’t give up- not unless…”

“Unless…” Brainy echoed, his throat closing up before he could say anything else. His vision was already spiralling. Vertigo swept over him as he drank in every implication of Lena’s unfinished sentence.

“Unless what?” Alex demanded.

“What’s going on?” Nia asked.

Even with everyone thinking the same question, Brainy couldn’t bring himself to say the answer out loud. Instead, he watched abjectly as the symbol of El Mayarah extinguished from the screen, taking with it the inkling of hope he had been holding onto from the moment Kara had been lost to the Phantom Zone portal.

He shook his head, driving his hands back over the controls. “No,” he said forcefully. “It could be a false reading, we should- we should keep going.” His eyes cut across the co-ordinates the screen was displaying in the absence of Supergirl’s insignia - the last known location of Kara Zor-El.

They were close, so close that the Phantom’s Q-waves weren’t necessary to put together the unaccounted distance. The ship was already scanning the area below, picking up on signs of life… signs of…

Of a body. Humanoid. Kryptonian.

With an internal temperature of…

No.

“She’s…”

Brainy’s chest stuttered, catching harshly as the beacon of light that had paved the path for his whole life suddenly went out.

“I can drop the sun bomb,” Lena said frantically, her voice barely passing through the static ringing loudly in his ears. “Maybe that’ll give her the strength she needs to…”

But, Brainy could only stare at the screen. Kara’s internal body temperature wasn’t just low… it was ice cold. And, as the ship’s calculations manifested for everyone to see, something inside of Brainy’s chest caved in on itself.

Kara wasn’t just dead. She’d been dead for… for…

For weeks.

Brainy couldn’t breathe.

He’d been using Kara’s inspiration, her passion and her optimism even in the darkest tunnels as his anchor. All this time. He’d used hope, her hope in an effort to bring her home unscathed. Because no other option would have sufficed; she had to be okay.

Because, if she was gone… then he was surely the cause.

If not for him, she would have never ended up in the Phantom Zone to begin with. If he hadn’t bottled Leviathan, if he hadn’t lied to them all, none of this would be happening.

Brainy’s vision blurred, washing away the readings as tears flooded to the surface. All of this… all of this had been for nought. All those weeks they had spent hoping, and for what? For what?

There had never been a reason to hope at all. They had been kidding themselves, all of them, to assume Kara would have survived entry into the Phantom Zone. That she hadn’t been cast there from a portal miles in the sky, falling at terminal velocity, unable to fly to safety. With no yellow sun, she had been without power, without protection. Something as simple as a broken bone would have been a death sentence in a hellscape like the Phantom Zone.

Brainy’s lips were numb. A crushing weight felt as though it was overpowering his lungs, sucking the air from within. His head throbbed with sudden pressure, a motley of untameable thoughts clawing viciously for freedom.

Something burned deep inside his chest, a pain so profound that he thought he was going to be sick. Was this what heartbreak felt like…? As though your heart was actually breaking? Snapping in two with the fragility of glass?

Brainy gasped out, clawing at his centre as he finally managed to rake in a single breath. It felt like swallowing a mouthful of razor blades, tearing at his innards as it sought passage through his lungs.

The pressure in his head mounted even further, clamouring loudly in his ears. His tears felt like acid in his eyes, but he couldn’t make them fall. Instead, he remained blind to the world. Blind to everything.

And yet, something still pressed him far at the back of his mind.

A tiny voice whispering that it couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be real.

…Was it?

Was it real?

Where was his focus? Brainy struggled through another breath, trying desperately to blink away his tears. The pain ate at him, so poignant he could barely function, but he was meant to… to focus, yes? That had been the point. To… to compartmentalise. To…

To focus on what was real.

But it felt real. The despondency that welled inside his chest, the fire in his head, scorching him every time he imagined Kara, lifeless and alone on the cold terrain below. He felt it, all of it, and he couldn’t bear it.

“Why should you have to?”

Brainy’s head jerked up instinctively, glancing about himself as he sniffed hard, turning in his chair.

His friends were no longer present, but he was not alone.

Humanoid forms took residency at the centre of the ship’s control room. They stood stolidly, arms clasped in front of them, heads bowed low.

Among the static shapes, whispers began to permeate.

Brainy blinked quickly, wiping at his face as he forced himself from his chair, grabbing its back when his legs threatened to buckle. He weighed himself against it, heart thundering in his head, but it was not enough to drown out the voices suddenly invading his mind, breaking free from the boxes he’d built a long time ago.

They shouldn’t be… they couldn’t…

“Excessive emotional turmoil,” the same voice as before said, dripping with fake pity. “It’s truly remarkable what it can set loose.”

Brainy felt ill. “No. No, you can’t—you can’t!” His voice rang out around him, falling on deaf ears.

The voices only seemed to revel in his anguish. Brainy groaned out, clenching his hands around his head, curling in on himself as the whispers intensified.

He caught words within the ocean of sound, enticing murmurs, urging him to come forward, to step into the space still reserved for him. Even after all this time.

Alongside the insistent encouragement of his peers, the shapes in front of him began to take form. Some were green, most of them were green, but one stood out amongst the crowd. A blue skinned woman with red hair grinned wickedly at him, raising her hand in a partial salute.

Indigo?

Brainy’s eyes glanced desperately at the Coluans stood before him.

His blood, stretching back generations. His clan.

His ancestral memory come to life.

A strangled sound caught in Brainy’s throat as their voices pitched inside his mind. He couldn’t- he couldn’t pack them away. No box could patch the hole that had torn through his internal storage. His emotions were frenzied, wild and chaotic and he was… he could not tame them.

“What’s the matter, Querl?” Indigo asked playfully. “Cat got your tongue?”

Brainy shuddered involuntarily when he saw the claws that manifested along Indigo’s fingers. She grinned, snapping them aggressively towards him.

“That’s enough.”

Brainy already felt so drained, the new voice was nearly too much for him to bear. It was only a small comfort that the other whispers stilled at its presence, petering out to an almost manageable hum.

With everything so muddled already, Brainy hadn’t recognised her at first. He chastised himself immediately. How foolish of him not to assume that she would be here, somehow. The voice of reason that he had clung onto for so long, that he had followed blindly and passionately, because he’d believed that if he did… she might one day love him.

But, her eyes were just as cold as they always had been.

Brainiac 4 materialised at the centre of the room, batting Indigo aside as though she were nothing but a child. Indigo’s image shimmered as a result, but Brainy hardly paid it mind. The only person he could focus his energy on was the most dangerous in the room.

A woman he had once called mother.

He didn’t want to say that word again, and yet with all the hopelessness inside his heart, the emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole, he couldn’t help but cling to the image of Brainiac 4 as she walked towards him, reaching out her hand.

When her cold fingers brushed across his cheek, Brainy’s lips trembled, and the tears in his eyes finally began to fall.

Brainiac 4 reviewed his reaction inquisitively, her brow raised in question. “My boy,” she said, tucking her hand beneath his chin, enough to tip his watery gaze towards hers. “Why don’t you give up on these silly little pretences? Doesn’t it hurt to hold onto all of this pain?”

Join us.

The whisper that broke through what little resolve he had left sounded far more like Indigo’s than any other. It thrilled through his nerves, whispering scintillating invitations into his mind.

Brainy flinched from his mother’s hand, fingers clenching tightly against his palms.

She was right. It did hurt. Every fibre of his being ached with it. He wanted to let it out, wanted to discard it as Lena had taught him. Throw every feeling out into the open with a vicious cry. He wanted to collapse into a ball and never, ever come out.

But, he could do none of those things. Instead, he had to live with the guilt that ate into his heart, the heartbreak that would surely never heal. He had to stand there knowing what he had done, what he was responsible for.

That he would never, ever see her smile again.

The death of the future as he knew it. The death of Supergirl.

His family.

Brainy stirred at that thought. After all, who were his family?

He tore his gaze from his mother’s, long enough to turn about the room, seeking out the spaces that had been left blank. He hardly remembered who had been stood there before his ancestors had actualised. If he focused hard enough, he thought, perhaps, he could see echoes of people occupying that same space, but he saw no faces. Remembered no names.

Not real.

He couldn’t see them, and if he couldn’t see them then he most certainly could not touch them. Could not hear or smell them.

That decided it, then. It was simple, nearly too simple.

Whoever had existed before - they had been the lies. Echoes of another life, one that had never meant to be his. After all, his ancestors reached far beyond the five senses. They were an innate part of his very makeup as a Coluan. As a Brainiac.

And they had always been real.

Brainy’s chest spasmed as a sob nearly wracked him, more tears welling in his eyes. And… and he didn’t want to feel this way. It was nonsensical, to dwell on dreams, on nightmares. They only sought to make him weak. And a Brainiac was never weak.

His mother’s hands were solid when they took his shoulders, leaching the heat from his skin.

Her lips quirked with satisfaction. “You see it, don’t you? This simulation you have created for yourself is a destined failure. It is time to put your uninhibited mind to good use.” Her nails bit sharply into his flesh. “Join us. As you were destined to.”

Brainy nodded mutely. After all, why should he feel pain? What was the use of this frivolous emotion? What was the point in any of the good if it only meant feeling all this bad?

It would only weigh him down, which would not do. Indeed, he had a legacy to uphold.

Brainy’s eyes fluttered shut, finally letting the last of his mental barriers slip away with one long, cleansing exhale. The voices wasted no time, rushing in like an aggressive wave, swallowing him whole in seconds.

When Brainy opened his eyes, he felt no pain. No heartbreak.

Instead, he absconded from the needless weight of his emotional baggage, stepping forward into his mother’s waiting arms.

[thatsassyhufflepuff]

Stronger Than Blood Chapter 25: Felicity

Summary: Hufflepuff witch Felicity Zabini struggles to find normalcy as she enters into her 6th year at Hogwarts, reeling from her father’s sudden death and her mother’s quick remarriage into the Zabini family. If only she had known that discovering Draco Malfoy falling apart in the bathroom would spiral into so much more.

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: cursing, angst, fluff

Ao3

I woke up to the sound of tapping against my window, Draco’s arm slung over my waist. He hadn’t even covered himself up with a blanket. I had to roll my eyes at that, but I appreciated the gentlemanly gesture all the same. I glanced around my room before transfiguring one of the bean bag chairs into a blanket. I made quick work of draping it over my boyfriend’s sleeping form before I moved to my window as quietly as I could.

A truly majestic owl greeted me with an indignant hoot, as if to say, “What in Merlin’s name took you so long?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Who might you be?” I murmured in a low voice, stroking the snowy white owl’s feathers with two fingers. It only allowed me to pet it for a few seconds before he -- it seemed like a he, anyway-- pecked at my hand impatiently, practically shoving the letter tied to its leg at my hand. I glared at it before untying the envelope from around its leg. The little wretch left as soon as I offered it an owl treat from the jar I kept on the windowsill.

I glanced at my alarm clock. It was only six in the morning. Who on Earth would be writing me this early? I tore open the envelope. The parchment enclosed inside the envelope was exquisite, with intricate designs on the corners, some sort of family crest embossed on one corner. I was reminded of the stationary Mr. Zabini used. Whoever sent this letter came from money, that was certain. Before I had the chance to read the letter, a little handheld mirror fell out of the envelope and into my lap.

“What the--” I caught it before it hit the ground, placing it back in my lap. Now I had to know who had written me. I turned my attention to the letter, hoping it contained an answer. The handwriting was breathtakingly beautiful, reminding me of calligraphy, except it was easier to read.

Miss Zabini,

I apologize for writing to you at such an early hour, but I’m afraid my curiosity has gotten the best of me. Would you join me for tea as soon as you’ve read this letter and prepared yourself accordingly? No need to dress up. Your Hogwarts uniform will do. The mirror included in the envelope is a Portkey to Malfoy Manor that will activate in half an hour.

Sincerely,

Narcissa Malfoy

I nearly choked on my own spit. Draco’s mother invited me to tea! I glanced over at him, wondering if I should wake him. He looked so peaceful that I decided against it, instead getting dressed as quietly and as quickly as I could.

***

Thirty minutes later, I was standing in front of Malfoy Manor. It was enormous, even bigger than my own home. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my robes, gripping my wand, which helped me calm down just a bit. If this was a trap, I knew how to defend myself.

The sun was just beginning to rise as I approached the front door. I couldn’t quite stop my hand from trembling as I knocked.

To my immense relief, Narcissa didn’t answer the door. Instead, a male house elf stared up at me, covered in a rather dirty dish towel. “Miss Zabini?” he asked in a timid voice. I smiled, hoping to put him at ease.

“That’s me,” I confirmed, kneeling so I was at eye-level with the house elf. “But please, call me Felicity. What’s your name?”

“M-miss wants to know my name?” The elf wrung his hands, looking around nervously, as if waiting for someone to appear out of thin air to beat him, the poor thing.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you. Do you know Draco Malfoy?”

The elf shrunk back unexpectedly. “Y-yes, I know the young master. He h-hurts Dobby. Says mean things to Dobby.”

Of course he does, I thought, rolling my eyes. I made a mental note to scold him about that later.

“I promise I’m not going to hurt you, Dobby. Is that your name? Dobby?” When the elf nodded, I grinned conspiratorially. “You see, Draco is my boyfriend, and I promise that I’ll scold him most severely for hurting you. He won’t do it again.” I stood, holding out my hand to Dobby. “Would you please escort me to your mistress?”

Dobby’s eyes shone brightly as he took my hand. “Dobby likes you,” he announced. “Miss Felicity keeps the young master in line.” He patted my hand before leading me further into the Manor.

Though I didn’t have a lot of time to take in the Manor, I noticed that the layout was very similar to the Zabini estate. Perhaps all of the rich pureblood families compared blueprints when they built their homes centuries ago.

In any case, Dobby pulled me into what must have been the drawing room. I turned, opening my mouth to thank the house elf, but he disappeared with a crack before I could get the words out.

“He has a bad habit of disappearing on you,” An amused voice noted from the corner of the room, and I turned back around quickly. Narcissa Malfoy stood from an overstuffed armchair, seeming to glide over to me. She was beautiful, with Draco’s platinum blonde hair that was oddly mixed with black. Her eyes were cornflower blue, and she wore an elegant black dress that fit her like a glove. I brushed off my robes, feeling severely underdressed.

