#feel like this is the same person as the flame anon

[nouearth]

lessons in kissing.

dick grayson x male reader x peter parker.

summary: dick and peter become your professors in kissing 101 (& more).

wc: 6.2k. genre: smut. warnings: top!peter, top!dick, bottom!reader, handjobs, blowjobs, kissing, cum-swapping, mouth-fucking, threesome, unprotected rough!sex, reader's first time, characters are aged up!

notes: yeah, so um... this might be my dirtiest smut yet. this was also my first time writing a threesome soooo, i hope i did okay? thank you, anon!

request by: anonymous.

“you’re lying! you’ve really never kissed anyone before?”

“dude, like, ever?!” peter gasped, and you turned towards him, slowly nodding while you grew cautious of everyone’s confusion. 

“not even when you were in kindergarten?” you twisted your neck for the nth time at the sound of dick’s voice again, and shame unexpectedly crept onto you the more the two men collected their bafflement together.

your cheeks and neck flamed as they both stared at you, bewildered as if your confession was akin to an unmasking of a superhero—like a family of lemurs, a small one, you’d reckon.

“geez,” your hand clutched onto the can of sparkling water harder before downing it, ridding your insecurity in several hard and fizzy gulps. “if i knew i was going to be interrogated, i wouldn’t have told you guys in confidence.”

“no, it’s just…” a careful exchange was puzzled together by the two men. dick shrugged and peter stammered, following you into the kitchen of his apartment. “i mean, not to make you feel weird or anything, but you’re not ugly.”

“i- pete, was that supposed to be a compliment?” your eyes narrowed at him jokingly, maintaining the coldness of your gaze to break peter into nervous stammers. 

“w-what, no!“ he shook his head and approached you closer, a mixture of awkward laugher filling the feigned tension between the both of you. “wait- no, i mean, yes! it’s a compliment.”

you’ve always found it cute.

“i think what peter means is…” bouncy steps followed you two into the kitchen, more-so to sate his appetite for pizza after losing his tenth consecutive match on a game, but consider his curiosity piqued. a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese didn’t stop him from joining. “you’re handsome, he talks about it all the time.”

“dude...” peter grumbled and instinctively turned his body away out of your sight, sipping at nothing in his cup. the only fizz left was the glare he sent dick; like a sparkler on holiday festivities. 

“oops, my bad,” another bite, and dick took his cup of soda to gulp the grease down. “we find you handsome—though, i’m pretty sure (m/n) knew that since i hit on him when we first met.”

“god,” you laughed it off, picking the pizza box of gloopy cheese to take it in your mouth. “can you imagine? my first kiss being with you? or even peter?”

yes, you can imagine. those thoughts had run rampant since you met them in freshman year of university, expanded upon it even. what would it be like to date dick? how soft were his lips? and the same for peter. sometimes, you’d even think about making out while he was in his spider-man costume, but that fantasy was shamefully bookmarked into a deep abyss of thoughts, only sprouting when you would touch yourself at night.

“why?” peter turned back, almost offended, while dick’s laughter joined you, and you swear you can feel a draft from how quickly he twisted around. “is that weird?”

“kinda?” the conversation made you shift on your feet. it was more intimate than what you were used to, and they knew it too, judging by the way they both stared at you again—hyenas. “i mean, i guess it’s because we’re so close now, so…”

“pft, that never stopped me,“ it was like a magic spell drew that confession out of dick. your fingers would have to be cut to coerce that out of you, but you weren’t dick—shameless and confident, you admired it on good days. 

nonetheless, you and peter both gave dick a questioning look. offended would be a regular person’s first reaction, but from the brief exchange you and peter shared, it was unanimous that curiosity took the lead.

dick’s gaze shifted from you and peter, and when the silence drew out for longer than he would’ve thought, a welcoming draft in the room awaited his rebuttal. “come on- you seriously think i stopped thinking about you guys just because we’re best friends now?

“dude, you think about me?” peter’s eyes widened. it would’ve been hilarious if you weren’t involved. you would’ve passed this off as a banter, no more than that. 

you hated to admit it, but you felt yourself throb at this revelation. blood rushed downwards in light speed and you were barely conscious to the drone of peter and dick’s chatter, but you shook it off, laughing at their banters like you aways did.

the day went on like usual. peter’s collection of video games kept you guys entertained for a few hours. when you felt fatigued from mashing your thumb onto the buttons for the ninth match, a walk downtown sufficed. laughing and bantering were the core of your friendship with dick and peter—like every friendship you’d imagine.

but at its finest, it was their vulnerabilities to you, and yours to them, that kept the foundation strong. they trusted you with every secret of theirs, aided them in a few missions of their own, and your friendship thrived. 

the next few days haven’t been exactly the smoothest. you were quieter than usual, and they both took notice because you’d pick at your food while their voices—questions and comments—were ignored, passersby to the street of hearville.

was it that weird to have never kissed at your age? to never have had sex? to not even have had held hands with another guy? they never made fun of you, but you couldn’t help but let these thoughts run rampant.

no. no, it wasn’t. people have their own pace. mine... just somehow happens slower.

you weren’t insecure, but you still felt weird. you suddenly became moody when you saw dick and peter, like you want to be left alone, push them out of your apartment when they drop a visit, drop their pants and suck them off-

oh.

ohhhhh.

dick and peter.

“teach me.” you suddenly spoke out and the two men looked up from their plate of food, exchanging a look with each other before questioning you, humored because you barely spoke all day. the tv played in the background and you were all sitting on the ground, eating off of peter’s very… very small coffee table.

“ah, i almost forgot what your voice sounded like, (m/n)!” dick laughed, twirling his fork into his pasta before shoving the food into his mouth. 

you made a slight pout, only because they weren’t taking you seriously. though, to be fair, you have been acting weird all week.

“with what?” peter noticed, a little more serious in his inquiry. but food was more of a priority for him, you can see him practically sweating at the thought of leaving his spaghetti cold.

“pete, you can still eat-“ you laughed, taking a bite of your food. 

“oh, thank god.” and peter does the same, chowing down on his spaghetti after a hard day of saving lives.

dick cleaned his palette with a cold gulp of soda, a refreshing hiss when the bubbles trickled down his throat. “so, teach you what exactly?” he continued on. “fighting? oh, dude, are you going to be a vigilante-“

“no, no! does it look like i have the strength to be like batman or something?” 

“well, i’m guessing that’s why you came to us for training?” dick amused himself, and peter chuckled, much to your annoyance. 

“guys, i don’t want to be a vigilante.” you grumbled, beginning to bury your confession deep in the pit of your stomach somewhere. “or a superhero, or a guy in a spider-suit with weird web things.”

“hey, they’re not weird-“

“i want to…” it was calming to watch the way your fork swirled itself into the pasta, metal tongs pierced and capturing a wave of sauce and spaghetti all in one swirl. “learn what it’s like to kiss.”

peter choked on his glass of water.

you continued, hot in the cheeks because you can see peter’s widened eyes even when you look away. “handjobs, blowjobs, everything…”

and a piece of dick’s meatball was caught in his throat.

a low drone accompanied the silence once the tv was muted and while a huge weight lifted off your shoulders and chest, you felt small knowing how vulnerable and weird your request sounded. 

“so, you want us to teach you how to…” dick cleared his throat and you feel like you could hear a smile, but you weren’t sure if that was your mind trying to convince you that everything was fine. “kiss and… other things?”

“yeah,” you continued to avoid your gaze, opting for the wooden floor instead. “i know, it’s weird. you don’t have to say yes or anything, it’s just-“

“is that why you’ve been acting stand-offish lately? peter was worried. he was the type to always blame himself of someone else’s behavior, no matter how much you tried to reassure him. though, you guess, he technically was the reason why you became so moody—part of it, anyway. 