“Mrs. Malfoy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t--”

The Malfoy matriarch held up a hand to silence my apology. To my surprise, her eyes softened when she saw the way I shrank back from the sudden movement. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, dear.” she said. “And please, call me Narcissa. Mrs. Malfoy makes me feel old.”

I laughed at that. “You’re beautiful, Mrs.--I mean, Narcissa. I doubt anyone would dare to think of you as old.”

She gestured towards the table where the tea kettle already sat. “You’re sweet. Please, won’t you join me?”

I nodded before following her hesitantly. Narcissa sat in her original chair once more. I opted to take a similar chair that was seated to her left, a coffee table between us. “How do you take your tea?” she asked as she rang for Dobby, who appeared right away.

“Two sugars, please.” I answered.

Soon, we were both settled in our seats, sipping at our tea. “I, er…” I started, setting my cup to the side. “I thought about waking Draco up, but he looked so peaceful that I couldn’t bring myself to wake him.”

A perfectly sculpted blonde eyebrow lifted at that, her gaze sweeping my attire. “I confess, I can’t quite imagine my son sleeping peacefully in the Hufflepuff Prefect’s dorm.”

I felt my cheeks burn. “He’s been nothing but a gentleman, I promise. Last night was the first time he stayed, and he slept on top of the duvet.” I shook my head, smiling fondly. “I think the Disney movies wore him out.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I…” I swallowed hard. “Well, he was being a bit of a prat, and so I figured I would make him suffer through Disney movies to make it up to me.”

Narcissa laughed, surprising me. “He’s always hated musicals. And he sat there with you the whole night?”

I snorted. “I threatened to burn his balls off. Of course he did.”

His mother laughed yet again, and I smiled at her shyly. “Oh, I like you, Miss Zabini, and obviously my son does, too.”

“Call me Felicity,” I insisted, which earned me a gentle smile and a nod.

We chatted for a little while after that. She asked me questions about myself, about my likes and dislikes. She asked about Draco, about how long we’d been together, about how we came together in the first place. Narcissa didn’t seem surprised that I couldn’t stand her son at first.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you here now...of all times especially.” Narcissa stood from her chair. “Come, take a walk in the gardens with me.”

I chewed on my lip. “But Draco…”

She waved her hand impatiently. “He won’t be awake for another hour. I’m his mother, I know these things. Walk with me, Felicity.”

The words were polite enough, but they weren’t an invitation--they were a command, so I rose from my seat, hurrying to follow the older witch.

Her garden was beautiful. Flowers of every kind bloomed, some that weren’t even in season, no doubt sustained by magic. The tense lines of Narcissa’s mouth seemed to relax as she breathed in the fragrances of her garden.

“First and foremost,” she began, turning to me. “I wanted to thank you. As I’m sure you’re aware, this year, and the last, honestly, have been…” Narcissa searched for the right word. “Difficult for Draco, to say the least.”

“I know,” I murmured, shaking my head. “I wish he would let me do more to help.”

“That’s what I wish to thank you for,” She took my hands, squeezing them briefly. “You’ve helped him more than you realize, Felicity. I’ll be the first to admit that he’s always been spoiled. That’s my fault, I’m afraid. I’ve doted on him too much. But with the Dark Lord’s task, and now…” She shuddered. “That is to say, I haven’t seen my Draco happy for a long time. You’ll understand more of what I mean when you have children of your own, but it’s hard to watch your children suffer. You’ll want to do anything to ease their pain.”

Narcissa sat on a bench nestled in the middle of the garden, patting the spot beside her. I took a seat obediently. “My family is everything to me, dear. I would do anything for them. I’ve had no idea how to reach Draco. He was so bitter, so withdrawn, that I was afraid he was turning into…”

“His father,” I guessed. She nodded grimly, but then her eyes were brimming with tears.

“I was afraid that I’d never see him happy again. I never expected for him to be happy during all of this.” Narcissa gestured around the Manor vaguely. “But you’ve given me my son back, Felicity, and for that I can’t thank you enough.” Then, the Malfoy matriarch surprised me yet again by wrapping her arms around me in a hug. I only stiffened for a moment before I was squeezing her back.

“You’ve raised an amazing son, Narcissa.” I told her, my breath hitching with emotion. “He just...just needed someone to care for him. Someone stubborn enough to force their way into his life.”

I realized I was crying when Narcissa reached forward and wiped a tear off of my cheek with a silken handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” I wiped my eyes. “It’s just been so long since…”

While Draco’s mother had let go of me, she wrapped her arm around my shoulders, hugging me to her side and stroking my hair gently, just like my mum used to do before dad died. I let out a strangled sob at the gesture.

“Dry your tears,” She let go of me after a moment, turning to face me on the bench. “There’s something else we need to discuss. But any time you need a mum, you know where to find me.”

I wasn’t surprised that Draco had told his mum about my family situation. I simply nodded, giving her a smile as I tried to rein in my tears. Once I composed myself, Narcissa took my hand, covering it with both of her own. While her eyes were still warm, something else lurked behind them. Sadness? Guilt? It was impossible to tell; she had an impressive poker face.

“How much has Draco told you about our family traditions?”

I blinked. “Um, not much, honestly. I know how your family feels about those who don’t have pure blood. I know that you don’t marry for love in your...circles.” I paused, pursing my lips in thought. Draco and I had been dating for around 6 months at this point, and I didn’t think I was in love with him, not in so many words, but I was definitely falling for him. His presence was intoxicating, equal parts beautiful and terrifying. He may have annoyed me to no end at times, and he was so bloody stubborn, but it was getting harder and harder to imagine my life without him by my side.

Narcissa sighed. “You have to understand, the...disdain for those not of pure blood has been passed down for centuries. Lucius’s father would be horrified to see a half-blood on the grounds of the Manor right now.” Her smile was apologetic. “I can’t say that I’ve been any more tolerant in my lifetime. To my ancestors, magic is a birthright.”

“So…” I started slowly. “In your eyes, I don’t deserve to be a witch because my father happened to be a Muggle?”

Narcissa looked away from my face for a moment, her gaze distant. “Six months ago, I would have said exactly that. But seeing how happy you make my son, and meeting you now…” Her blue eyes focused on me once more. “You’re good for him. That much is clear. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, my dear. You’re lovely, and anyone who can keep my son in line is a saint. I should know, having raised him. You have my utmost respect.” Her lips twitched with a smile.

“I think you’re the saint here, Narcissa,” I laughed. “But thank you.”

She patted my hand before brushing an errant curl off of my forehead. I was struck yet again by the motherly gesture but managed to hold myself together.

“Draco will be waking soon.” she said. “But there’s one more thing you need to know.”

I found myself holding my breath, a feeling of dread spreading over me.

“If the circumstances were different, I would give you my blessing to court my son. As I said, you’re good for him.” She took a breath. “But I’m afraid I can’t afford you the luxury you deserve.”

My stomach dropped. “What are you saying?”

Narcissa was the picture of graceful serenity. “I cannot give you my blessing to court my son.”

I was sure I’d heard her wrong.

“You're not serious?”

Her lips thinned. “Quite, actually.”

I stood up from the bench, backing away from her, grabbing on to the arm of a marble statue that was situated behind me so I wouldn’t fall.

“You said…” I gulped. “You said I’m good for him.”

“Indeed.”

“Then why…?”

She gave me a sad smile as she folded her hands on her lap. “Because, Miss Zabini...Draco is promised to another.”

My world tilted on its axis. I backed away further, nearly tripping over a small statue of a garden gnome.

“You’re lying.” I said, my voice shaking.

“Believe me when I say that I wish I was. I’m sorry.” Narcissa’s reply was so calm that it made me want to scream. My eyes stung with tears.

“Why on Earth did you invite me here, then?” I asked, a single tear slipping down my cheek. “Just so you could…” My voice caught. “Just to see my face when you tell me I’m not good enough for your son? That he’s been engaged for Merlin knows…” I felt like retching, screaming, and crying all at once.

Narcissa didn’t rise from her seat on the bench. I clenched my fists at my sides. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening...

“How long?” I whispered.

“My dear…”

“I am not your dear.” I gritted my teeth as more tears fell. “How long, Narcissa?”

She let out a breath. “I sent Draco an owl just before Dobby led you into the drawing room.”

“You what?”

Mrs. Malfoy chose that time to rise from her bench to move towards me, but I backed away. “You have to understand,” she told me softly, her blue eyes glittering with tears. “If it were up to me, Draco could be with someone like you. All I want is his happiness, and it seems that you are his source of happiness. But his father...our family is closely linked with the Dark Lord, Felicity. He would never accept you, nor would Lucius. I’m sparing you that pain, not to mention the danger--”

“You’re sparing me?” I scoffed incredulously, wiping at the tears that trickled down my cheeks. “Sparing me because pleasing You-Know-Who matters more than your only son’s happiness? Because your husband is a bigoted fool?” I glared at the woman. “Forgive me if I fail to see how that’s sparing me pain.”

Her blue eyes turned chilly. “I am doing what’s best for my family. A war is beginning, Miss Zabini, a war where you and Draco will be enemies. Besides,” she sniffed. “Astoria won’t talk to me, her mother-in-law, as you just did. You’re lucky I told you in the first place. It’s the least I could do. And I am sorry.” The woman turned away from me after she tossed me another handheld mirror. I barely caught it in time before it hit the ground. “Your Portkey activates in thirty seconds. Farewell, Miss Zabini. In a different world, we might have been family someday.”

With that, Narcissa Malfoy strode back towards the Manor without so much as a glance back at me.

***

“Fliss?”

Draco’s whisper was the only thing that made me realize I was back in my dorm. My head snapped up. He had gone to his dormitory to get a fresh uniform and a shower, judging from the wet strands of hair that clung to his forehead. When our eyes met, I couldn’t contain my sobs any longer. I let out a cry and rushed into his arms.

The Slytherin embraced me so tightly that it was almost suffocating, but I was crying too hard to care. Draco wisely cast a wandless Muffliato, whispering reassurances that I didn’t have the heart to comprehend, stroking the back of my head with his free hand.

“Did you know this was coming?” I choked out, my voice scratchy. He grimaced.

“I--I was afraid they might try something like this, but I’d hoped…” He rested his forehead against mine, taking a deep breath. “I had hoped that since we’ve been dating for six months now that they’d finally let me be happy. I should’ve known.” The laugh he released was hollow. My heart clenched painfully inside of my chest.

“Who is she?” I asked after a moment, squeezing my eyes shut. I didn’t want to know, yet I had to.

I felt him cup my cheek in his hand, the Malfoy family ring cold against my skin. I leaned into his palm, my throat tightening. “Open your eyes, Fliss.”

I didn’t want to. It was too painful to look at him, but I opened my eyes anyway, hating the tears that leaked out when I did. Draco wiped at my tears with the pad of his thumb before lowering his head and kissing me desperately, his hands drifting down to grip my waist. Usually his kisses were gently passionate, but this was different. This was intense, like he couldn’t get enough of me and was afraid this kiss would be our last.

“Draco,” I breathed his name, pressing a palm against his chest and giving him a little push, feeling his thundering heartbeat under my fingertips. He chased my lips with his own as I pulled back, though I wanted desperately to kiss him until I forgot about everything else.

“Who cares who she is?” My boyfriend mumbled, his hands tightening on my waist. “She’s not you.”

“Draco,” I repeated firmly, reaching up to fiddle with his tie. “Who is she? We have to be realistic, we can’t--”

He cut me off with a firm kiss. “Stop. I don’t want to be with bloody Astoria Greengrass, Fliss! She’s a Slytherin two years below us. Practically wizarding royalty.”

I wrinkled my nose. “She’s what, fifteen?”

Draco shuddered. “The giggly phase. And spoiled as hell if her older sister is any indication.”

“Dray…” I reached up to pat a platinum blonde lock down. “Have you looked in the mirror recently?”

He frowned. “Why, is my hair sticking up?”

“No, Draco. You look as perfect as ever, don’t worry.” My boyfriend’s grin turned smug even though I rolled my eyes when I said it. “What I mean is, it’s rather ironic to complain about someone being spoiled when you are, in fact, spoiled yourself.”

“You see!” He threw up his hands triumphantly. “It would be a terrible match. I could never be with someone so similar to myself.”

“You…” I snorted. “You do realize you just admitted that you’re spoiled, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “I said no such thing. Can we go back to the part where you said I’m perfect? I liked that part better. Care to tell me more?”

“I’m sure you did,” I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek against his chest, inhaling his familiar, musky scent, relishing the feeling as his arms automatically encircled my waist. “And as much as I’m sure you’d love me to stroke your ego until its size is unbearable,” He laughed into my hair at that. “We have to talk about this.”

Draco blew out a breath, tilting his head so his lips were against my ear. “What is there to talk about?” he asked, running his fingers through the hair that hung halfway down my back. “I don’t want to be with her. I want to be with my bloody girlfriend.”

“Tell that to your mum,” I mumbled into his chest. “She’s already referring to herself as Astoria’s mother-in-law. And apparently Astoria won’t talk to her like I did.”

He held me loosely away from him. “Do I even want to know what you said to my mother?”

“Probably not.”

“Now I definitely want to know.” Draco pulled away from me, beginning to pack up my bag and his, but he raised two pale blonde eyebrows at me in his, “I’m waiting,” look.

I shifted my footing. “I...may have called your dad a bigoted fool. To her face.”

Draco laughed loudly, forgetting our bags for a moment as he crossed the room and pinched my cheeks between his fingers. “You’re adorable if you think I’m going to let you go without a fight, Felicity Grace Zabini.”

I giggled as he kissed both of my cheeks, but my expression quickly sobered as his words sunk in.

“I’m afraid you might have to.”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “Might have to...?”

I swallowed hard.

“Fight.”

Chapter 26

~~

taglist: @beforeoursunsets @typewriting101 @sadgirlnumber92899

[ficsnroses]

Used To Be - John Wick x Reader

❧ Prompt : “Did you at least think of me, when you were having sex with her?” 

Summary : John and you were in love, and still are. Only difference is, you’re now married to other people. You meet secretly often, and on this particularly emotional night you spend together, John decides he can’t be without you any longer.

Warnings : smut. car sex. loads of angst, loads of fluff.

Word Count : 3.8K

A/N : This was originally a drabble for my prompt fics, but it spiraled into a full length fic because I loved it quite a bit. Love me a good angsty smut! Feedback is so greatly appreciated 🖤

John’s wife’s name will be Helena in this cuz I can’t do my girl Helen like that lol

The sun sinks down the New York horizon, traces of earthy light; vanishing. Tonight, no stars seem to peak the sky. Tonight, it seems the sky understands. Tonight, the sky holds deep ash clouds, blackened shadows drifting with the wind.

The heavens cease to exist, for tonight- the sky mimics a ceiling of gray black rocks, trapping, confining her to the depths of her soul.

Tonight, she feels suffocated, in more ways than just one.

In the dull passenger seat of his car, John holds one sturdy hand firm on the steering wheel, gaze intent on the ash clouds that drift by out the crystal windshield. She sits adjacent, hands folded delicately in her lap, images, reminders of what they used to be channeling each crevice of her mind.

What her and John used to be.

How had they ever let it get to this? It was never supposed to come to this. It was always supposed to be her and John, and perhaps if she’d realized that earlier, she would have saved herself the guilt. The shame, the pain, the energy drained in weary half attempts to carry on their lives as they were; make do with what they’d done.

But she couldn’t, and neither could John. For her and John, it seemed that time had only made things worse, hung their hearts on a frayed loose thread that never seemed to break, despite how hard, how long they’d fought to forget each other.

By now, the rain had been long pattering on the car windows, John’s features softening when he notes the drown of ache on her lips, the glint once coated on her eyes long forgotten. It scrapes him each time to see her this way; hurts him deeper, burns him harder. A never ending burn, each time they’d end up back here, back together within the regret ridden walls of his Mustang. Back within the graveyard walls of a dream. Back within the death, the slaughter of the dreams they’d once dreamed together.

Coursing the tense air, John begins, a callous hand moving into his lap.

“How’s Ben?” John asks, awkwardly, tone thick with unease. With his hand firm on the wheel, he squeezes. Clenching, grasping, anything to ease the aching burn in his chest, with the words flying off his tongue as if normal.

-as if they didn’t break a piece of him each time they soared into the air; as if each time they fled, they weren’t building a burial ground of debris. Weren’t killing him inch by inch.

As if the words didn’t rationalize. Didn’t prove that his Y/N, had gone to another man. Had ended up in someone else’s arms when perhaps, it was all

  his

  fault.

“John, please come back. Please come home.”

“John, I’m falling weak here without you. Please come back.”

She’d begged him time after time, again, and again, and again.

But he hadn’t come. He didn’t come for her when she needed him the most. He wanted to be more; wanted to leave the life of sin behind him for good before he returned. Wanted to be good enough for her to ask for her hand in marriage;

Yet, when his dreary bones returned that somber evening to the town he called home, she was gone. She’d been married off, and there was nothing he could do to get her back.

Features stoic, yet her insides burn. A never ending burn, that only seemed to intensify with John around. The memories. The burning, sweltering, heart wrenching memories as they sat together now, a shell of what they used to be.

An empty, broken, hallow shell.

Lips taut in a straight line, she looks out the window, all efforts to keep her tears at bay failing nonetheless. With a burning globe seared out her soft orbs, she swallows thickly, the mere mention of her name bringing never ending hallow to her chest. “How’s Helena?”

John’s head turns out the window, unable to meet her eyes. Gaze softened, he barely turns and catches her from the peripherals of his eyes; her lips a gentle quiver, how her knuckles strain under the fragile skin.

His heart hurts for her, but he manages.

He manages, for her. “She’s alright.”

The air in the car space stills, and for a moment, just for a moment, John swore he’d heard the thud of his heart in his chest. Beating, thumping, waiting for her to say something.

But she doesn’t. She only stares out the window,

And stares,

And stares, and stares.

“Y/N,” John whispers, the scald on his heart intensifying by the second. His hand reaches for hers, palm resting over her hand that rests to her thigh, and when he squeezes ever so gently, gaze locked intently to her face, he sees the teardrops that singe her cheeks.

He sees in her, the same burn. The same never ending, agonising burn. “Sweetheart, I,” John starts before she cuts him off, a single finger to his lip.

“No, John.” She argues, moving from her seat, rising slightly out to lean over to his side. John watches her, as she moves over to the driver’s seat, positioning herself to straddle his lap. He pushes the lever of the seat back to generate more space, steering wheel poking at her back as she sits, so close to the man who held her heart.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She quietly speaks, gaze disheartened to their laps. Her eyes drag dreary, John’s arms curling around her to haul her body in closer. He studies each inch of her face, drinking her in. Something he wished he could do every morning as he woke, every night before he slept.

A life together was all they’d ever wanted. Yet here they were, locked away, confined and restricted,

in more ways than just one.

So close, their noses almost touch. John feels that flutter in his chest, the same flutter he feels each time he sees her. She always does this to him. Makes him feel this vulnerable, this fragile, this full of warmth that it practically scorches him to the bone. With his thumb soft and gentle, he cups her cheek, soothing softly under her eye. “I adore you, you know that right?”

She nods, feeble and fragile, more warm tears gliding her skin. Shaking her head, she places her hand to his chest, trying her best to keep at bay choked sobs and broken cries. Her time with John was special, limited, and she didn’t want it wasting away within her lifeless dirge of their remembrance of past. She watches John’s sad eyes gloss over her features, lips moving in to kiss away her tears.

Kiss away all the hurt he could. Because John knows, and John knows well.

John knows exactly how it feels to have everything in front of you, yet being utterly powerless to take it.

“Hey, no tears when we’re together.” John hushes, kissing her forehead as his hand takes hold of hers. “This is our time, right?”

And with a passionate kiss to his lips, Y/N cups his face in both her hands, whispering against his tender mouth. “I just need to feel you right now, John.” She manages, swallowing thick tears and throaty sorrow; her hands unzipping the buckle of his jeans underneath her. Hastily, she reaches into his boxers, pulling out his cock just enough to free into the air, enough for him to take her. Within a swift motion, she lifts herself gently, drape of her skirt pushed mindlessly away as she slides her underwear to the side, eyes never leaving John’s.

A feel of complete, full, uncompromised love. A feeling physical, to match. John found himself falling for her further, a little more each time they felt each other this way. A surrender of long overdue emotions.

Long built up fire that needed to be extinguished.

With John’s hands firm to her hips, he watches her take hold of his girthy cock, rubbing his swollen, rosy tip to her clit. Lining his member up with her entrance, she sinks down slowly, sat in his lap and they both sigh in unison. They sigh full of relief, full of each other, full of everything they’d ever wanted. With her arms looming around John’s neck, she feels him pull her body flush against his chest as she bounces, slowly, sensual up and down on him, soft moans and whimpers leaving both their lips.

This burn, is the only burn John ever wanted her to feel. A burn of pure, and utter, bliss.

Fragile body held close, John peppers kisses all over her skin, wherever his lips may reach. Her hair, her temples, her forehead, grasping so desperately, so wholly, in fear that she may just disappear. Disappear away from him again like she had before,

Disappear, to some place he may never be able to find her.

She feels divine around his member, warm, wet, perfectly fit as if a glove moulded just for him. Using both his hands to keep her hair out of her face, John admires her, cupping, grazing, touching her cheeks tenderly. She remembers how he likes it; slow, sloppy and wet. The way he bites his quivering lip when she clenches, the way his eyes flutter open and closed, the way his hands feel each inch of her skin as they mould together. She remembers every bit of him, every piece.

Every part of her John.

With each bounce, she holds him tighter, his toned arms and shoulders, the broad of his chest that heaves against her. The anticipation is building; it had been a while since either of them had been with someone.

Being with anyone other than each other, wasn’t right. It was never right.

Sex, without the one you love had never felt right.

“Please don’t stop, baby,” John moans quietly, pads of his fingertips bedding into her firmly held hips. “Please don’t stop.” Burying his face in the valley of her clothed breasts, John savours her, indulging in the feel of her so close. She’s here, she’s really here, and right now, in this moment, she’s his.

No one else’s.

Stifled praises for her leave his mouth as he watches, a muffle of messy moans under her touch. Picking up pace, she hears his groans get louder and louder, the sounds of her wetness bobbing his cock flood the car walls, swollen cock shining with her slickness each time she rises up, only to sink down again. Clenching tighter, she wills all efforts to feel him deep inside her, feel him pleasing her. It’s becoming too much; the memories, the past, the present.

She remembers of their lives now.

This love was only temporary, and soon, when the wash of relief would cast over them, and the few moments they could steal together would eventually fade into the light;

So would they. Back to reality. Back to the wretched, cruel reality. The one where they couldn’t be together. Slowly, yet so suddenly, she feels the tears brim her dreary eyes. Glossing her gaze, they glide her cheeks in steady, river streams. A tear drop falls to John’s skin, and he watches her in complete, and utter, sorrow.

“Baby…” John starts, cupping her cheek before he’s cut off cold, her voice raspy and broken to the tone. Movements halting, his cock stays buried deep, deep inside her to her end, her eyes fall downcast, quiet, barely above a whisper.

“Did you at least think of me, when you were having sex with her?”

And to the sound of her words, barely strung together through a quivering croak, John’s eyes sting. His heart breaks, yet again; shatters, yet again. His lips part to speak, yet the words choke in his throat. Choke as he watches the woman he truly loves break in front of him.

Gaze flickering, vulnerability shines in her weary eyes. His closeness, his familiarly, his warmth, all of him that came within his body holding hers, being this intimate with him again after so long,

it’s proving far too much.

“Why did you have sex with her, John?” She cries quietly, head shaking to the thought of her love with someone else. “Why?” Eyes clasping shut, she feels John’s arms hold her tighter now, a few tears brimming his own earthy orbs.

Thumb calloused, yet brimmed with the softest, most tender gentleness when he touches her, he wipes her tears away, holding her hand firm, tight, assuring her that he’s here. Slowly, his hands engulf in her own, soft and careful, staring as he rubs his thumb over the dips and bumps of her knuckles. “I love you, so much. He whispers. “You have no idea.” Her hands shake as her tears still fall, the built up dread bubbling inside, and she realizes that it was bound to come out.

Those words, those horrible thoughts, were bound to come out. She could only shelter them so long. With a deep and shaky sigh, her lips move to illuminate. “Every time I think of you, with her-” John’s words cut through hers, holding her so desperately in his arms.

“Y/N,” He saddens. “I only think of you, always, every minute of every day.” Jaw clenching to the thought, his gaze is intense, yet holds a softness. A softness reserved solely for her. “When I see this on you…” Eyes flickering to the engagement ring that gleams on her finger, John breathily exhales, collecting his words; vision growing blurry again with his fingers soothing over it. “It kills to think of this…that I didn’t give you this.” Voice breaking, her hands cup his face, locking eyes. “I miss you so much, Y/N.” John confesses unsteadily. “You have no idea how easy it was to fall in love with you. And for me to have to love you in secret now, I-” His words halt in his throaty croak, breaking.

She weeps quietly, holding him close. “I’m so sorry I let it get this way.” John apologizes, pulling her close with his face nuzzled in the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry I let us…I let you…” And before he can finish the aching words that threaten to fall, she stops him, a tender kiss pressed to his head.

“No.” She kisses his lips again, fingers tangling his shadowy mane. “I don’t want to think about any of that right now.” Another kiss to the soft skin under his eye. “Right now is just for us, right?” She whispers, hips moving once again to slowly makes love to him, feel him slipping in and out of her as they relish. John nods, collecting his thoughts, eyes closing shut when he feels her bounce on him.

Their bodies together, so in sync, her heat throbs around him and she whimpers when his tip grinds her g spot. Bringing her hand over her lips, the cages in a particularly loud moan threatening to surface, the feel of John inside her, so heavy, so thick, the stretch of him filling her the best feeling to have ever felt. John’s hips buck up into her barely, sighing in sweet, sweet relief.

“Do you even take care of yourself?” She quietly asks, momentarily caught off guard by a rebellious strand of hair on his mane that never stills. Her finger lightly soothes over a mauve bruise just to the side of his temple, eyes falling sad thinking of John forgetting to give himself the care he needs. The care he deserves.

“Please, John, I need you to take care of yourself.” She pains, their hips still rolling into one another. “Do you…do you get enough sleep? Do the nightmares still come?” She inquires, gently soothing his nape.

With his lips planting a small kiss to her wrist, John lies through his teeth; he’d lie just for her. “No, sweetheart. They don’t. I’m fine, baby.” He assures, each vein, each curve and bump of his heavy cock pumping; twitching inside her. Breath hot on her lips, their foreheads connect, Y/N’s body trembling and whimpering from how good John is fucking into her now, how close to the brink of release they’re approaching. John’s member pumps, pounding spots inside her that nearly make her lose her breath, deeper, harder, pressure bubbling inside her core.

“I only think about you, sweetheart.” John whispers into her neck, lips leaving delicate, tender, soothing love bites into her skin. Nipping and sucking gently on her satin skin, John sighs at ease for the first time, in a long time. Pouring all his love into her, his lips move adoringly along her skin, spilling oblivion into her as his cock glides in and out of her pussy, her soft moans sending shivers down his spine as she strokes his hair, panting.

“John, please don’t leave marks,” She wearily asks. “I have to go home.”

She has to go home. She has to leave, eventually.

They’ll have to part, eventually.

“But you’re mine,” John quietly courses, voice gravelly, thick with ache. She’s his, but not. She’s his, but cannot be. “Please come home with me tonight?” John asks, taking hold of her hand again. “I need to be with you, Y/N.” Desperate, John laces their fingers, intent on her answer, although his wavering mind had already known well the response.

Eyes locking his, she kisses his lips softly, before replying. “You know I can’t, baby.” She hesitates. “I just can’t.”

The harsh reality. They can’t.

Their skin is flushed, clung to each other with piercing shocks snapping their nerves, John’s member hastily slapping against her bare core with each thrust in. She aids, tenderly moving on him, her own lips peppering kisses over his face, paying special attention to the violet bruises on his temples. The insides of her thighs coat with their mixed releases, staining the fabric of her clothes yet she doesn’t care. John pushes as much of himself into her as possible and she cries, yelps of bliss into his chest as she shudders for him, the burn building by the second.