“mhm.” the silence was defeating, you can hear their necks turn to look at each other—of judgement, most likely.

and it was all but confirmed when you can see them hopping back onto their feet and running—running as far from you as possible. “guys, wait, i’m sorry-“

you looked up and watched them dash to peter’s bathroom, immediately chasing after the trail of their steps in bewilderment. “what are you-“

“first step, make sure you have good breath.” dick handed you your toothbrush, his spare one at peter’s already brushing into the foaming spearmint in his mouth.

“atleastluntilhelikeyousenough” peter gargled thick and incoherent, brushing into his jumbled sentence.

“uh-huh, okay… seems a little obvious, but…” you spread the toothpaste on the bristles of your brush and began brushing, a smile forming because you have to brush the front teeth too—but also because of your best friends.

you can always count on them. 

“you ready?” dick naturally became the leader of this impromptu training program. he was the most experienced considering how many women and men you caught him with, and as much as you hated that when you were roommates with him, his expertise was needed in this moment. 

“yes.” you sat in the middle of peter and dick, rubbing your sweaty palms against your shorts. a mere flash of regret ignited inside of your beating heart, but peter rested his hand on top of one of yours, squeezing ever so gently to warm and soothe you—to pacify you.

and your worries were quelled when dick does the same, his smile softer, countering his usual playful attitude. “just stop me whenever you feel uncomfortable.” he made you feel safe.

you looked at peter, and he nodded in agreement, his fingers now intertwined with yours. he had always kept you safe, feeling safe, this was a normal feeling towards him. “same with me.” “i will.” your voice was quiet in the bedroom, a mere soft whisper, but they recognized your will to be more vulnerable with one another, to blossom. and dick appeased it with a kiss.

light and feathery at first to test the water, but once dick heard your breath hitch, he applied more pressure in between your lips, capturing them in a slow waltz that kept you on your toes, yet flat on your feet to contain your excitement—your relief. 

it was awkward at first, to find your footing. your nose would bump into his, teeth as well, but dick chuckled, assuring you this will always happen.

unbeknownst to you, dick’s been wanting to do this since he met you, and he savored every second. “remember what i told you… build it up.” he reminded you because you were getting eager, following his lead but returning his kiss in hard sucks. “nice and slow.” 

peter’s palm on your thigh pressed gently onto your bare skin, mistakenly under the lift of your shorts because he was too in awe of the kiss, but they grounded you from your brief flight to the heavenly clouds nonetheless.

“nice and slow…” dick repeated, and you succumbed to his reminder like a prodigy. “that’s it.” it lasted for a few seconds longer until you pulled away to capture your breath again. your lips tingled still, remembering the taste of spearmint when dick’s breath ghosted on your skin.

“was that okay?” an innocent question, but you swore you stole that exact same tone from a porn you watched the other day.

“a natural,” dick laughed, stroking your hair back and you’ve never see him so affectionate—loving, as he doted on you. “try it on peter. more touching though, if you’re okay with that.”

you nodded and turned your head, meeting peter’s gaze with a flushed smile, your lips slightly swollen from your previous endeavor. “I’m okay with that.”

“me too.” peter smiled, only softening when you leaned in, and it completed hid against you when you captured his smile with a kiss. 

his hand gently placed on the back of your head when you did and he pulled you closer into him, returning the kiss, and spilling his breath into yours, while at the same time, drawing yours out. “rub my chest, i like it when people do that.” peter whispered in between each kiss.

you do as you were told, a gentle hand to peter’s broad chest, and you feel yourself tightening, satisfied with how intimate this all is as you felt the muscles on his chest through the fabric.

in the meantime, dick’s been squeezing at the bulge in his pants, containing his will to completely ravish you simply by watching the way you and peter made out. he’s always been observant, noticing the strong twitching of peter’s own erection, and soon yours when peter slid his tongue into your mouth. 

it was tantalizing—breath-taking— watching intimacy build up and vulnerabilities become unimaginably pliant before him. the pink muscles looped and swirled with one another, spreading and sharing sticky saliva until your mouth and peter’s were practically coated in it, glossed in sheen.

when peter pulled away, your lips were immediately stolen by dick again, kissing you with more strength than before, stubbornly refusing the chance for you to restock on oxygen as he wanted a taste of you too. the air became thicker, harder to breathe, but you basked in the taste, the wetness of dick’s tongue, and allowed yourself to become weak in his arms when he took you in, embraced you closely. “mmf...” you moaned out, breathing harder.

but just like dick, peter wasn’t finished with you, directing his tongue and lips to the back of your neck when you turned away. his ticklish and fleeting kisses pulled you back into peter’s arms, but dick noticed and pulled you forward: a stubborn game of gentle tug of war. 

they wanted you, every piece of you. it was telling as peter sucked into your neck, venomous and poisoning, and when dick began directing your hand under his shirt, allowing you to feel his toned stomach and chest, and eventually his clothed erection, making you squeeze around it with an open palm.

lessons have completely escaped to the back of minds, and all that remained was pure lust.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to.” dick reassured. though, ironically, his hand atop of yours, relieving the ache in his pants continued.

through swollen lips, you managed to mutter, distracted by peter’s bruising sucks to other areas of your neck and skin, whimpering when he bit a little too hard. “i did say teach me everything…” his hands were under your shirt now, warming your bare skin with his palms, excited, but fleeting as they immediately tied to the buttons of your shorts when you gave the okay.

“hey, hey,” dick laughed, watching the way peter has grown grandly impatient. “you’re going to scare him, horn dog.” he left a kiss on your lips, a quick one before leaning past you to kiss peter.

you watched in awe at what a kiss was supposed to be like: burning with ease and passion with every stroke of their lips, no hesitation at all—just a moment of time that they’ll remember. you backed into the bed and leaned against the headboard as they kissed at the foot. you don’t remember having your hand down your shorts, but you do, palming yourself to your own private show.

the kiss ran sloppy, drool dripping down either chins, stained with intimacy, and clothes were quickly tossed to the side, with no care in the world.

you followed.

even though you were similar height to peter, he was stronger—they both were. and now, you felt smaller as they climbed onto the bed, towards you, bare and hardened. you watched breathlessly, as their cocks swung heavy with heat. peter’s pre-cum dripped thickly in yearn for something to fuck, while dick’s throbbed for something to fill—a porn scene come to life—and you were left agape, jaw and legs.

“kinda surprised we’ve never done this sooner,” peter said, you weren’t used to his voice so low. kneeling on the bed, by your left hip, he took your hand and kissed the palm, the wrist of it, skimmed his lips over your forearm before guiding It toward his cock, aching for your touch. “though, was hoping i’d have you to myself, but…” gently, your hand was cradled to wrap around his shaft, warm and running with veins, it pulsed. “this works too.”

your chest rose with every spoken word, and peter has never looked hotter. taking control of you like that made your skin crawl, a spell that commanded you to move your hand back and forth, conjuring you to pump him in slow strokes.

contrary to his overall demeanor, his actions were of warmth. caresses to your head, doting on you with honey dripping from his gaze and cotton in touch while you sinned. 

you didn’t know where to look—to fall in love with the way peter gazed at you like a painting in a museum, or to salivate over the way his pre-cum leaked thickly over your hand when you squeeze it out of him, like a bottle of maple syrup.

that became more a problem—a dilemma—when you felt a wetness over your right nipple, then a sting when dick bites to get your attention—selfish and stubborn, like always. “are you sure this wasn’t a tactic to get all three of us in the same room? you seem comfortable.”

he tongued your nub, flicking back and forth to make you squirm, to hear the sound of your moans, to be the reason you have trouble sleeping at night. alongside, his palm ran over your body—chest first, down your stomach, and finally, your erect cock and balls.

you watched, breathless, continuing to stroke peter’s cock and he’d lean over to give you a few kisses here and there. for the most part, he was content like this, watching you squirm while maintaining to do the best to pleasure him.