John’s hands slip into her shirt, cupping her breasts as he kneads tender soothes to the swell of her chest, nipples hardening under his touch. He tries, yet his mind cannot seem to drift. The thoughts can’t seem to subside, the hurt piercing through each crevice of his mind.

“Do you sleep with him?” John blurts, unsure how the words had even slipped out. She feels far too good, far too divine, and he’s far too madly in love to bear the thought of her with another man. “Do you show him your body like you show me?”

With a whimper, she sobs from the pure ecstasy John feels like inside. Through barely attempts, she tries desperately to keep her eyes open, an assuring hand placed to John’s cheek. “Only you.”

Connecting their foreheads, she cups both his cheeks, jaw tightening with hard bites to her lip yielding minimal aid in encasing her cries of pleasure. She tightens around him harder, sizable cock making sinful noises as he slips in and out hastily, and she presses soft kisses to his lips through hot, trustful exhales. “I am only for you.”

Gaspy moans trudge both their lips as the end nears, John’s dick sloppily throbbing in and out her moist folds. She hasn’t felt this full in long, and he hasn’t felt this loved, this cared for in a while. With a few more particularly deep thrusts, the sting of each other’s bodies entwined together sending jolts of heat spiraling inside as they cum together, crying, sobbing, reciting each other’s names against the other’s lips through soft kisses.

She feels John’s cum spill inside her, buried deep, slick and heavy, warm to the feel inside. Proximate and close, John pulls her nearer in a bear hug as they collapse against each other, holding tenderly, arms circled around in the warmest, firmest embrace. His palms sooth up and down her back, lips pressing kisses to her luscious, tousled hair through highs ridden out. Chest heaving, their sweaty bodies cling together, entrapped within steamy glass windows and humid post sex air. He stops along with her hips, buried profound inside, still throbbing as her pussy pulses around him, tender, sore, delicate from the action.

With his voice deep and velvety, John tucks her head further into his neck, holding dearly, just as desperately as the entire session. Through warm succulence, he feels damp through the shirt on his shoulder again, knowing far too well that she must have allowed a couple more measly tears to slip her tired eyes, yet again.

Because even after release, even after desperate words of assurance, declared love for one another, their reality wouldn’t change. She would still go home, and so would he. They would still sleep in long empty, distant beds with the cold feel of another’s body beside them at night. They would still wake up alone, without the other’s warmth to subside any worries away.

Burn would return; the cold, foreign, unending burn that sears through out.

Blazes when without one another.

Staring out the window to the fallen rain, John realizes, that happiness won’t be, if they stay way.

“I don’t want to be without you anymore.” John expresses, more of a statement to himself in the dire nightfall that shadows outside. “No more.” She moves slowly, untangling from him just enough to meet his espresso gaze. Fingers soft, she soothes his cheek, empathizing, eyes shutting to the sound of his breathing. The assurance of knowing he’s real, he’s alive, he’s healthy, and he’s here.

And with his palms taking her hands into his, John whispers, confident, assured, threaded fingers fitting perfectly together, in the embrace of whom they were always meant to be within. “I’m done remembering what we used to be.”

She cups his cheek, and to the sound of the pelting rain dribbling the car windows now, the patter peppers down, gently, soothingly, a symphony of its own,

Pitter,

“What we are now, is what I want.”

Patter,

“What I need.”

Pitter,

“I lost you before, but I won’t lose you again.”

Patter,

And with a kiss to her palm, he locks their eyes, sincerely, genuinely, for her. 

        “I’ll make this right. I’ll make us right.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[berrehjuice]

A dubious agreement

(CW for dub con, blackmail, aphrodesiacs, threats, ect ect. Here’s a thing that I wrote for Hammerlock for an RP if anyone’s interested 👀 I won’t rlly provide context unless asked, but if you like some juicy juicy size difference smut here you go! Forgive the formatting cause it was done for discord lolol)

"I... Agree." It felt - so hard to get that out. But he saw - saw no other option. He didn't. Know-

“Come now, Hammer dear." Diamondback's voice was sickly sweet, the exact tone that made Hammerlock want to *run*. "You would do this for me, yes? You wouldn't back out on our bargain, would you?"

Hammerlock shivered. He wanted to back out. Wanted to more than anything. He barely came up to Slugshot's waist. It didn't matter that Windjumper - barely a few inches taller than Hammerlock - took Slugshot's spike on the regular. No matter how much Windjumper had reassured him back in the transport that Slugshot always took time to be careful. None of that *mattered*. After he’d seen the two of them interface in the transport, witnessed how lost Windjumper got within Slugshot’s clutches - saw how he’d taken that enormous corkscrew spike until his abdominal plating had bulged -

(And Hammerlock had watched it and felt sick. His spark had been in his throat. His interface equipment had *throbbed*, and it had been all he could do to keep himself in check. He’d never thought he could be aroused by such a thing, never thought-)

Diamondback’s lips curled, revealing sharp fangs that Hammerlock knew dripped with venom. A similar venom that Slugshot’s saliva carried - paralytic… and aphrodisiac. He hated how he trembled when the beastformer reached out with a clawed servo and skirted his digits along the underside of Hammerlock’s jaw, tilting his helm up, forcing him to meet the beastformer’s eyes.

*Hated it-*

“Would you, Hammerlock?” Diamondback prompted again. He was losing patience, poisonous green optics narrowed to slits. “... No, boss.” Hammerlock finally replied, voice strained, but even. “Good.” Diamondback gave his helm an appreciative stroke, and it took all Hammerlock had not to shiver in disgust. “Kneel, then.”

He took a step back.

Hammerlock sunk to his knees.

His awareness seemed to ficker. Suddenly he felt a presence above him, large and radiating heat. Hammerlock’s frame locked tight, and it was like he couldn’t vent. Panic surged, his spark pulsing a frightened, erratic rhythm - and something thick, wet, and glowing a bright purple dripped down onto his chest. Hammer ceased venting all together. 

The liquid seemed to *burn*. From that point of contact, a heat seemed to spread throughout his entire frame, causing his limbs to weaken gradually - until they lost strength altogether, and he swayed forwards, servos barely catching his fall - barely holding his weight for all of five seconds, before they gave out all together, and he landed on his front with a whoosh of air escaping his vents. 

Static filled his audials. He thought he heard Windjumper’s voice, but couldn’t make out the words. He wanted to snap at the other ‘copter, tell him to leave him be lest Diamondback grow suspicious but - but his mouth couldn’t form the words he wanted to say. His vision was hazy. All he could make out before him were the tapered black claws that made up Diamondback’s pedes, and a tail that curled absently behind him in a way that indicated amusement. 

He felt so hot. He couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t think. His HUD was flashing warnings that he couldn’t decipher. Something large wrapped around his waist, and lifted him with no effort whatsoever, and a punched out noise escaped his vocaliser when something *hot* and *wet* and *thick* laped over his closed interface panels - causing chills to spread across his frame, causing the heat to grow - causing his panel to snap open without a command.

*Slugshot’s glossa,* he thought blankly, mouth falling open. He remembered watching it, on the transport. Watching as it had licked over Windjumper and stretched his valve right open with so much ease. That - that was what he felt lap over his valve, hot and wet and *so much, too much*-

Hammerlock had always had an over-sensitive valve. So sensitive that he had barely had to touch it before he was overloading, back when he first discovered the joys of self servicing. He had brought himself to many a satisfying end, thinking about Windjumper’s brother Strikecloud, imaging all sorts of devious, pleasurable things that mech could do to him. Childish imaginations from a childish mech who had yet to discover the true cruelties of the world, who had yet to realise that a silly, unrequited crush was far from the worst thing to experience.

(~~Oh how Hammerlock wished for those days, when things were so so simple, and he had a family and friends and people he could rely on and trust.~~)

The overload took him by surprise. Barely a lick or two - he’d been so built up since the transport, had been trying so hard to ignore how pent up he was, *how wet he was* - that swipe of Slugshot’s glossa was all it took for his limbs to seize and white-hot pleasure to sweep through his frame, causing his processor to go utterly blank. A noise escaped him - a strangled keen - and Slugshot *didn’t stop*.

That tongue - that hateful, *glorious tongue* simply lapped up the spill of lubricant his release had created, curling up between his thighs, across sparking, glowing nodes. He spat static, sensitive to the point of pain, but he couldn’t struggle, couldn’t move, couldn’t even lift his damn helm -

And then that tongue was prodding at his valve lips, and *pushing in*.

Hammerlock’s mouth fell open, optic fritzing. He’d seen the size of that glossa. He knew how big it was. For it to simply push in - with no pain, no resistance, only a pleasure so intense it confused his sensornet, had the charge hiking so high it pushed him head long into another mind wiping overload. His valve clenched down, calipers rippling around the glossa, trying to draw it in deeper - and Slugshot acquiesced. That glossa pushed in deeper and deeper and *deeper*, gliding over his ceiling node, brushing over the spiraled closed entrance of his gestation chamber, and it was so much - *too much* - he couldn’t handle it-

There were servos cupping his helm. Hammerlock couldn’t focus - his vision swam with a blur of colours and pixels, and it took too long for it to register that the mech hovering before him was *Windjumper*.

He was talking. Saying something that hammerlock couldn’t even begin to understand. His spark sank, and he wanted to tell him to go away - to let go, because Diamondback shouldn’t see that Windjumper obviously cared for him, but he couldnt - couldn’t focus - 

He saw Dimanondback shift behind Windjumper. He was carrying something - a familiar object that had the energon go cold within Hammerlock’s lines. The blinking red light indicated the camera was recording, Diamondback eager to get yet more blackmail material on his second in command, to stash away in his person library - and Hammerlock felt like he was choking-

“Focus on me.” Windjumper’s voice, finally heard over the static in his audials. The other ‘copter raised his helm, forcing their optics to meet, and Hammerlock couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Windjumper was smiling - sad, tired, he knew without Hammer having to tell him that he was just as trapped in this situation as he and Slugshot were and - that no matter what, they were now in this together. 

They were strong. They would endure.

Eventually, they would be *free*.

(~~And Hammerlock was going to see Diamondback dead with his own bare servos.~~)

The tongue withdrew, and Hammerlock had never felt so empty. He ached, deep down to his very struts, to be filled once more. His valve felt so cold, so empty, it clenched down on nothing, and he was unaware of the whine that escaped him. But Windjumper hushed him. Fingers wiped at his wet cheeks - Hammerlock hadn’t realised he was crying. It was just - all so much, too much, he almost begged - would have, maybe, if he’d had control of his glossa. He couldn’t even control his own drooling.

(He knew that the moment Slugshot spiked him, there was a very high chance that he could become sparked, even without the spark sharing. This was what Slugshot had been created for - to be the ultimate breeding mech, and Hammerlock was so afraid, *but so desperate for it-*)

And there it was. Finally. A point of heat, sliding over his throbbing valve lips. Hammerlock had no warning before it was pressing *inside*, thin and tapered but then - it just got thicker. And thicker. And *thicker* and Hammerlock’s mouth fell open in a choking, overwhelmed cry as he was suddenly stretched out more than he ever had been before. The spike rubbed over inner nodes that had never been touched. It scraped insistently, consistently against his ceiling node. More kept pushing in, stretching his valve so much wider, beyond capacity-

And then he was moving. 

Hammerlock was lost. Lost in a storm of sensation of too much - too much pleasure, too much stretch, too much charge, too much *everything*. Slugshot had both servos wrapped around him, using him as a living frag toy-

*It was too much-*

Hammerlock overloaded, and was thrown into a hard reboot.

[thefugitivemango]

Tower Ascendance - Part II

[[ Co-written with @sylaess & @kidcatgemini / @codegemini ]]

[[ Part I ]]

~*~

Sylaess felt rooted for a moment, staring at the lone wisp that stayed with her. She’d been so deep in thought, she’d missed the sounds. The signs. It had been quiet for too long. It felt like her heart had plummeted through her chest and into the floor, an impressive feat, considering the incessant hunger for power. For sustenance. 

Such as it was to be undead.

“...We need to run. Don’t fall, don’t lag. Don’t stop to fight. Fucking run.”

Her voice was oddly calm. Flat.

Both swords were in her hands, but she didn’t move yet. Pulling on a quick set of runes, a rapidly modified spell that she wasn’t sure of--

It worked. It was fragile. But it worked. The spirits nearby fled before them in a wave, suddenly. She was pushing them. Well, it was more like suggesting a direction, but it worked nonetheless. Her skin felt tight across her skull, teeth clamped in concentration. 

Still, that single wisp stayed. 

The elf swore softly at it.

Argonas wasn’t in the habit of running from fights. His grip tensed, tightening around the handle of his hammer. As Sylaess, Sinafay, and the host of wisps all made haste down the stairway, Argonas held. What mattered was getting them out, after all. Self-preservation wasn’t his highest priority here.

“--Go, I will buy you the time you need, and meet you down there!” he instructed, once Sylaess and Sinafay were too far to intervene. 

“Argonas--”

But it was too late. He already careened ahead of them in a show of protective light. Thankful he had that blessing, but now more concerned than ever at their chances of escape, Sylaess grit her teeth, slamming her blades into their sheaths hastily. 

He charged up the stairs, hammer and shield at the ready-- that’s when he laid eyes on the Tarragrue. Impossibly massive, brimming with a blazing core and adorned with plated spikes. Its eyes pierced into Argonas’ soul, filling his mind with thoughts of dread and weighing his heart with despair! A creature of nightmare, through and through! It let out a booming bellow that shook the tower itself before lunging for Argonas!

But the Draenei was undeterred! The Light was with him! Luminescent wings sprouted forth from his back, as his hammer was charged in holy Light! The shimmering of a divine blessing glistened across his broad-shouldered form! He met the Tarragrue’s charge with his own, crying out final instructions to his beloved and friend!

“Follow the Light runes!”

*BAP!*

A streak of radiant gold and purple flew back down the hallway, cascading down the stairs like a tumbling boulder down a hillside. Argonas slammed into a wall, then skipped over the stairs’ railing, flopping like a ragdoll as he smacked into one side, then the other, of the open spiral staircase Until finally, he fell flat on his back at the very base of the stairs-- right in front of Sylaess and Sinafay. He should have died, were it not for the Light’s blessed protection of his mortal form. 