“no, i swear- it’s just-“ dick played with your balls, squeezing and tugging on the tight sack to loosen them. every man was sensitive down there, you were no exception. “you guys made me feel safe, so…”

“well,” you looked up when peter spoke, his eyes fluttered shut, and you only got them to open when you thumbed the slit of his head, rubbing slick all over his glans, then the length of his cock when you continued stroking. “we are superheroes.”

you all laughed, switching gazes between the both of them, but it was dick’s mouth suddenly wrapping around you that made you concentrate only on him.

“oh, fuck…” warmth surrounded you, inhaled you in one shallow breath, before dick pulled you out of his wet mouth, taunting you with the loss of heat.

“it’s just like kissing,” he said, licking a stripe over the underside of your cock, tonguing his favorite spot: the neck of the glans and the frenulum. dick followed the lines of flesh with precision, leading the very tip of his tongue into the duct of your urethra—once again, tonguing it while his eyes focused on you, devious. “but let curiosity take you further and explore every part of their body.”

“m-mm…” you were sure there was meaning to his words, but they fell on deaf ears. instead, you focused on the ample heat that engulfed you again, moaning.

“every.” dick took you in and pulled you out with a pop.

“fuck-“ you breathed out, curling your toes into the sheets.

“part.” holding your cock up and stroking sloppily, he inhaled your ballsack. sweaty and musty, they must’ve been, but dick devoured the scent, the taste of sins with hungry sucks and licks—ardent and full of fervor.

and at the moment where you most expected to let out a moan, it was shoved down your throat when peter suddenly situated you in between his legs and filled your mouth with his thick cock, smelling of sweat and sex when you inhaled near his trimmed hairs.

“come on,” peter briefly pulled out, tapping the plump tip over your lips. “you learn best when you demonstrate what you’ve been taught.”

peter covered your view of dick, but you weren’t sure if you needed to see him because you felt every maneuver of dick’s tongue, now drowning your cock with his mouth while he continued assaulting your sensitive balls, tugging and squeezing. 

you looked up and peter never looked bigger, more intimidating, but it’s become your new addiction, and you take his cock, holding it thick and take in what you can. it was barely past the tip before you could feel yourself gagging, but with peter’s reassurance, you swallow more of him every time you went down, slicking him up with your spit.

“how’s he doing, pete?” your cock was left cold when dick pulled away to speak, but he made up for it with his hand, stroking his spit with your cock.

“he really is a natural.” peter chuckled, watching you with a scrunched face of pleasure whenever you pulled him deeper into your mouth. almost down your throat now, but he pulled his cock back completely before you can fully take him. “you try.”

“fuck, yes.” dick leaped over and used the spit from your length earlier to lube his own cock, spitting in his palm and stroking when it wasn’t slicked to his likening while peter scooted back to kneeling at your side, stroking himself now.

as your head was positioned in between both their cocks, dick’s was bigger, thicker—a mouth stretcher you’d imagine. but peter’s was longer, veinier, and the only thing they had in common was that their balls hung loose. in porn terms, hung like a horse. 

and on this very day, you considered yourself a lucky man because you have no objection to either, no will to pick and choose.

“look at you,” dick’s voice was rugged, deep, and he pushed his cock past your swollen lips. there was a clear difference in girth. your mouth was stretched wide, and you could only hum a sound of satisfaction, even with the slight sting from the stretch of skin. “who knew you’d be such a cock lover, hm?” 

“he can’t get enough of it, god…” peter was in awe, salivating and stroking quicker at the sight.

two hands kept dick’s cock still in your mouth while you sucked on the bulbous tip like a lollipop. the rest of your hands stroked whatever you couldn’t mange to fit in your mouth. you were apologetic at first, but dick’s smirk told a simple story of his ego, clearly aroused by the size of his own cock as it only grew wider when you struggled downing him, gagging with a whimper.

“come on… (m/n), you can do better than that. you were so good at sucking peter off, kissing us too. what happened?” dick pulled away to stroke himself with your spit, but he quickly buried any excuses into your throat when he pushed himself into your mouth.

“you’re too comfortable now, (m/n). you’re slacking…” peter joined the banter, and when dick pulled out of your mouth, peter’s cock replaced the loss of warmth to your surprise.

holy shit, this is happening.

like a see-saw, the two men alternated in filling your mouth, stuffing saliva further and further down your throat, without allowing a single excuse from you to escape. it’s buried now, deep in the pit of your stomach, and all you can do was be the prodigy that they wished for you to be.

when it was dick’s turn to stretch your mouth, you made sure that peter’s cock wasn’t left abandoned, stroking him with distracted strokes, and vice versa when it was his turn at your throat. you overworked yourself in pleasuring your two best friends, making sure they were satisfied with you, with your mouth as you took more of them without a single plea for a break.

“fuck, there we go…” occasionally, dick would take control by holding the back of your head and fucking inside of your tight mouth. drool leaked down either corners of your mouth while you let him, tears brimming in your eyes when your throat tightened again, a familiar feeling that dick encouraged to hold back. “there’s my star. taking cock like a good student.” 

if there was one thing that these very brief lessons have taught you, you were exactly what they named you: a cock lover. you slurped at whatever—whoever—entered your mouth absentmindedly, spat on cocks that have begun to look more or less the same, because it was dizzying now. your cock was left alone, but it stood tall and proud, throbbing as the two men harassed your face and mouth with their erections. one would gag you while the other had his balls shoved to your face and nose, sliding its wet, dirty slick all over your skin, staining you with lust.

it alternated like this for a while, and you were content, so was dick and peter. but you needed more—something to fill you elsewhere that wasn’t your dirty mouth. and you pleaded with your eyes, looking up at your best friends with delighted tears, a mouthful of cock, and a gaze only a cock loving whore could have—and they recognized it. 

peter was reluctant to pull away, he was so close. but he’s always been selfless. he released his hold on you and it was a struggle to pull you away, but he did with your lips suctioning off with a quiet pop. a thick string of spit that once connected between your lips and peter’s cock laid like webs on your chin, cooling as you watched the two men reposition themselves.

“i’m going to assume we don’t need a lesson in how to finger yourself, hm?” dick whispered against your swollen lips and kissed you again. you were entranced under his tongue, swirling all over yours like ocean waves while you touched yourself to his licks. you twisted and pinched your nipples, tugged on them with the occasional help from dick, then stroked your cock while dick continued from peter’s original trail of bruising kisses to mark his own territory on your body. you were as horny as they were, if not hornier, and you needed them inside of you, in any way possible.

“fuck, i need you guys so bad.” breathless in your moans, your legs squirmed when you felt something wet between your thighs when they were raised, peter’s nice girth sliding in between the plump skin. 

he thrusted himself slow and steady while he worked on your hole, reaching down to prepare you with his lubed digits, one by one. you’ve done this before, they were surely aware, so it wasn’t a unit that was particularly focused.

in between preparation, your mouth remained on dick’s cock again, delivering him your fullest attention with several lathers of your tongue, sucking hard and hollow, deep into your throat. you remember what he taught you and occasionally stuffed your mouth with his balls, sucking on the weight and letting go with a pull because you got off on seeing how they tensed and jiggled when you did.

“i’ll go slow.” peter leaned in with your legs hooked over his shoulders, bending you back, and kissing the tip of your nose when he was close enough to your face. “tell me if you want to stop.”

once you nodded, allowing him the will to deliver on his promise, peter made sure to lube himself up once more before pushing inside of you, slow and steady. he was careful, watching your face as it scrunched when the head slid in—burned when the rest of him filled you to the brim.

it was almost like you couldn’t breathe. it was too much, to be bearing all of this pain alone, but at the same time, you held peter close, wrapped your arms around him to prevent him from leaving you while you buried tiny whimpers into his neck, because you don’t want to stop feeling it, so full and devoured. it was written all over their faces when you glanced at them—they didn’t want to stop either. 

peter and dick decorated your skin in wet kisses, distracting you from the pain while peter began to find a rhythm. although slow, you were beginning to familiarize yourself with this pain. soon after, pleasure, when he struck something inside of you, a certain spot.

“oh- peter, right there, fuck.” your legged tightened around him and the sweat from your thighs rolled back onto your stomach when peter re-adjusted himself to fuck you at a higher angle, folding you onto your back. 

“yeah? right here?” peter thrusted into that spot dead-on, like a dart to a bullseye, and you groaned, your throat aching in pleasure, but dick pacified it with his cock again, filling you up once more. “oh fuck, look at you. all of your holes are filled up, fuck… so fucking tight”

“baby, you’re doing a great job, god…” your heart beat when dick called you that. it was always something he said as a joke when he arrived to your place. honey, darling, you name it, but the fact that it came out so genuine, it made your skin flush red and you could only respond in moans while you sucked him off. “i think he likes it when you fuck him like that, pete.”

for the first time, you felt wanted. 

peter’s thrusts were hard and strong, his balls swung into with every rhythm. you can see the muscles in his thighs flexing whenever he pounded down into your tight hole, your bodies colliding like waves to a rock. it stung whenever his skin slapped into yours, sweaty and musky, but the sinful sounds were well-worth the prize as you basked in them, in the taste of dick’s cock, the sound of peter’s grunts, the flutter of dick’s eyes when you gargled his cock again, deeper, the sweat dripping from peter’s forehead and body—the bedroom hailed of sex. it rocked of brutal creaks and slams as both of your holes were violated and filled to the very brim, all driven by pure lust. 

after some time, they switched spots, tag-teaming so dick can have his turn at your hole. unlike peter, he was rougher, immediately pounding into you because he was sex-crazed about you, couldn’t stop thinking about you since day one of meeting you.

“fuck, better than i’ve ever imagined,” he laughed into your mouth, kissing you sloppily, and pulling away when peter’s cock impatiently wedged himself in between the kiss, and you were back to sucking and jerking off cock again—no complaints. “still so tight, even after peter fucked you so hard…”

“it’s like he was made to be a whore, right?” such vulgar language from your best friends broke the original portrayal you had of them. now, all you could think about was how they wanted to absolutely make a wreck out of you, de-blossom your naive thoughts of what your first time should’ve been like.

it wasn’t what you had imagined. it was supposed to be with one person. a full-time commitment to your relationship. a loving pair holding each other close when they both climax. it was going to be special.

but this… you thought to yourself as you were fucked into the bedsheets with absolutely no mercy, your ass pained and bruised from dick’s muscular hips driving into you every time he came down, harassing you in that familiar spot again.

this was… peter pushed on your bottom lip with two fingers to open your mouth, then spitting in the void, some catching onto your tongue, before shoving his swollen cock inside of you again, aching to touch—to fuck.

dick palmed your cock as you writhed, bent under him, moaned around peter’s long cock. he gathered all of his strength left to tickle you deep, to reach inside of you with his cock, breathless and panting with every thrust that rocked the two of you together—three, when peter fucked into your mouth. 

this was so much fucking better. 

“holy shit-“ under dick’s touch, you came hard in several thick ropes, all over his fist, and then the sweat of your body when he opened his palm. you were a natural shooter, accidentally spraying your face with your own thick semen, and you heard peter and dick moan in unison, in awe.

seeing you dressed in cum like this had them race each other to their climax. dick fucked you harder, his grasp on your hips bruising and white, while peter held onto your head and met your throat with his cock, repeatedly forceful in strength. you gagged around him, and they only benefitted from every sound you made.

“fuck, i’m going to-“ you watched peter’s abs flexed, tightened as his stomach pooled with pleasure, and you can hear the holy bells ring when he pulled out of your mouth, jerking his wet and slimy cock off until he came undone in thick spurts, all over your pretty face. not a single shot was missed, painting you in white like a canvas with every last drop.

you were still high off of your own orgasm, and you turned your head to watch dick fuck himself into you, clearly wonder-strucked by the scene before him. you were covered in cum all over. they beckoned him to join, the many loads on your body. they were begging now, a mantra of pleas pulled him closer to you, and he can smell the sex off of you, inhaled peter’s musk as well, and again—those holy bells rang.

with the speed of lightning, dick pulled himself out of your abused hole and climbed over to kneel over your chest, fucking into his fist while simultaneously jerking his cock off over your face. to your cum-covered body, to peter kissing his spunk off your cheek and chin then your lips, to the taste of your own cum when you swiped a load off your chest and fed it into dick’s mouth. he suckled, bittersweet salt spread over his tongue, and he was ravished by the taste of you. 

dick then pushed his hips out and aimed his cock over your lips, still connected to peter’s for a messy kiss, stroking until the only reason he tore his gaze away was because his lids fell heavy, ceased his sight to roll his eyes back, and came with a shudder. thick ropes of cum inked on your face and peter’s, but most of it fell to your connected lips. 

“fuck, that’s hot…” dick muttered, rolling his shoulders back while he milked himself to you and peter making out, cum-stained and all. you moaned at the taste, saltier than yours and peter’s, and peter does the same while scraping a load of warm cum from the corner of your cheek and into his mouth before kissing you again, swapping the gloopy residue with a sloppy exchange of tongues.

he was envious, watching how the sticky load caught onto your lips then peter’s when he squeezed himself dry. before you and peter could take all of his cum for yourself, he leaned down to join peter for a kiss, stealing the mound of cum that peter has expertly hidden on his tongue. dick didn’t know who he was tasting anymore. but whether it was you, peter, or himself, it was delectable, and he wanted to share the delightful taste with you. he spat the mixture of cum and spit inside of your mouth before webbing his lips to yours, sealing it with one final breathless kiss.

“so, are lessons still on for next week or?” peter lay by your side, and dick joined the other, still dizzied from his high as telling by his shut eyes and drawn out pants. 

“i mean… i’m still up for it if you guys are?” you said, leaning over to press a kiss to peter’s cheek. you took his smile as an answer and looked to dick for his.

“mm... yeah.” dick sleepily opened his eyes, his locks stuck to his sweaty forehead while he buried himself under the blanket. you felt his arms wrap around your waist once he got comfortable, muttering a kiss to your shoulder before dozing off. 

“we’re good teachers, pete.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[razrbladekiss]

HITS DIFFERENT | Chapter One - Summer Bummer

A/N: i’ve never written for mr. miller before, so i’m super nervous for how this’ll be received by everyone…but i enjoyed conjuring this up, and i hope you guys find it not-all bad! any feedback is welcome. i looove getting asks and anons. <3

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

PAIRING: no outbreak, single dad!joel x afab!reader (age gap relationship, joel is in his late forties, reader is mid-twenties.) strictly no use of y/n.

SUMMARY: your neighborly duties begin to stretch farther than simply offering a greeting whenever you and joel cross paths. after he recently becomes a single parent, you take it upon yourself to assist mr. miller in this new, completely terrifying endeavour.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ WORK BELOW THE CUT. angst. tiny bit of fucking on the first date (that isn’t anything reminiscent of a date LOL), fingering, finger sucking, joel being a dirty old man, unprotected piv sex. it’s kinda cute kinda cunty. i’ll leave you guys to decide what you think.