Dazed, but unhurt, he quickly scrambled to his hooves, and cleared his throat.

“... I have decided that I should lead you to the exit. This way!”

“Honestly, I do not know what I expected,” Sinafay sighed, but then couldn’t help but crack a smile despite the situation, “Good to see you have not changed, My Love.”

She reached down to help him up… only to remember that she couldn’t even do that as her hands moved right through. They may as well have been on two different planes of existence.

“Quickly!” She urged, as the entire room seemed to shake under the behemoth’s steps.

“You fucking idiot, don’t stop to chat it up!” 

“Whatever you do, don’t stop running. It knows we’re here now.” 

The thin elf raced forward to haul on his shoulder. Pull the behemoth of a draenei into a run by sheer will alone if she had to. But she was unnaturally strong.

“This is not the time for heroics. Time to run like the little bitches this place made of us.”

Those onyx eyes glanced back sharply at the incoming absolute marker of death. Felt it again. That sudden grip of fear down to her core. Had she seen this thing before, then? She certainly had heard it.

Her breath caught on it. It was one of those premonition feelings that had a habit of coming back to bite later. That was not what she wanted right now.

Argonas had learned his lesson. He kept running, looking back only to ensure the others were keeping pace. He was moderately fast, for a Draenei weighed down in so much plate armor. Practice. His shield kept affixed to his back, hammer in his hand. The other hand reached out, causing the Lightrunes he’d left behind to emit a resonant glow. In such a dark and dismal place, the glowing runes weren’t hard at all to spot. 

The Vindicator led the group further down the tower, each new twist in the corridor looking no different than the last anymore, save for the runes. They were helpful… while they lasted. Had they missed one? Taken a wrong turn? Argonas slowed for the sake of searching, before grunting in frustration. He then stopped. The trail had gone cold.

“Either they could not endure the dark magic of this place… or the corridors changed too much.” he reported, frowning. “We cannot go back the way I came in.”

As far as they ran, however, the sounds of the massive Tarragrue still echoed intensely from behind them. Argonas looked around, formulating a plan as quickly as he could. The room they had stopped in had several cages and chains, but little else. The left-side wall wasn’t constructed, but sheer stone that extended several meters up. But it looked as if it terminated at a certain point before the high half-cavernous ceiling-- a faint, ominous glow highlighting the gap.

It was something, at least.

“Stand back!”

He set for one of the nearby cages. A massive one, that could very easily contain him behind the dense, sturdy bars. A length of chain remained affixed to the base of it, coiled in a semi-neat pile beside it. He sheathed his hammer to his hip, and squatted down before the cage. He grunted, gripping the heavy cage tightly as he hefted it up off the ground. He swung it slowly, left. Then right. Then left again with more momentum. Right, and up slightly. Left, leveling out. Again and again as he swayed with the momentum. 

The monster’s footsteps echoed louder and louder, drowned out only by its angered roars.

Argonas kept focused. The momentum built with each swing, until he finally brought the cage fully around himself. Once, twice, three times, spiraling in almost a dance with one hoof rounding about the other. 

Then released! The cage flew up in a steep arc, sailing up the height of the stone wall. It smashed through the gap, lingering a moment as it teetered… then grinding against the stone as it slipped behind it. A brief moment of silence, then a thunderous crash reverberating through the floor beneath them. The chain, of course, followed, now dangling straight up the wall. 

“Climb! Quickly!” Argonas ordered, taking a brief moment to catch his breath after the exertion.

A very brief moment-- the Tarragrue had begun descending the winding stairs that led to their chamber!

Syl turned her back on the chain for a moment, squaring off with a small crowd of spirits and fragments that followed after her like a lost bit of cloud. She bared her teeth slightly, looking for one. That one.

Sinafay had no issues climbing up the chain. Her ethereal form was as light as could be with no mortal form to weigh her down. She made it to the top long before the other two, only to freeze as she saw what lay next. 

“I swear on my undying breath if you do, I’ll--”

A wisp burst past her, following Sinafay up the chain almost amicably. Sylaess’ teeth clenched so hard it was audible. It wasn’t clear if she was angry or simply upset at this point, but it sure stirred up the party she collected. Those black eyes turned on Argonas.

“Up. Now. Please.”

Another chain, much thicker than the one they’d climbed, attached to the wall she stood on and led upwards to a cavern entrance. Below was nothing but hot lava. Even as a spirit, she could feel the heat rising from it, and was more than aware that it would burn her just as badly as any mortal. 

“I desperately hope the two of you are good at balancing,” she called over her shoulder.

A small hop down and she landed at the base of the chain. Keeping her determined gaze focused on the mouth of the cavern, she began taking careful steps towards her goal. One hoof at a time.

"--Light help me…" the Vindicator muttered under his laboured breath. 

Running, heaving, climbing, all had worn him out to no small degree. And now a chain bridge suspended over a lake of lava was their only way forward? The heat was sweltering; already he could feel his armor starting to conduct the heat. He couldn't endure it for too long. 

Hastily, muttering, he began to strip off his plate. Shoulders, gauntlets, chestpiece… grace and leg plates too. It pained him to abandon his Vindicator's plate, but it had to be done. He stripped it all, down to his cloth pants and a few leather straps on his arms. Chest bare, runic scars glistening from perspiration. 

Unceremoniously, he left the lot of them in a heap atop the wall, before venturing out towards the chain bridge.

With no actual memory to tie the fear to, it was easier to digest as unfounded. Push aside. 

Sylaess hauled herself up the chain with a lot more ease than she had anticipated. Maybe it was the pressing threat of the Tarragrue, maybe it was the hint of hope at escape. Either way, she didn’t really dawdle when her feet slipped once.

Up over the edge, she had to blink and ... wait, what?

Argonas dropping his armor was not what she’d have put a bet on for sights to see on the wall. Gods. Sinafay had stopped halfway up the chain to look over her shoulder at the other two. To her, Argonas stripping down was a treat, and her tail swayed a bit wider as she couldn’t help but take it all in. He’s certainly been working out more since Argus… and her first time actually -seeing- the Fel scars from their torture at the hands of the Sagerei. Sylaess, on the other hand, blinked, looking away for a moment. Then the realization hit her. Lava. Fire. They were considerably high up, too; as if it weren't a harrowing enough situation.

Oh, are you fucking kidding me? 

Argonas swallowed hard, taking a wary step out onto the broadside of the giant chain links. One hoof, then the other, doing his best to keep his eyes on the other side. His goal. His--

His misstep. 

His hoof scraped the metal link as it slid off to the side of it. His balance lost, he toppled. Quickly as he could, he gripped onto the upright link beside him to keep from falling over, but only managed to hook an arm over it. He gasped, the heat making him sweat. His sweat compromising his grip…

"We are most assuredly talking about this later!" Argonas blurted out, scowling.

Sylaess’ hand brushed over one of the hilts jutting above her shoulders lightly, almost lovingly, in distraction. Her runes again glimmering to a dull roar. Icy wind rushed down around her and fled, leaving her glittering in tiny crystals. Sporadic, sure, and melting. But they helped negate the oppressive heat. Breath in. Sigh out.

“Okay.” Another exhale, slowly. She drew the rune in the air at her side.

The wisps and spirits recoiled--but were yanked in a moment. Some of them disappeared.

The elf became ever-so-faintly translucent. Hazy, even. Something about it didn’t work right. She stepped onto the chain, light as air. Stalked her way up to Argonas and reached down to draw him back up with unnatural strength. “Don’t ask, just go. And don’t you dare zap me right now.”

She breathed the words, drawing the second rune. Drawing him into the shell of the spell. wraith-walking was a little awkward when you were already in the Shadowlands. What realm were they side-stepping into? Who the fuck knew! But it was better than a hot dip.

As much as he appreciated the assist, this coercion-- and possible sacrifice?-- of souls expended in order to phase him into a more spiritual state was NOT something he was okay with! It stood against everything he had cone here for; to save souls, not cause them further anguish. Or worse.

Survival, however, took the forefront of his mind. His instincts. Escaping was paramount. Getting them all free of this accursed place was a mission of such importance that, while he wouldn't admit aloud, allotted for no small degree of concession of his morals and principles. Acting now. Justifying or reconciling later.

Syl merely affected a grunt in response. Not looking forward to that conversation.

Behind the wall, the Terragrue roared, once more filling their senses with fear, even knowing it could no longer reach them.

“Keep going!” Sinafay encouraged, having managed to complete her trek and reach the mouth of the cave, “Do not look back!”

Being phased into a spiritual state was mildly disorienting. The Vindicator’s body felt lighter, yet somehow it dragged as if he was pulling it through water behind him. It served its purpose though, keeping light helped keep him balanced. He crossed the chain along with Sylaess and Sinafay without any further trouble.

"I did not come from this way… I am unsure where to go from here." he stated his disclaimer. "But now we are safe from that thing."

The Tarragrue roared, as if in response to his statement.

"... for the moment."

“I can ask in a few minutes, but I suggest we find a way down. That’s all we can do.”

The phase shift of wraith-walking left her and she sagged a bit harder than she thought she would. Blinked dumbly. ‘Oh for the sake of being undead, you’re dropping the ball hard, Syl. Some undead strength,’ she mocked herself viciously. ‘You even sure this is real?’

Her legs jellied as she lumbered forward a step or two. She reached out for the cave wall and promptly fell over. Graceless as before. Maybe she had been using too much, drawing too much power from a dry well. Maybe she was just damaged. Then again, withdrawal was a hell of a ride.

It was an odd sensation watching the world’s axis shift from horizontal to vertical. A resigned sort of acknowledgement somewhere far from personal came to her. Thoughts drifted away in a fog as she had another seizure. The tremors stiffening her body to the point of joints creaking alarmingly and armor scraping the stone in a high-pitched whine. Her jaw was clenched hard enough to make a cracking noise.

The wisp settled on her temple, flaring slightly. At one moment, you could swear you could see the vague outline of a face in it, but it wasn’t strong enough for that.

[fics-not-tragedies]

Juicy June: Day 18

Well yes, it’s the time 😏 This prompt was requested by @thereisa8ella​.

PROMPT: Thrust ft. Henry Cavill; Words: 1853 (yeah, I know 🤡); Warnings: smut;

“Don’t give me that look” he sighed through gritted teeth.

“What look?”

“You know which look…”

“I’m not doing anything…”

“Baby” he grumbled low, his lips pressed to your ear through your hair, making you shudder, “You’ve got your ‘please fuck me’ look on and you know I can’t resist you.”

You bit your lip, held your breath and felt everything stop as he leaned in to kiss your jaw softly, his hand loosely holding your throat, the chills crawling up your spine as you melted into him in the corner of the room. There were so many people here but Henry didn’t care now, suddenly hungry like you’d wanted. You closed your eyes, focused again on only him and his intoxicated need.

“Tell me what you want, darling” he drawled, “What’re you needing?”

“I need you, Henry…” you purred, not even thinking now and he pulled you in to kiss him deeply, his fingers wrapped around the side of your neck, perhaps a little too much when surrounded by the masses of party goers, but too good to refuse. He broke away from you, his eyes dark, his gaze so intense and you forgot to breathe for a moment.

“Up” he uttered, tapping your ass to get you to move for him and now you knew you were going to get what you’d been craving, so desperate for him now that he was giving in.

“Where are we going?” You asked as he stood, linking his fingers with yours to pull you out from behind the table and into his side. He raked his free hand through his hair a couple of times as he sauntered towards the door, pulling you through the raucous dance floor ignoring your question, “Where are we going?” You repeated once you were in the hall.

“So impatient…” he grumbled, turning his head to look for the right direction.

You tried to keep up with him as he led you through the corridor, testing each door until he found one that was unlocked and empty. It was a bedroom - you could make that much out in the dark at least - but whose you didn’t know. Henry took off his suit jacket carefully, folding it and placing it aside whilst you closed the door behind you, purposely keeping the light out and turned to face him. You couldn’t make out much of his face in the low lighting before he was staggering drunkenly towards you again. 

“Here?”

“Yes.”

You didn’t need telling twice, stepping close to him and kissing him hard, trying to show how bad you needed him. His mouth was soft, tasted like expensive whiskey, his lips a little chapped but it was so him, so familiar and you sighed at the relief, drunk on the way he smelt alone.

“You’re so insatiable, baby…” he grumbled against you, his beard tickling your chin, his fingers digging into your waist, “It’s only been a day…”

“Mmm…” you mumbled, kissing along his jaw and down across to his neck, licking at the skin below his ear as you added, “A day too long.”

Henry squared his hips with yours, bucking you against the door and pulled your face up to kiss you. Winding your arms around his neck to bring him close, he groaned tipsily into your mouth and though you shuddered at the noise, you knew better than to question how loud he was being.

He pulled back for a second and eyed you in the dark, smirking, a tease before he kissed you again, hungrier this time. He chuckled against your lips, palming your breasts through the fabric of your dress as you arched your body into his and closed your eyes.

“This needs to come off…” he drawled before you could get used to the sensation. His voice was thick and velvety, commanding, “Right fucking now…”

You held your arms up for him quickly and he took no time in yanking the dress over your head, his mouth lolling open in delight. He smacked his lips together then licked them slowly.

“You weren’t wearing anything under that?” He groaned, moving back towards you before you could reply, his fingernails scraping at the newly exposed skin around your waist then trailing down to your ass to squeeze it roughly.

“I told you I needed you, Henry” you swallowed, trying not to break the intensity of the gaze. You indicated to the beard which he was scratching as you spoke, “You’re pure sex, Cavill. This thing you’ve got going on…” 

“It gets you wet doesn’t it?”

“Yes” you admitted, the heat between your legs burning. Your leg lifted slightly as you shifted into him and he was quick to grab it and pull it around his waist, holding your thigh around him, his other hand still firmly on your ass. The front of his suit trousers were damp from where you’d pressed against him and you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You needed him so badly. 

“Bed?” You mumbled, hoping it’d speed things along so that you could get what you wanted from him. But Henry had a devilish glare in his eyes and he pushed you back again slightly, your back flat against the door, your body naked and trembling in his grip. His nails scraped at the skin of your inner thighs. 

“Nah, gonna take you right here I think…” 

Without any warning he ran two of his calloused fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness and you sighed with elation, your head immediately fuzzy. He gritted his teeth as he spat, “Baby, your cunt is so fucking wet.”