MASTERLIST

He’s the very last person that you’d be asking for help today, and he knows that. Joel knows that you’d rather claw your own eyes out, or rip your flesh away from bone and heave it in the fucking dumpster at the end of the street, than knock at his door and request his assistance. 

He’s the cranky guy that lives across the way. The guy that, really, you know very little about aside from the fact that he has an attitude problem, a daughter, and his partner doesn’t seem to show her face all that often anymore. 

You’d heard—from your busybody neighbor, Clare in No.13–that Joel’s wife had left for a younger, more attractive man from Tennessee. And though you hate to pry, and aren’t very nosy, you can’t help thinking about it the more you see Joel leave the house without the woman that was once fastened to his hip. 

Maybe that’s why he’s been so miserable lately. 

Ugh. You hate to call on him. But you’re desperate. It’s hot—like, the flaming crevices of hell are fighting to burst open the sidewalk outside of your house hot—and you’re dying. You’re sweating from places that you didn’t even know could sweat, and it’s disgusting. 

You step onto his front porch—donning a knee-length sundress and a pair of chunky sandals—and wipe moisture away from your forehead as it beads against your skin, using the back of your arm to do so. 

Joel’s house is significantly more drab than your own. It boasts the same stoney exterior as yours, and ivy flows over the eavestrough above the front door, only it's a little unkempt. And while your humble abode has so much curb appeal, the entire HOA board is actually envious, Joel’s man cave…doesn’t. It has a porch swing, a trough planter full of random succulents, a couple of Texas flags, and a door mat that simply reads “Fuck off.” Which is against the rules, you often remind him. 

But Joel doesn’t care. About anything. And that’s why you can’t find it in yourself to even try to get along with him. Not because of the doormat—you don’t care about that—but because he’s always so mean. To your neighbors, to the mailman, to anyone that sets foot on his property. 

To you.

It isn’t all the time, but you catch it every so often. The way Joel looks you up and down when you’re chatting with Mrs. Kavanagh over the fence on a Sunday afternoon about your week. How he always makes snide comments about the way you drive like a mad woman, or when you offer a friendly ‘hey’ to him each morning when you cross one another’s paths before work. 

You don’t recall a time where you pissed Joel off to the point of blatant ignorance, but you did. And though Tommy believes that the reason for his brother’s more rash behavior is the fact that he might have a crush on you, you feel otherwise. Because Joel is so rude—so crass, on occasion—and nothing about that screams “I want to fuck you.”

Or maybe it does and you’re just oblivious. But regardless, Joel is renowned—street-wide—for being a miserable old grouch. 

You can’t figure him out. And you’re not entirely sure that you want to, either. 

However, he’s the only man on this street handy enough to fix your A/C unit. 

So you press the buzzer—minding you don’t tread on a pair of worn-out work boots that are lazily placed beside the front door—and wait for your miserable neighbor to grumble and groan, when he catches sight of you through the glass. 

You smile when you see some of his daughter’s toys scattered across the wood beneath the swing. You don’t even know her name, that’s how little knowledge you have of the man that’s lived across the street from you for the past year and a half. 

Joel swings open the door, a cigarette pinched between his lips, and a rag over his shoulder. His sweat-slick torso glistens beneath the Austin sun, pecks slightly muddied with oil and whatever other substances that he’s working with, while his shirt is wrapped around his waist. 

He exhales smoke around the stick, swiftly taking it into his left hand. His right comes up—with the rag—to rub at his face. 

“What?” He rasps out. 

It kills you to admit that you think that Joel is attractive—in an unconventional, dirty old-man kinda way—but, fuck. He’s rugged, and rough, and his body looks so inviting. You hate yourself for staring at him like this. 

But you’re only human. Right? And the way he speaks to you, most certainly cancels out any physical attraction that you may have. Right? Right?

“Good Morning to you too, Miller.” Bitchy, you retort. “I just came over to ask if you’re willing to help me fix my A/C unit, but I see that you’re busy being a cunt—“

He laughs, flicking cigarette ash to the ground. Joel leans against his doorframe, watching you, watching him. 

“Your language is vile, little lady.” 

You hate when he calls you that. It’s so patronizing. It’s also one of the only times that Joel addresses you with actual words and not just a glare, or a groan.  

“I don’t care.” Trying your hand at being just as blunt as him, you say. “I just need cool air in my house because the three fans, several wet towels, and kiddie pool in my backyard just aren’t cutting it anymore, and I think I’ll die if I have to put up with the heat any longer—“

He holds a hand up, begging you to shut your mouth. 

“Fine.” He capitulates and you just blink at him, not being able to believe that he’s agreeing to help you with minimal begging and not even needing a bribe.

Because the last time you trudged over to his house in the downpour—soaked all the way through to your bra—and asked if he could do anything about the water leaking through your bedroom window, Joel billed you for your time. 

And when Clare needed her lawn mowed because her husband was out of town and she’d dislocated her shoulder, Joel sent an invoice through the door for his forty-seven minutes work. 

But you try to forget all of that. Because he’s helping you from the ‘goodness’ of his own heart. 

“Thanks.” You reply, watching him shirk the cotton from his shoulder. “I know you don’t really want to help, but I’m grateful—“

He waves you off when he shrugs the tank over his head, the material immediately sticking to his damp chest. Your eyes linger over his form for a few seconds while you fiddle with the keys between your fingers, not being able to tell if Joel is being charitable, or just trying to get you to stop complaining about the fucking weather. 

But you don’t mind. Because when he works his magic, you’ll be able to able to relax in your own living space, and sleep peacefully without worrying about waking in a ravine of your own sweat. 

“I don’t have cash, but I’ve got beer in the fridge—“

“I don’t want your booze.” He says while closing the front door. Joel traipses past you on the steps, padding toward the open garage. 

You watch him grab a box of tools, wondering how that one man acquired every single skill beneath the sun—well, all but the art of being able to properly communicate with his fucking neighbors—and offer a hand because the thing looks heavy. He waves you off—again—and you nod. 

“Well, then what do you want?”

“Nothin’.” He says honestly. “Gotta start showin’ all you people that I’m not just some haggard old man, and can actually help every once in a while.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly, you feel bad. Awful, actually. 

Had he recently become privy to the fact that everybody knew of his business? Because—try as you might to avoid the buzz—it was difficult, living on such a tight street. And the trials and tribulations of each individual living on Bluebell Drive are always public knowledge, at some point. 

It only took five days for the neighbors to find out when your last relationship fizzled out, and only seven for them to know how and why it ended. 

“We don’t all think you’re haggard.” You say, trying to lighten the mood. You see Joel’s back muscles contract as he pulls the garage door closed, and then turns back to face you with a look that resembles an emotion that you aren’t familiar with. 

“Just old?”

He starts to chuckle after a few seconds, and so do you—once you realize that he’s joking. You’re a bit more comfortable, now. Your attempt to diffuse the sudden thorny tension has worked, and Joel is starting to see that you’re not that bad. 

“I don’t think you look old.” Honestly, you tell him. You begin to walk onto the street, holding tightly the hem of your dress as a gust of wind threatens to blow it up to your waist. “How old are you, Joel? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all.” He follows you onto the path, watching the white linen lift as another gust flits over—showing just the slightest bit of pink lace against pert skin—and smiles. “I’m forty-nine. Never really cared about gettin’ older, but it’s harder with a little one.”

“How old is your little girl?”

“She’s about to turn one.” Joel says—almost gushing with pride. He pads along the pavement and toward the pathway, watching his footing because there’s so many plants and flowers that scatter the sidewalk outside of your house, and he knows that he won’t hear the end of it if he crushes one of them this morning. “She’s a handful, but she’s worth it.”

The way he speaks about his baby is enough to make you see that there is a heart beneath such a tough exterior. There’s something so vulnerable—so candid—about the way he speaks about her. It’s refreshing. 

“Does she spend much time with anyone else?”

“My brother.” He tells you. “Yeah, Tommy and his girlfriend have taken her out this mornin’ actually. To some petting zoo, I think.”

“That’s so sweet.” Truthfully, you say. You’ve never seen Joel so at peace, and you wonder why you ever hated him in the first place. 

He’s a tough nut to crack—that’s always been a given—but perhaps he’s not as hard-faced and complicated as you once thought that he might’ve been. 

“It is.” He replies. Joel follows you through the front of your very well-to-do home—wondering why he can’t seem to keep such a tidy place—and admires how much pride you take in your living space. 

Everything—from the crown molding, to the baseboards—is in a more than pristine condition, and your floor is so clean Joel swears he could eat his dinner off of it. 

“I bet it’s hard to keep up with chores when you’ve got a little one.” You say almost reading his mind. “I find it hard sometimes, and it’s just me living here.”

It sounds almost sad. He catches the way you not-so-fondly declare your living situation, as if you owe him any sort of explanation or insight into your life. You don’t. 

“It ain’t that bad. Tommy helps out a lot.” Joel tells you and you lead him up the stairs—but not before asking him if he’d mind taking off his dusty work boots. “Just neither of us are very good at cookin’. I mean, I can do the basic shit, but Tommy is fuckin’ awful. Sienna—Tommy’s girl—is an amazing cook, but she works long hours, and she’s got a kid of her own to worry about, so—“

“So you guys are just stuck living on pasta and fries?”

Joel snickers, though he does nod. He likes that you can be direct sometimes. 

“I can teach you how to cook. I mean—“ you show him to your bedroom quickly. “You’re doing me a favor by fixing my aircon, the least I can do is show you how to make a pie, or some kind of casserole that you can stick in the freezer and use in emergencies.”

“Thanks.” He’s taken aback. Not for the fact that you’re showing him your boudoir��despite that being where your faulty machine is located—but because you’re offering pleasantries where they’re not usually seen. Joel isn’t one to complain, though. 

He is, however, the type of man to somehow offend somebody on a whim, and so he shuts his mouth when you open the top of the unit. 

“It’s kinda old—ignore that, it came with the house.”

He nods, taking out one of his torches from the tool bag. 

“So…” you watch over his shoulder—irritating him a bit—as he putters and fiddles with the internal mechanisms. “Can I get you anything?”

Some fuckin’ space. 

“No thanks.”

Tight-lipped, you smile. 

Joel’s fingers work the fan to ensure that it’s still able to spin, and you marvel at his uncharacteristic gentleness. With fingers as calloused as his own, you’d be sensible in thinking that he has a tendency to be heavy handed. But apparently not. 

And that just adds to the fact—as blatant as anything—that you really don’t know the man that you share a zip code with. 

“It needs refrigerant.”

“Oh—“

“It’s a quick fix. I can run to the hardware store and pick some up—but you’re gonna have to wait ‘cus Tommy’s taken my truck.”

“We can take my car?” You offer, leaving him to mull it over for a few seconds. “But I’ve just gotten it valeted—“

“I’ll wait for my brother to get back. Should only be another few hours.”

You blink at him. Your stare is blank, completely fucking empty. How does he expect you to sit—to simmer and literally marinate—in your own sweat? 

But before you can whine and make Joel’s day ten times worse, he proposes an idea. 

“You can uphold your end of the bargain, in the meantime.” Smug, he says. “My A/C works—and I got fans in my kitchen. If you come ‘n help me out with making some cookies and a pot roast, then I can go get you what you need when Tommy gets back.”

You don’t even need to consider the offer before you’re running downstairs and grabbing vegetables and spices, and whatever else you’ll need that you know Joel won’t have in his pantry. 

He gets you to take a few beers across the street, too. And you do because you’re kind, and want Joel to feel comfortable when doing something that he’s not all too familiar with. 

You give him time to clean up when you get back to his house, and find all the appropriate utensils to start cooking. Joel spends at least fifteen minutes in the shower, and you take time to indulge yourself with the icy flurry in his kitchen. 

It’s a feeling almost orgasmic in nature. The bitterness against your skin—cold and lurid, almost—and breeze that catches the hem of your dress, hiking it to the middle of your thigh, is wonderful. You find yourself leaning into it like an embrace, letting the skin of your chest catch the cool. 

And in your moment of pure superfluity, you somehow drown out the background noise of footsteps approaching the linoleum floor of the kitchen. 

Joel clears his throat. “Nice?”

You spin around—the neckline of your dress slightly garbled—and bleed crimson into your cheeks. “Yes. It’s lovely.” You stutter, completely embarrassed. “Sorry—“

“Don’t be. You’ve been meltin’ all day, sugar. You need this.”

Sugar. Your heart skips a beat at the pet name. 

Joel walks to the refrigerator—like he hasn’t just rocked your entire fucking world after doing a brilliant job of convincing you that he hates you over the last god-knows however many months—and puts his hands on his hips. 

“Can we use Chuck Roast?”

You nod, not being able to formulate a verbal response. 

You’re still trying to cross the sugar bridge. 

“Fantastic.” He says. Joel reaches down into the cupboard beside the range and takes out a roasting tray that you’re sure has never been used before. “This?”

“Yes.” Finally, you manage. And though the cool against your flesh is lovely, you can still feel heat stippling across the apples of your cheeks. 

You wonder if he heeds it. 

Joel turns back to you with a shit-eating grin. He does. 

“I can’t wait to make this. Sarah’ll love it.”

You lift a brow. 

“My little girl. That’s her name.”

“Oh.” Your eyes soften. “That’s beautiful, Joel. She’s a cute kid.”

He nods, padding over to stand beside you at the counter. “She is. And she loves her food, so this’ll go down a damn treat…And if you’re lucky, then you can stay ‘n eat with us.”

“Joel, I couldn’t—“

He raises a hand as you pull oil, salt and some more herbs from your bag. “I insist. We don’t really know one another, and I can’t help feelin’ like we’ve got off on the wrong foot. It’s the least I can do, especially ‘cus of how nice you’ve always been to my brother.”

It’s true. Tommy has always been somebody that you’ve regarded highly, because he’s such a delight. He might’ve accidentally stumbled into your life—and your back—at the supermarket last year, but he’s been a lovely permanent fixture in your life. And you can’t seem to think of having it any other way. 

He’s a good friend. And even better confidant, with a brother whose chocolatey hues are scrutinizing your form—top to bottom—while you oil your pan, and throw in a handful of onions and carrots. 

Joel’s head grows fuzzy, the more he watches and listens to you. He can’t seem to wrangle any rational thoughts, now. Because you’re actually down-to-earth—when it’s just the two of you—and he wonders why it’s taken this long for him to invite you into his home. 

The angsty nature of your relationship has always put a downer on things. Whenever he’d catch sight of you talking to his brother, Joel’s green-eyed monster would consume him and any sense of reason would become distorted. And he always knew that he was the sole reason for the bitter tension—because you’re never this way with anybody else—but can never bring himself to admit just why he feels this way. 

Tommy’s inconceivable idea about him having a crush on you—that, really, isn’t so odd now—might be ringing true. 

You explain to Joel each step that must be taken in order to achieve the perfect pot roast. From browning the vegetables, to adding the beef and stock and all of the herbs that contribute to the meaty flavor, Joel listens intently to your every word. 

He’s completely lost in you, now. The way you speak. How you explain things with metaphors, and examples that Joel will understand. How you use the back of your arm to wipe away perspiration as you stand over the broiling pot, never taking your eyes off of the meal that you’re helping your neighbor to prepare. 

Joel is infatuated. 

“Now we let it sit for a few hours.” You say while walking over to the sink to wash your hands clean of any food. “Did you still want to make some cookies?”