“I know, Henry.” 

“How bad do you want me?”

“Don’t tease me, baby” you groaned, your eyes rolling around as he toyed with your clit, watching you shake for him with each languid movement. 

“Want you to cum for me first, darling, wanna make you cum for me…” he drawled thickly, pressing his lips against your collarbone and dancing them at the crook of your neck as he rubbed at your sensitivity, “Fuck…” You could tell he was getting lost in it, his drunken mumbles less coherent as he slipped his fingers inside you, stretching your walls and stroking them agonizingly, “Been such a good girl for me, been so well behaved, waited as long as you could…”

You clenched tightly - his beard, his words making you so weak. He flicked his wrist quick and hard to build up your orgasm, knowing how close you were from the moans that had started to fall from your lips.

“Henry- I can’t… fuck…”

“You don’t have to hold on… you can let go for me…” he coaxed, biting roughly at the skin at the base of your neck, the beard adding an extra layer of sensation to drive you over the edge. And then… You shook, thankful he was holding you as you cried out loudly, giving into the rushing feeling, cumming over his fingers which worked you through your orgasm, only pulling out when you were panting, eyes finding his through the dark again.

You were instantly aching for him to be inside you. He was somehow too much and never enough.

Henry was hard, straining against the fabric of the trousers which cinched his waist and you fumbled with the buttons eagerly, groaning as he ran his free hand over your breasts, pulling and teasing your nipples between his finger and thumb. You groaned, singing his praises as he took one nipple between his teeth, stilling your eagerness for a moment.

His other hand dug deeper into your thigh to keep you still. His hair was sweaty and messy, falling into his eyes as he looked at you. He had you so good, so unable to think clearly and then he continued the job you’d started, pulling his hard, throbbing length from his trousers, not bothering to shift them any further from his hips. The idea of him fucking you whilst he was still dressed was enough to send another jolt of excitement to your core and you sighed at the realization that it was his plan precisely to do just that.

“Please… Just fucking hurry up, Henry…”

He grabbed your throat for a moment, his fingers squeezing lightly and you pouted, needing him so badly it was destroying you.

“You fucking look at me when I’m fucking you, alright baby? Wanna see your pretty face…”

And then he snapped his hips upward suddenly, filling you completely, your eyes rolling back into your head at the euphoric sensation.

“I said look at me…” he growled, squeezing his hand around your neck again and you nodded, moaning as soon as he began to move. He raised his eyebrow as you began to moan.

It didn’t take long for him to settle into a comfortable pace, the solid movements of his hips punctuated with enthusiastic expletives, the door shaking each time he thrust up into you.

He felt so big and thick from this angle, his eyes boring into you so intensely and you were terrified to look away should he stop exactly what he was doing right now.

You shuddered to think of what people could hear outside this room, having been too drunk up until this point to care but he couldn’t care less, was done with being a slow tease now, you’d worked him up too much. He pounded you relentlessly, needing his release just as badly as you needed yours. Every thrust was deeper and harder and your back already felt bruised from the way you hit the door each time.

“Gonna cum, darling, gonna cum inside you…” he groaned, biting his lip as you panted under his touch, your own orgasm built up to a high again. His lips pulled cockily upwards as he held you, convinced his nails would permanently brand your thigh from the way he was holding you, “Look at me. Want your pretty lips to say my name when you cum.”

You nodded shakily and then he delivered one, final particularly hard thrust that sent you spiraling for a second and much more intense time, crying out his name.

“Henry!”

The feeling of your walls clenching tightly around him as you came made him cry out obscenely, burying his face and the beard you were so obsessed with into your shoulder. He still had hold of you as you both trembled around each other, slowly coming down from the heat and when he pulled out and let your leg free from his grip, you felt the wetness run down your legs. With a lazy grin, he tucked himself back in with ease, seemingly unscathed despite his uneven breathing.

“For fuck sakes” you sighed, scrambling to find your dress in the dark and pulling it back over your head, “I’m an absolute mess.”

Henry crossed the room and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, the scruffy hair on his chin tickling you once more and he rested his forehead against yours with a laugh, the pair of you both so impossibly dizzy.

“You wanted it, baby girl. I delivered.”

[litwitlady]

2x13 Interlude

Takes place immediately after they find Tripp’s body beneath the tool shed and Michael ostensibly moves yet another body. This is very heavy Alex angst - please be warned. Warnings also for anxiety and panic attacks, abuse and violence. The end is slightly fluffy, I promise. But it takes a minute to get there. I wrote this mostly for myself, but thought I’d share anyway.

After Michael leaves, Alex slips back into the house and heads directly to his old bedroom. The one he shared with Flint for so many long, miserable years. The door is ajar, and he nudges it fully open. He sucks in a breath as he looks around and notices that next to no memories from his childhood remain. The walls have been repainted; all his stuff removed – likely thrown out with some random week’s trash. In the corner by the window, a single desk and chair remain. Both flea market finds he and Greg had hauled home one Christmas. Alex walks towards the small desk and opens the top right drawer wondering if it’s possible his old eyeliner had somehow managed to escape his father’s purge. But no – just a bare, wood drawer. Only the memory lingers.

Alex sits in the middle of the floor and notices one of his knuckles is bleeding. He sucks on the injury and lets the coppery taste of iron sit on his tongue. He thinks about how much blood the past has taken from him, from Michael, from Tripp. That tool shed built by an evil man and maintained by another evil man. Both men a part of him. Connected through the very same blood he spent so many years shedding at his father’s hands. The overwhelming shame of his legacy still clasps at his heart, threatening to never let go no matter how many tool sheds he destroys. Tears crawl down his face, burning his skin along the way.

He reaches inside his shirt and grips Tripp’s dog tags that are quickly becoming the lifeline he never knew he needed. Not every part of himself is inherently evil. God, how much he wants to have faith in that belief. He lays back, staring at the ceiling trying desperately to believe Tripp is just as much - if not more so - a part of him than Harlan, than Jesse. Alex knows he’s done evil things – in deserts halfway across the world. To people – men, women, children – that he’d never even met. How many times he’s lain awake staring at similar blank ceilings reliving those memories and trying to convince himself what he did was for survival, for love of country. But ultimately being left with the hollow truth that none of the people he’s killed had to die in order for him to live. A truth locked deep inside his heart, but not so deep that he can ever forget. No. He’ll have to live with that truth for the rest of his life.

His thoughts wonder back to Michael, replaying the way he’d swung that axe so gleefully. Alex could almost see the weight falling off his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he tries to write that memory onto his heart. That’s how he wants to remember tonight. As a healing for Michael – the boy, the man – he’s loved for the past 11 years. And it doesn’t matter if Michael never loves him again because he’ll have this memory to keep him warm now. Maybe it will never replace the horror of what Jesse did all those years ago. But it’s enough for now. Like a cozy blanket he’ll pull out when those terrible images reappear. He’ll wrap himself tight in this memory of a sweaty, smiling Michael Guerin wildly swinging an axe and destroying the thing that has haunted his hand, his memories, his heart for over a decade.

Several long minutes pass as Alex lays there running his fingers over Tripp’s engraved name again and again. He wants to call Michael. Ask him to come back. To lie there with him for the rest of the night. Maybe the rest of forever. But he can’t because Michael is no longer his. The ache in his heart pulls more tears from his eyes as he curls up on his side. He knows he needs to go home. Take off the prosthetic. Do his PT. That he’ll regret this in the morning when the muscle spasms come for him. But there’s a small voice inside his head whispering that maybe he deserves that pain. After all, he, too, is complicit in so many of the ways Michael Guerin has hurt over the years.

A soft knock on the door jars him from his emotional spiral. He turns to find Greg looking down at him clearly concerned. He sits up, dropping the dog tags back down his shirt to rest against his heart. Greg reaches out a hand to help him up. Alex gladly accepts but can’t quite meet his brother’s eye. ‘You alright?’ Alex sighs and nods. He can tell Greg doesn’t believe him and well, who would?

‘Guerin go home? You guys did some real damage back there.’

Alex doesn’t say anything, just shifts all of his weight to his left leg and grimaces at the pain in his right hip. Greg grabs his elbow to help him balance. ‘Come sit down and talk to me, Alex.’

But Alex doesn’t want to talk. He wants to go home, crawl into bed, and spend the rest of the night chasing nightmares. Or maybe he’ll finally take one of his sleeping pills and erase the world for a little while. At least he has options.

Greg seems to understand. ‘Well, at least let me drive you home. No need to stress your leg any further.’

Alex finds the energy to speak and shakes his head. ‘It’s okay. I drive with my left leg, anyway. Plus, both my crutches are in the car. I’ll be fine. Just been a long day.’ Week. Year. Life. He swallows and tries to muster up something he hopes resembles a smile. Greg’s face lets him know he’s failed. ‘Listen, I’ll come back tomorrow. Help you eat all those disgusting casseroles. I’ll explain everything. I promise.’

Greg helps him out to his car. Once he’s inside with the door blissfully closed to anymore questions, Alex deflates, sagging back against the leather seat, and starts to cry again. He knows that there’s something incredibly broken deep down in the dark place he tries not to think about. The stress of the past week is finally catching up with him and he knows he needs help but can’t figure out how to ask for it. Instead, he starts the car and heads home, tears freefalling and chest heaving. He’s scared to look at the passenger seat, scared he’ll see his father sitting there. Smug and gloating that somehow even in death he’s still winning.

Alex focuses as best he can on the road directly in front of him and manages to make it home safely. When he turns into his driveway, he’s shocked to find Michael’s truck parked in his regular spot – tailgate down and waiting for him like so many nights ago. Alex’s chest clenches at the memory of Michael’s ‘I like Maria, okay’. He can feel panic rising and worries that he’s now in danger of a full-blown panic attack if this night doesn’t end quickly.

He shuts the SUV off but doesn’t move. Tension begins to coil in his chest, wrapping his lungs in a vice grip that he’s having a hard time breathing around. Michael must notice that something’s wrong because he hurriedly moves to open his door and unbuckle his seat belt. Alex barely registers any of this as he tries to focus on his breathing. He can distantly hear Michael calling his name, feel his hand wrap around his neck. And then there’s Michael’s hand on his chest and his hand on Michael’s chest. Alex can feel Michael’s heart beating solidly beneath his palm. Can feel the strong in and out motion of his breathing. He clings to that and tries to match him, breath for breath. It takes a moment, but eventually, the pressure in his head eases, sounds return to normal, and the weight on his chest finally subsides. He sucks in as much oxygen as he can in long, deep breaths.

Michael takes a step back giving him some space, not knowing what to do next. Alex hates the lines of worry written across his face. Hates that he’s the one who has put them there. But he’s also never needed someone as much as he needs Michael in this moment. He moves to get out of the car, but his right leg is no longer obeying him, and he can’t hide the groan that escapes him as he shifts towards the door. But Michael’s hands are there to catch him and ease him off the seat, taking the brunt of Alex’s weight onto his own shoulders.

‘My crutches are in the back.’ Michael helps Alex lean against the driver’s side door and then turns to grab the crutches from their perch on the backseat. He hands them to Alex and watches as he puts his arms through the grips, adjusts his stance until he’s as comfortable as he’s going to get. Alex closes the door behind him and notices that Michael has his keys. He presses the lock button on the key fob and follows Alex up to his front door in silence. Alex suspects Michael’s using his telekinesis to ease the walk. They turn to face each other, neither knowing what to say. All that comes to Alex is a simple thank you. He knows it’s not enough.

Michael thumbs away the tears that are somehow still falling down Alex’s cheeks and unlocks his front door. The alarm starts to beep when the door opens, and Alex gives Michael the code to disarm the system. He makes his way into his bedroom and collapses on his bed. Michael takes the crutches from him and places them next to his nightstand. He kneels at his feet and begins taking off Alex’s shoes. He glances up at Alex, asking for permission to remove the prosthetic next. Alex gives a small nod and watches how gently Michael tends to him, all soft tugs and gentle pulls. He’s too tired to care how intimate a situation this is between the two of them. Too tired to think about Maria or not being good enough. He just unbuttons his jeans and lets Michael pull them off him as he tosses his shirt to the floor.

He watches as Michael grabs the lotion from his bedside and begins to massage the tight muscles in his right thigh, from his knee to his hip. Alex relaxes back onto his pillow, closing his eyes and thinking that maybe the nightmares won’t find him after all. His thoughts drift as Michael’s fingers continue to work their magic, shifting to his left leg knowing how much extra work it’s put in today as well.

What feels like a just a moment later, Alex jerks awake suddenly not realizing he’d fallen asleep. Michael is curled up next to him, snoring softly. He considers waking him and telling him to go home or to Maria or wherever he belongs now. But he can’t bring himself to give up the alien warmth and the way his body fits so perfectly next to his own. It’s selfish and he knows it. But he doesn’t care. Alex settles back against Michael and pulls his arms tightly around him. Michael’s left hand comes to rest on his chest and Alex realizes that the bandana is gone. And for the first time, Alex thinks he feels something inside him start to heal.

[saiilorstars]

Hearts’ Limit

Current Masterlist // Masterlist of all OCs

Fandom: SVU

Pairing: Sonny Carisi x OFC

Story summary: Everyone has their limits. When she's placed at the center of a case, Emilia feels like she might just spiral. Sonny Carisi sees this & knows it, which is why he puts his best efforts to help ease her nerves during the case...but that's the only reason why. He knows his job as a detective but he also knows that Emilia explicitly trusting him shouldn't make him feel anything special. There have to be limits, boundaries, between them. Emilia has to constantly remind herself that as well because for some reason, it keeps slipping her mind whenever they’re together.

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog ​ @maaaaarveeeeel ​ @stareyedplanet @perfectlystiles​ @averyhotchner​

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Emilia Hartley.

That was the name that came up as a prime suspect in SVU's latest rape-turned-murder case. As Amanda Rollins laid out the backstory of their victim - Evelyn Korami - across a pinboard, it was easy to see who could have helped aid in the atrocious crime.

"The M.E found a strand of hair from a second female at the crime scene," the blonde detective relayed what Melinda Warner had told her and her partner, Fin. "There was no DNA match in the system and it's definitely not the victim's."