“Maybe later. I’m kinda fed up of being in this kitchen now.” He lets out a laugh and puts down the big spoon that you’d given to him to stir the pot. Because that’s his job, now. “You want a drink?”

“What’ve you got?”

“Wine, beer, lemonade, orange juice.” He recites from memory. “Not sure what else is in the refrigerator.”

You glance at the clock. It’s barely pushing one in the afternoon, but you’re gasping for a cool glass of white. Or red. Or whatever the fuck Joel has cold. 

“Wine, please.”

He pulls out a bottle of Merlot—not something you’d associate with Joel—and you reach for two glasses from the open cabinet above the stove.  

“I didn’t put you down as a wine drinker, Miller.”

“Well, I guess that I’m full of surprises.” He says teasingly, sliding over your almost-completely-full beverage. 

You hum when you pull the glass up to your lips, indulging in the heavy-handed pour from the man who can’t take his fucking eyes off of you as you stand at his kitchen island, helping him make dinner. 

Joel is transfixed by the way that your chest—shiny and glistening—raises as you take each breath. How the strap on your dress falls to the middle of your arm when you lift the stem of the glass, or lower it back to the island. 

He’s kicking himself. But he’s enjoying the sight too much to look away. 

“See something you like?” You ask and lick your lips, almost pandering to the internal quandary that he has suddenly found himself entwined with. And you’re never usually this forward, so the ventricles of your heart begin to seize as the organ batters against the cage of your ribs, pulsating vividly beneath your sundress. 

Joel is surprised by the tone of your voice, almost pinching himself to ensure that this isn’t some kind of convoluted alternate reality. 

But he soon realizes that this—you in his home—is not a figment of his imagination, but something very real. 

“I guess.” Joel says, and rounds the island until he’s standing beside you. He looks you up and down, setting his glass against the wood grain. “What about you?”

You nod, letting your gaze flit between Joel’s face and the protruding bulge in the taught denim decorating the lower half of his body. He feels his heat begin to temper, getting strangled by his jeans the more he eyes you. 

Joel urges you to sit on the counter—his hands affix to the meat of your ass as you lift yourself up—and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist in a bid to pull him impossibly close to your body.

“Is this a good idea?”

“Probably not.” Joel all but growls before he’s fastening his lips to your own, and you’re moaning into his mouth while he’s starting to unbuckle the belt on his pants. 

It’s needy. God. It’s so fucking needy that you’re at risk of unraveling right here, but you manage to contain your arousal, and allow yourself to add more intensity to the embrace. 

Joel’s tongue is blanketed by the taste of wine, cigarettes, and a hint of the broth that the two of you made before he was trying to get into your panties, and you’re basking in it. You’re basking in the way that his nose pushes into your own as he adds more force—more desire—to the kiss, and how much he craves you after so many months spent despising your presence. 

“Joel—“ You whimper out when he comes up for air, putting your hands against his as he palms his cock through the material of his underwear. “Joel, this isn’t right—“

“‘Course it is, baby.” He croons in your ear, seeing the goosebumps stipple down your neck and across your shoulders. Your head falls backwards. “See how much you like it? This is just fine.”

You take a deep breath when his prick—still endowed in his Calvin’s—dances along your clothed heat. “But—But what if Tommy gets back.” 

“Then we’ll have to make it quick.” Joel states, letting his member spring free of the confines of his boxers, and your eyes widen. It’s bigger than you thought—not that you had thought much of it until this moment—and the girth is commendable. You’re not sure whether you’ll be able to take him in one fluid motion, but you don’t doubt that Joel will try. 

He lifts the hem of your dress until it’s sitting just above your panty line, and rubs his thumb over your clit that suddenly feels trapped beneath pink lace. Joel massages the bud for a few measly seconds before remembering that this was meant to be a quickie, and pushes your underwear to the side. 

“Wow.” His jaw drops. He lets his forefinger run up and down your seam, gathering the pooling wetness on the tip of it. Joel brings it to his lips and sucks it clean, before he’s going back in with another. 

Joel’s fingers pump slowly—seductively—in and out of your pussy, knuckle fucking deep until he’s pushing at the spongiest part of your cunt. He feels resistance, and you begin to tighten around him, but he continues. 

He paws at his cock in time with the hilt deep finger-fucking he’s giving you, moaning your name. You claw your nails against the counter, hardly able to hold yourself up while you begin to leak liquid arousal around Joel’s calloused fingertips that’re working you to your finish. 

“If you—Joel—don’t fuck me, I’ll cum all over your hand—“

“Is that a threat?” He digs, hastening his pace. He curls and contracts his fingers within the chasms of your core, unravelling you very quickly. You whine and write beneath his hold, striving to keep onto your dignity for a little bit longer than this. “‘Cus, darlin’, I can live with that—“

You cut him off with a moan as he pulls his fingers out and—like the dirty old man that he is—makes you suck them clean. He shoves them down the back of your throat until you’re gagging with tears in your eyes, lining his cock up at your slit while he’s choking you like a fucking masochistic psychopath. 

But it’s hot. 

Joel is so hot, and you can’t believe that you’re fucking him—in his kitchen—when, really, you should be spending your afternoon trying to get your A/C unit fixed. Because that’s the only reason you left your house, today. 

He pushes into you—filling your cunt nicely—and you can’t help hastening your movements at the first ounce of touch. Because you’re growing impatient now. He worked you to an—almost—premature release, and now he has to let you have it. 

Joel grips firmly onto the flesh of your thighs, pushing and pulling you into him as his cock spears you open—rutting into you like a mad man that hasn’t felt the warmth of a pussy since the dawn of time. But it’s been three months since Joel Miller got to dive into a woman—fingers first—and he’s determined to get every last ounce of pleasure out of you. 

“How does it feel, pretty girl? How does my cock feel, pounding into you?” He asks, knowing that you won’t be able to formulate a verbal response. Joel writhes above you when your walls start to clamp down around him, giving him the answer that he craves. 

He hums his approval—hammering into your cunt—letting his knees hit against the island as he doesn’t miss a beat. Joel pulls down the neckline of your dress and exposes the supple flesh of your breasts, immediately taking your right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He massages pebbled skin, eliciting a string of broken moans from the deepest fissures of your chest. 

“So beautiful.” He praises, urging you to moan louder. Joel’s cock stutters at the sound. He can feel his release looming and, though he hates the thought of finishing after not even a whole five minutes of driving into you, he knows that prolonging is no longer an option. 

“Joel—I’m—gonna—“

“I know, darlin’.” He reassures, still relentlessly fucking into you. Still hitting you hilt-deep, and fighting against the fluttering walls around him. “You just let it go when you’re ready.”

And just from that—the way that his velvety tone oozes consolation—you find yourself unwillingly unraveling beneath your sexy older neighbor, giving your entire self to him on a random Saturday afternoon. 

“That’s it, baby girl. Cum for me.” Joel coaxes you through your orgasm, praising your movements and the way you shamelessly coat his cock with your sweetness that he can’t help but taste. He moans around his finger, letting his movements hinder slightly as he works toward his own release. 

But watching you—how the sensitivity is consuming you and making even the slightest touch the most overstimulating thing in the entire fucking world—is enough to drive him to the edge. 

“Give it to me, Joel. Fill me up right here.” You brandish the man whose prick is threatening to spill inside of your cunt. 

He ruts into you for a few moments more, before his spend is exploding into you like the most erotic of fireworks, and threads of cum paint your walls, thighs, and clit as he pulls out and rubs his head along your warmth one last time. 

Joel collapses into your chest, sticky and dripping lust. 

“That was amazing.” You say through bated breaths, panting like a fucking dog. 

“Bet you didn’t think an old guy could fuck that good, huh?”