"And where exactly does this woman fit in the scenario?" Olivia Benson inquired from her team. She put on her black-rimmed glasses and studied the DMV picture they had of one of their suspects.

"Emilia Hartley was Evelyn's daughter's kindergarten teacher," Nick Amaro replied since he was one of the two who came up with the possible suspect.

"Miss Hartley and Evelyn Korami had an argument at the school two days before Evelyn's body was found," Dominick Carisi - or Sonny, as he liked to be called - explained. "Witnesses report that Evelyn had to be escorted out of the school grounds and was subsequently banned from the school after that."

"The husband had to drop off and pick up their daughter from then on," Nick said.

"Him or the nanny," Fin added since they were talking about high class families.

"Is there anything that puts Hartley at the crime scene?" Olivia asked.

"That we know of, no," Amanda answered. "But maybe if we were to talk to her we might get some clues."

Olivia pulled her glasses off and looked over to Nick and Sonny. "You two are the ones who have a hunch, go follow it."

~ 0 ~

As Nick and Sonny walked through the hallways of the elementary school where their suspect worked. They could easily tell the place was built and ran by high class people. There were colorful boards on either side of them full of different activities offered to the students, as well as reminders for any parents interested in being involved with the school. There were other decorations that were student made, presumably by the older ones. They eventually came downstairs, to room four where their suspect was meant to be.

With the door opened, they saw a petite ginger woman shuffling some kids - who couldn't be more than five years old - into a line while a tall brunette woman was directing a couple other students away from the sink.

"You've all washed your hands now get in line." She seemed a bit frustrated but neither detective could confirm via her face. She was probably trained never to show that.

"Emilia Hartley?" Nick's voice drew the attention of the entire classroom.

The brunette woman looked up from the sink and saw the two detectives through the mirror. Her thin eyebrows raised in confusion before turning to look at them. "Yes, that's me. Are you parents? I don't think we have any meetings scheduled today." But then she thought of something and quickly looked at the ginger woman. "Do we, Alice?"

"No," Alice shook her head.

"This is about Evelyn Korami," Sonny said and it was all he needed to get Emilia's understanding.

"Give me one second," she walked the last students to the end of the line. "Miss Alice will be taking you to the playground. Follow the line, please," she addressed the students and gave the nod to Alice that they could get going.

The detectives stepped to the side to allow the secondary teacher to lead the students out the door. Emilia ushered the lingering students behind then promptly closed the door after they were gone. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, you could start by telling us where you were two days ago," Nick went right to it and got quite the reaction.

Emilia's mouth fell open in utter shock. "Excuse me? This is why you're here? To tell me I'm a suspect in the murder of my student's mother? You do realize I'm a kindergarten teacher, right?"

"Last time I heard, that didn't mean anything," Nick said, making Emilia's mouth fall further in a frown. "And we found a strand of female hair at the scene as well. We're thinking it could be yours."

Emilia folded her arms over her chest. "Should I have a lawyer present, then?"

"Look," started Sonny, "We know you had an argument with Evelyn two days before she was raped and murdered…"

"And that automatically means I murdered her?"

"That's not what I was saying—"

Emilia made a gesture for him to stop talking. "You should know that Miss Korami had arguments with the school every week. Just last week she argued with another of my student's parents in the office. With me—" Emilia crossed her arms. "—she argued because she wanted her daughter Marjorie to have a spotlight birthday this Friday."

"And what was the problem with that?" asked Nick, rather curious.

"We don't do anything for birthdays here," Emilia dropped her arms to her sides. "It's our way of respecting children who come from families that don't celebrate birthdays."

"But Evelyn didn't agree?"

"She shouted at me that I was an idiot right in front of my students and other parents. I was just following the rules the school instituted. If it was up to me, any child who wanted to have a spotlight birthday would get one."

"So the fact that Evelyn did all that in front of an audience didn't bother you at all?" Sonny asked. "You didn't feel like...you had to get some revenge?"

Emilia laughed. "No, because I'm a grown woman. Evelyn Korami was a difficult woman but I like my job, and I like my life, and Evelyn was not NOT worth it. If it WAS was my hair then it's probably from when she argued with me. Are we done?"

Nick exchanged a look with Sonny, both nodding in agreement of what their next move was.

"We're going to need your whereabouts 2 nights ago," Nick said. Emilia's face instantly dropped. That action alone was suspicious.

"Problem?" asked Sonny, finding it hard not to smirk. If she was hiding something, they would have her now.

"No," Emilia answered through gritted teeth. "But I'm sure you'll have a good laugh when you see the security feed."

"Excuse me?" Nick raised an eyebrow at her. He was in the belief she was being rude to them and that was the last thing they needed when they were just doing their job.

Emilia still didn't falter even when she realized how her words came across. She wasn't in the mood to remember two nights ago and she definitely wasn't in the mood to be a suspect in a murder either. "La Bernardin," she said, her teeth still close enough to grit. "Seven to eight. And then from there, Forlini's. All the way till they closed." She pushed past them out of the classroom afterwards without a care of being arrested for her behavior.

~0~

Later that afternoon, Olivia checked in on the progress of their case only to find their one lead gone.

"Emilia Hartley's alibi checks out," Nick said, sounding a bit disappointed the rude woman wasn't guilty at all. He leaned back in his desk chair and pointed at his laptop. "She was at Le Bernardin for an hour and then Forlini's until closing."

"An hour at Least Bernardin?" Amanda raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "That's a pretty fancy restaurant. Why would she only be there for an hour?"

"She wasn't," Sonny said. "She was in there for 47 minutes." He'd finished reviewing the security feed himself and closed his laptop with quite a face. "That was a...pretty terrible date."

"If it was only 47 minutes, it had to be," Fin seemed close to laughing.

Sonny didn't see the need to laugh at such a terrible time. Now he understood what Emilia meant by her last words. If he was being honest, he felt a bit sorry for her.

The guy had been a terrible date. Who flirts with the waitress in front of their date? That was a low move. But of course the guy hadn't stopped there. It looked like he'd ordered for himself and Emilia, judging by the fact he forced Emilia's menu down and she looked beyond pissed at him for it. Being ordered - force fed - a salad while the guy gorged out on a heavy dinner was yet another low blow, not to mention plain rude.

"So she's out," Olivia started counting off her fingers. "We've got no other suspects, no other leads…until we can get a DNA on the hair."

"Maybe we could go back to the places Evelyn visited the day she died," Amanda offered.

Olivia agreed. "Do that and also go back to the school, interview anyone who knew Evelyn, anyone who had a problem with her. Someone has to know something."

The squad collectively nodded and set out to do their tasks.

~0~

By the end of the school day, Emilia was more than tired. She and Alice were doing the last cleaning for the classroom before going home.

"Alice, you can go home," Emilia told her after noticing it was almost 4 o'clock. "You have plans."

"I know, but my boyfriend doesn't get out of work until 4 anyways," she shrugged.

"Yeah but it'll take you a good fifteen minutes to get there anyways," Emilia reminded. She walked up to where Alice was working and took the Lysol bottle from her. "I got it, promise."

Alice deliberated another minute before she agreed. She headed for her cubby to get her things. Just as Emilia was setting back to work, they both heard a light knock on the door.

"Oh God," Emilia muttered and started lysoling the shelves like she wasn't being visited by two detectives. "What can I do for you now, detectives?"

"Were you leaving?" Nick noticed Alice setting her purse over her shoulder. She nodded slowly, her hand stopping over her strap. "Don't. We're going to have to talk to both of you."

"Seriously?"

"Just precautionary," said Sonny.

Emilia didn't stop cleaning. She only called out to the pair instead. "Did you see my video?"

Sonny exchanged a look with Nick, both understanding the sour tinge in her tone. "Uh, yeah," Sonny answered eventually.

"Then you both know I didn't do anything," Emilia turned her back to them as she moved onto another shelf. "That strand of hair can't be mine. My co-worker has plans, detectives, why are you making her waste her time?"

"Hey," snapped Nick, "We're trying to figure out who murdered a woman. I would think you would want that woman—especially being the mother of one of your students—to get justice."

Emilia stopped working for a second to meet Nick's gaze. "Of course I do, but neither of us—" she pointed to Alice then herself, "—know anything."

"You don't know that," Nick countered. "Let us talk to you. The quicker we do, the quicker you can each go on your way."

"I mean...if it's to find whoever did this…" Alice glanced at Emilia with a shrug of her shoulders.

With a heavy sigh, Emilia put her things down and turned around again. "Fine. What do you need to know, detectives?"

"You mentioned that Evelyn had disagreements often with the school, right?" Sonny started before Emilia changed her mind.

"Yeah, she was a...very difficult person," Emilia said quietly, her expression indicated many challenges had been thrown her way by Evelyn. "She had petty arguments with everyone. I've lost count how many times she argued with me."

"And me," Alice frowned. "Over the smallest of things too. She got upset two weeks ago because her daughter, Marjorie, fell down."

"Well, that's natural," Nick shrugged. "I have a daughter too. If she were to fall, I'd be a little upset too."

"I get it," Alice raised her hands. "It's not uncommon but Marjorie tripped over her own feet. There was only a scrape and I had the yell of a lifetime. Would you do that to your daughter's teacher?"

Nick lowered his head. Probably not. Kids were clumsy and they fell all the time.

"We don't mean to speak ill of the dead, but Evelyn makes it very hard not to," Emilia grabbed the Lysol bottle again. Alice hummed in agreement and started getting her coat from her cubby.

"Alright, stop," Sonny told them both. He sensed they were feeding off of each other's hatred for Evelyn and it wouldn't give them anything for the case. "How about we talk separately?"

Nick agreed. If they kept the two women together, all they would get were more stories of Evelyn's unkindness. He waited for Alice to gather her things then followed her out to have a conversation outside.

Emilia watched Alice disappear out the door. "She didn't do anything, you know? You need to leave us alone."

"We will when we have everything we need," promised Sonny. "But you should really just answer our questions."

"The last time I answered the question, it was an embarrassing one for me." She referenced her terrible date that, by now, she was sure the entire NYPD had a good laugh at.

"It shouldn't be because it wasn't your fault," Sonny said. "He should be embarrassed."

"Hm, please tell me you wouldn't do that to your partner."

"If I had one, I wouldn't," he promptly promised.

Emilia side-glanced him and, for the first time, smiled. It was a small one but a smile nonetheless. It was the opening Sonny needed.

"Can I ask you questions now?"

Emilia shrugged. "I suppose...but I do have to clean."

"Sounds fair," Sonny motioned her to keep cleaning. "You've made it pretty clear that Evelyn had many arguments—"

"Countless," Emilia corrected. She lysoled the next shelf and bent down to make sure she got the bottom as well.

"Is there anyone that stood out?"

"What do you mean?"

"Anyone who may have taken it personally. A known grudge."

"The parents? I'm not sure," Emilia straightened on her feet. She set the Lysol bottle on top of the shelf. "I've been witness to some of them but...I know these parents. I've been working here for almost two years and...I don't see any parent capable of murdering anyone."

"You usually don't see them so clearly," Sonny said. "But is there anyone that stood out lately? Parent or staff?"

Emilia thought for a moment. "Not...really, no. Well…" She shook her head. "Forget about it."

"No, no, you thought of something," Sonny pointed at her. "What is it?"

"I don't know if it's relevant."

"Let us decide that, please."

Emilia sighed and nodded. "Okay. I started working here two years ago and the reason I was hired is because the teacher before me had a physical fight with Evelyn. Now, I don't know if she's capable of doing anything homicidal but...I heard it was bad."

"Do you know the teacher's name?"

"Umm, Rachel...Rachel Quinn I believe. I don't know what led to the fight, though."

"This is really good, trust me. Is there anyone else you can think of?"

"Like I said, Evelyn had arguments with everyone," Emilia shook her head. "It's funny how different her daughter is. Marjorie? She's a total sweetheart."

"Children aren't their parents—they're their own person."

Emilia shrugged. "Yeah…" She seemed to deliberate whether or not to say something else.

Presuming it was something else about the case, Sonny prompted her to speak up. "Anything helps," he reminded her.

"It's not really...I was just...do you think it was someone from the school?" Emilia turned to face the classroom. "I have five year olds here. I can't imagine working with someone who willingly hurt one of the parents. I don't even want to consider them being around me and my students."

Sonny could feel her growing fear of the idea. He didn't want to make it worse by telling her it could be true. Because it was. They had no idea if they were looking for a staff member or a parent. "Simply be cautious."

"Easy for you to say," Emilia grabbed the Lysol bottle and headed for the cabinets over the sink. "You carry a gun. That's not to say that I would ever want to have one but...it does guarantee some type of safety, right?"

"That's not always true, you know," Sonny went after her. "But listen, I know the school's already taking precaution. You should be safe."

"Promise?" Emilia said on her way to her cubby, having no actual intention of making him promise something like that.

"Promise," Sonny had blurted before he could think about it. Once the word left his mouth, his eyes widened. Where the hell did that come from? Emilia took it, however, with a bemused smile. It helped calm his nerves.

"You usually go around making those promises? I thought that was a big no-no for detectives," she grabbed her purse from her cubby. "I have a cousin in the NYPD."

"Uuh, I don't...I didn't mean to." Sonny was being very honest. "Not that I wouldn't try to keep that promise but I-I don't...I can't control what...you know…?" Where the hell was his vocabulary going all of a sudden?

Emilia chuckled as she closed her cubby. "I don't think I got your name…"

Sonny was less inclined to give his name up after that moment. For a moment, he considered giving Nick's name instead but then the idea of having Emilia think Nick was him didn't settle with him either. He'd like for her to know him instead.

"Carisi," he finally said, only then realizing he'd stayed quiet for too long.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Emilia but I'm pretty sure you already knew that." Emilia motioned him to walk with her. "I just hope you realize now that I'm not involved with this at all."

"Yeah, got that," he followed her into the hallway. Nick and Alice were finishing up their talk.

"Please catch whoever did this, and fast if possible," Emilia turned to face him. "I really don't like the idea of coming to work where there's a possible murder/rapist."

"We'll do our best," Sonny said. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a white card for her. Emilia looked at the card, bewildered for a second until Sonny explained. "It has my number to reach me in case you remember something else or...if you get into trouble."

Emilia's eyebrows raised together. "Oh, um...thanks." She reached for the card and took it, not paying attention to the way her fingers lightly brushed with his.

"Emilia?" they heard Alice call and for some reason, it jolted both of them.

"Gotta go," Emilia said with an awkward smile. Fortunately, Sonny had the same one. Emilia moved around him to meet Alice.

"We're good, right?" Alice asked Nick before they could leave.

"Yes," he nodded and walked for Sonny.

"What's that?" Alice noted the white slip in Emilia's hand.

"Nothing, just a way to reach one of the detectives," shrugged Emilia. "Something normal."

"Mhm, so how come you're blushing?"

"Am not, it's normal."

"Right, and he's also looking at you."

"What!?" Emilia glanced over her shoulder and did indeed catch Sonny staring after her, though he quickly looked away once he realized he was caught. Emilia smiled to herself until Alice smirked. "It's nothing!"

"Then why are you smiling again?"

"I am not!"

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

A/N: I'll be honest I have no idea how this story is going to end. I foresee it as a short story (unlike my Barba x OC fic) but who knows? I just wanted some sweet (possibly angsty) Carisi moments too :))

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 37 Pt 2

“You’ll get cold.” Gustaf said as he draped her robe over her shoulders as she hauled out the left over Chinese, the nip to her neck causing a shiver to skitter down her spine.

“Any excuse to do that.” She scoffed.

He waited until her hands were empty before he spun her sharply and crushed her against him, devouring that mouth he craved, the small squeak from her making him chuckle wickedly.

“God I love it when you kiss me like that, I can’t think.” She sighed as he let her up for air.

“Precisely. Get your food love.” His finger trailed her jaw, that mischievous glint in his eye telling her she was in for a ride later.

They sat and ate, Gustaf pulling her into his lap, the need to feel her close. Soon there would be months where they’d be apart and these moments would be all he had to cling to. They talked of their vacation away with the kids, both looking forward to time together as a family without work or other obligations cutting into their time. He saw the stifled yawn as he nuzzled her neck, she was still tired, exhausted from earlier.

“Come soak with me again.” He murmured, his fingers lightly skimming over her body, enticing, arousing.

“I’m liable to fall asleep. I’m pretty wiped already.” She chuckled.

“Then fall asleep.” He kissed her on the one spot below her ear. “Nothing wrong with a nap in the tub.” Though what he had planned she wouldn’t be napping, he would completely wreck her so she slept deeply.

He ran the bath while she tidied up the dishes, lighting some candles and making sure everything was close at hand for her ultimate pleasure. She sat the teapot down with the cups and let him strip the robe from her body, fingers and lips blazing a path over her skin. Stepping in the tub he held out his hand for hers and helped her in. Sitting behind her he pulled her into his lap and smirked as she relaxed back against him. They sipped their tea and talked, sensual strokes of fingers against wet skin arousing them both.

“You up for trying something new kitten.” He growled, the light nip to her shoulder making her shudder.

“What did you have in mind?” She asked slyly knowing he wouldn’t give anything away.

“How are you feeling?” His fingers dipped between her folds, over her clit.

“Better after some food.” She sighed, her head falling back against his shoulder with a thud as that talented finger started to destroy her.

“Feel like putting a spin on soft and sleepy?” He grinned against her skin. “Take your mind off the last 24 hours?”

“So cryptic.” Her chuckle only widened the grin on his face.

“Is that a yes kitten?”

She sat up and turned to look at him. “Yes daddy.” She purred and kissed him sinfully. He wanted to play and after Ana had thrown a wrench in their plans last night, she wasn’t going to let her do that again tonight. It was a blip, they needed to move on.

“In that case, on your knees and turn around kitten.” He growled against her lips, eyes searching hers and only finding the playful glint in them before savaging her mouth. All traces of the emotions from the day gone for the moment. Helping her into position he knelt behind her, legs straddling her calves. “Rest your elbows and forearms on the edge of the tub.” He commanded gently, reaching over and laying a rolled up towel there to cushion the edge.

The water felt erotic against her like this, breasts in the water, spine out of it, the heat and feel of it against her slightly parted legs and pussy arousing her further. A million thoughts raced through her mind as to what he’d do to her, how he’d take her. She’d only ever had sex in the bath with him and all this was so new and exciting she was slightly nervous. The feel of soaped up hands gliding over her back and around her ribs to cup her breasts had an unadulterated moan echo off the tiles.

“Mmmm.” He purred. “I love those sounds you make when I touch you kitten.”

“That feels amazing.” She sighed, feeling all the tension melt off her.

He let his hands roam, relaxing the stress from her system, seducing her, arousing her. Coming up on his knees he rinsed his hand, added some lubricant to his hand, and stroked his hardening cock. Water sports needed some added equipment for mutual comfort especially when it was more than grinding. Those same fingers slipped between her folds, coating her, teasing her as they circled her entrance and then her clit.

“Daddy.” She whimpered, pushing back, greedy to feel him inside her.

“You want me kitten?” He purred.

“All of you.” She breathed as he pressed the engorged head of his cock against her opening. “Always.” Waiting there he pressed the jets on and focused them over her nipples and her clit, the added stimulation making her cry out in shock and ecstasy. Kissing his way up her spine he nipped along the nape of her neck, those pretty noises making his cock twitch, eager to take the plunge.

“Such a good girl for me.” He purred. “So patient for daddy’s cock.” His words and that tone always made her tremble. An erotic cocktail flooding her system and priming it for ultimate pleasure. Reaching a hand under the water he pinched her nipples hard, sensitizing them to the hot water now rippling against them.

“Daddy.” She whimpered. “Please.”

“I think you like that.” He murmured as a hand snaked down between her thighs, finger slipping over her clit, exposing it to the jet. Her cry was beautiful as he watched her in the mirror on the wall. His goddess poised to be fucked. Fingers roamed, pinching, caressing, stroking until she was whimpering, begging for him to enter and make her come. Leaning over he placed a hand between hers on the edge of the tub and loomed over her, caging her in, dominating.

She felt so small when he towered over her like this, small and safe, loved. He took care of her, gave her pleasure, took his own, but above all he freed her, the safety and security to relinquish all her control and just feel. This was no exception.

“I’m going to fuck you slow kitten.” He purred at her ear, the sharp bite to the side of her throat making her gasp. “So you feel every inch of me.” He gave his hips the slightest nudge to feed her the tip and her moan was delicious. “And once you’ve come over and over until you’re wrecked.” He nipped the other side of her throat. Trailing his fingers up the column of her throat he gripped it gently and tipped her head back until her crown rested against his chest and he looked down into those crystalline blue eyes. “I’m going to take you hard.” He growled and savaged her mouth from above. “You’re mine kitten. Every inch of you.” He breathed.

His statement rocked her to her core, the possessiveness, the love. It wasn’t to claim her in a way that was demeaning, or unhealthy, it was staking his claim for their relationship, she was his, he was hers, together.

“Look at me.” He breathed. As her eyes flicked to his he thrust inside.

“Daddy.” She choked, somewhere between a gasp, a moan, and a whimper. It was such a sweet sound.

“Kitten you’re so beautiful.” He breathed, and started to find that slow, devastating rhythm that would shatter her. Nothing aroused him or made him harder than watching her eyes as he slid inside her for the first time.

All she could do was hold on, her brain had shut down largely to the jets whipping her system into overdrive, and the cock tormenting every inch of her pussy. Those eyes of sinful blue watched her, the love she saw in them as he gently gripped her throat, her pulse singing to him from under her skin. She lost herself, let go, and let herself feel everything he gave her. Her climax shocked her as it caught her unawares, the gasp as it thundered through her making that smirk ghost his lips. Her body didn’t wait for a long build up, it rolled right into another peak and crashed through her harder than before. His grip at her throat squeezed and released with her orgasms, heightening, buzzing her system even further. She gave herself to it, let her body tremble and tense, the cries and whimpers tumbling from her lips.

He was painfully hard, the multiple orgasms and feeling her pussy grip him like this was incredible, but he wanted more for her tonight. As she came again he gripped her throat and waited until it ebbed before trailing those clever fingers down between her cleavage to ravage her breasts, lips ghosting hers to keep her head back. Reaching back he lubricated his fingers and stroked her puckered hole, the breathy scream into his mouth making him smile against her cheek.

“You like that don’t you kitten? The feel of me there.” He purred. “Knowing that at some point I’m going to fill that pretty little ass.” His teeth grazed the shell of her ear before he nipped it. “Makes you want to come again doesn’t it?” He whispered.

“Yes.” She breathed, as her body tensed.

“You feel it building.” He dipped two fingers in and straight back out, to give her a taste, probing, relaxing. Circling and dipping in and out again he built another rhythm which tipped her over the edge. That soft scream tearing from her as he nipped her jaw. He built another release, three fingers stretching her ready to take the plunge. As she crested, body tensed, he eased those three digits deeply inside her.

“Daddy.” Her scream as she came euphoric, as the rhythm of his fingers alternated with that of his cock. The gentle push and pull, the feeling of being so full of him sent her body into a never ending spiral of pleasure. Orgasm after orgasm crashed through her like waves on a beach with no end in sight.

“Fuck kitten you feel amazing.” He groaned, the fullness of his fingers inside her making her that much tighter to fuck. “So tight.” His growl gravely and claimed her mouth as she came again screaming. “Such beautiful sounds when I fuck you kitten.” He thrust harder, both hips and fingers, the change in rhythm making her whimper. He glanced at the mirror on the wall, his goddess in the throes of erotic passion, his body taking hers. With hips pistoning she came over and over again, a cascade of pleasure coursing through her system, wrecking her. Slowing his fingers he slipped them from her and cleaned them with soap before rinsing them off in the water. Her whimper had him chuckling wickedly in her ear. “Would you like to try that something new kitten?” He nipped her just below the ear.

“Please daddy.” Her mind went into overdrive. Would he, she wondered? Would he give her one of her ultimate fantasies, to feel him there, for him to fuck her there?

“You’re so good to me.” He growled as he pulled out of her gently and gripped his shaft in his lubricated hand. Stroking himself he made sure his tip was well coated and pressed it against her back door, the gentle probing preparing her and turning her gasp to a unbridled moan. He devoured her mouth as he continued, the feel of her tightness at his tip slowly relax for him eliciting his own groan. “Look at me.” He demanded softly, her eyes snapped to his. With a gentle thrust of his hips he gave her the tip, felt her puckered hole grip him so tightly he nearly came, her cry was guttural. “Fuck kitten.” He choked, cheek pressed against hers as he took a breath.

“Daddy please.” She begged, if he stopped now she’d die, he felt so fucking good. “Oh god.” She choked.

“Greedy little girl.” He growled smirking and inched inside her until he was fully seated. The sounds that came from both of them were primal. He swapped hands to support himself and pulled out before thrusting in again slowly. The tightness of her making him hiss. “I’m going to fuck you hard kitten.” He breathed, the only warning she was going to get as his free hand gripped her hip firmly. Starting slowly he plunged deep, filling her with each snap of his hips, the water splashing between her legs arousing her further. She was almost screaming with every thrust as he began to take her, fuck her as he pleased. “Look at me.” He commanded. “I want to watch you come.” He growled and no sooner had her eyes met his it ripped through her, his groan of pleasure at her puckered hole spasming around his cock almost making him blow his load. Reaching over he lubricated his fingers and slipped his hand between them the touch at her entrance and clit causing her to whimper. “You want daddy to fill you up kitten?” He purred as he slammed his cock into her circling her entrance with his fingers.

“Please daddy.” Her whimper more one of surprise at how good it felt.

Easing three digits into her pussy she lost herself to him and the sensations he pulled from her body. His cock pounded her ass, fingers slowly filled and curled, thumb brushing her clit. She was a writhing, bucking mess of erotic pleasure as one orgasm crashed straight into the other.

“You like that kitten? Hmmm?” He purred as he fucked her, the primal animal surging forward, the need to lose control and take his own pleasure.

“Daddy.” Her whimpers only spurred him on, whipping his system into a frenzy of needing to fuck her like it was the last time he ever would. “Please.” She knew how to make him come, what those pleas did to him.

“Sweet girl come for me.” His voice shuddering with his own pending release. He destroyed her, fucking her into the stratosphere, pleasure like she’d never felt before. Her climax was nothing short of earth shattering, pussy and anus contracting around his cock and fingers so tightly he roared as he orgasmed so hard he almost blacked out. He took her roughly as he rode out the release, pent up aggression and primal energy from the past day needing an outlet as he sated them both. Slowing to a stop he kissed her tenderly and rested his head against her shoulder panting. He eased out of her back door, soap already in hand and thoroughly cleaned his member before wrapping an arm around her for support, her arms were shaking violently. “Are you ok kitten?” She nodded. “I need to hear it love.”

“I’m good.” She whispered.

“Let me help you stand so we can get dry and go crash out.”

“I don’t think I can move.” She said her voice eerily quiet. Pulling the plug he washed her down for hygiene and as the tub emptied helped her to her feet. She was shaky as he turned her to face him, wrapping the towel around her.

Hooking a finger under her chin he waited for her to look at him, had he pushed her too far, he wondered? Too much too soon? He kissed her softly, the love he had for her soothing, sweeping her up in a cocoon of security. Stepping out of the tub first he dealt with the candles and scooped her into his arms and carried her to their bed, laying her down like she was made of glass.

“I’m ok.” She said softly as she curled into him, towel discarded, clinging to him as her system leveled out.

“Are you sure?” He pulled the covers around her and snuggled her in as she nodded. “Did you like it?”

She craned her head back to look at him, finger trailing his jaw. “I love what you do to me.” She said simply and kissed him sweetly. “The way you fuck me, wreck me.” She kissed him, lingering. “The way you free me.” She felt him relax, the anxiety that he’d gone too far falling from him.

“I really want to do that again sometime.” He said quietly, fingers stroking the length of her body before he snuggled her in.

“Me too.” Her voice muffled, she was nearly asleep.

“Sleep now love.” He kissed her brow. “I’ll rock your world again tomorrow before the kids get home.”

“Ok.” She yawned. “Gustaf?”

“Mmmm?”

“I love you.” She slurred, wrecked and sleepy.

“Love you too lovely lady.” He let the day go as she crashed out. “Just a blip, now we move on.” He mumbled and let the exhaustion claim him.

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea @fay-walden @nandadb