Your head shakes and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. 

“Think we’ll have to make a thing of this, don’t you?”

Without hesitation, you’re nodding at him. Your arms lazily drape over Joel’s shoulders, and he pecks kisses along your neck and chest. “Absolutely. I’ll never be able to fuck a man my own age, now…”

For the first time since forcing his way onto this street, Joel Miller feels like he didn’t make a mistake moving back to Austin. 

[riaki]

OKAY EVERYONE IS SAYING GOJO DOESN'T DESERVE A HAPPY ENDING YES

BuT what if we could make it a little ANGSTY instead?? 👀 He gets his happy ending. His. Happy ending. You? Well.. Old habits die hard. This is what you wanted after all no? So what if he breaks his promises? What if your smile begins to fade? What if

What you said about later on reader and freckles growing apart cause freckles seemed nice it'd be a shame for him to be an ass

But that it's silly cause the irony is what if that freckle boy.. was just like Gojo but in a different light.

Being as it wasn't him who hurt reader, it was easy to overlook the fact of how similar he was to the old Gojo she knew before it became a shit show

Maybe she realizes that

Maybe she starts thinking

Maybe she drifts apart

And maybe Gojo comforts her but he's the last person she wants to see

Because it's these stupid feelings for Gojo that led her to this hell

And Gojo goes again

And he reels her in

And once he has her

Only to see as her smile begins to fade

As all the effort he had put in when he didn't have her start going away once again

And he starts to fall into old habits becoming the same as he was before, but this time, with you at his hand

As he slowly takes away your smiles again.

But it's okay, he'll make it right. Just...later. and later. And later...

You hope.

sorry I'm not good with angst sorry for any cringe 🤣

this is!! such!!! a good!!!! take!!!!!! on hsbully!gojo!!!!!! tbh this ask speaks for itself lol n dw anon! i rlly love the way u brought it :3 this is highschoolbully!gojo part 592727465527 *suggestive!

yeah. freckles boy isn’t that great of a person. maybe he tried but it didn’t work out; u dunno why but u keep seeing gojo in him— hints of satoru in ur life. like that stinky cologne he thinks is kinda cool but rlly doesn’t smell too good on ur bfs drawer, or the way he takes his coffee. honestly, if u squint, it almost seems like freckle boy is tryna copy gojo in a way…? but u don’t like thinkin abt him so u don’t blink an eye.

fast forward u broke up with freckle boy because something or other; the point is, u really didn’t feel anything with him. there might’ve been a spark, but it was really only artificial and had no wind to fan the flames. and since u got together gojo’s been distant; his smile seems dimmer and there’s always this faraway; foggy look that makes the brilliant azure of his eyes seem cloudy gray. but then ur catching up with him again and at some random frat party you get drunk and ur sense is inhibited and— u end up kissing gojo… oops.

so then u kinda enter this fwb state with him. and.. he’s pretty cool, right? he’s kinda evrything u want in a guy— tall, pretty, cool, strong, handsome, charming— it’s a package deal. but there’s also this… rift, between the two of you. see, ever since gojo lost u the first time, he’s always been so scared of pushing u away. so u stay fwb because he doesn’t wanna lose u again in case he’s feelin more than you are. but his heart doesn’t skip a beat when he sleeps with other girls and his chest doesn’t tighten like it does with u when he gets mouthfuls of fruity gloss from kissing other girls. but he forces himself to keep this wall up between the two of u because he just can’t risk losing you a third time.

it sucks for u too, though! gojo’s just a bit too dense to see it. whether it’s in his own nature, or he’s faking it. it’s probably the latter, but that’d mean he’s not being genuine again, n you don’t wanna think about it. but you’re gettin comfy with him and so is he, and you really do whole heartedly believe he’s changed this time, and for good. and it’s true! he has. but not in the way you thought. apparently, he’s exchanged being an ass with an unreachable ego to a pinch more genuine, but still an ass. it’s proved when u get to his apartment one rainy day ready to spend the weekend w/ him for a study date, but there’s clothes on the floor. dresses n stockings and a frilly blouse that you definitely think (or hope) don’t belong to gojo. unfortunately, your suspicions are confirmed when you lay eyes on the tangle of people on his bedroom through the crack in the door— this time, it’s your turn to run in a hurry. turns out, he got comfortable with you— all in the wrong way, thinking it’d be okay to sleep around. except he gives chase— after pulling on a pair of pants, of course.

eventually he catches up to you; you hate those stupidly long legs. catches your wrist and forces you to face him. in front of a chick fil a, nonetheless. he gets an overwhelming sense of deja vu— but he’s forcibly snapped out of it when je realizes you’re crying. and damn, you look gorgeous, and he wishes it would rain because the sunlight falls around you like liquid gold, framing your pretty face and reflecting prisms of rainbow in your tears.

once again, he doesn’t get it. why are you crying? it’s not like you were really serious or labeled, right…? and the entire reason you’d stayed that way was to avoid somethin like this. but gojo slowly comes to the realization that he’s fucked up big time— he has been since day 1. really, he should’ve found somebody cheaper to chase— you stole his heart and his pride, making him awkwardly and stiffly apologize to you in front of a fast food restaurant on some random crossing next to a train station. it’s only tense because he doesn’t really know how to apologize— he doesn’t have much experience with it, and for that he blames his ego.

but even so, he’s not ready for those big, sappy love confessions yet. you always made him feel so weird— correction: you still do. so you walk away somewhere between fwb and strangers. it’s always one step forward and two steps back with gojo. but maybe, just maybe— he can slowly rebuild your trust with some patience, empathy, and a lot of genuine love that he’s yet to realize he’s been nursing in his heart for you since the first time he laid eyes on you.

paaaaaaart one

[ravewing]

BAD TAKE ANON BAD TAKE time to debunk this

-his character development was NOT thrown out the window after his book ?? after his book he was mind controlled/put under a spell by darkstalker. he wasnt himself.

-ohhh god forbid a character jumps to conclusions !!!!!!!!!!!!!! when did he do this btw like are you referring to the peril thing ?? because yeah id be pretty defensive if someone who id only known as the firescales can-kill-you-in-an-instant murderer of countless dragons flew up to me too

-the whole "he would still be abusive!!1!" thing is not canon. in all honesty he probably WOULDNT be, but nevertheless you made that up yourself (ergo youre hating him over a headcanon)

-"he could have permanently disabled qibli" HE WASNT HIMSELF??? HE WAS UNDER A SPELL????

-oh my god please do not with the vase scene. i cant. he was angry (REASONABLY SO) because moon said that the dragon who had sent a spell to wipe out winters entire tribe (GENOCIDE???), the dragon who had put a spell on winter HIMSELF, the dragon who had already killed countless icewings already in the past, was her friend and was trying to DEFEND ds. come on bro

-"self obsessed" he hates himself anon is that what you mean by self obsessed??? please either reread his book or develop reading comprehension skills oh my godd

-"everyone fawns over him" not really most of the fandom hates him . ive been told to kill myself multiple times over him being ones of my fav characters so idk what ur on anon

im not saying youre not allowed to hate him at all, its just that everything you're saying is a gross oversimplification/blatantly false statement.

anywho thats my rant . this seems really rage baitey but also i have been attacked by way too many people who are like this in the past so i dunno

i hate winter and any ship that include him. His character development was thrown out the window after his book, he's an ignorant asshole who refuses to be proven wrong, never blames himself for anything, and jumps to conclusions (as seen in book 8). Also he would definitely be abusive (not on purpose but still) if he was in an actual relationship with qibli or moon. HELLO? He could have permanently disabled qibli, he threatened to kill moon MULTIPLE times and also got mad and knocked over a vase, breaking it, and not caring at all when it cut moons hands trying to pick it up. He's a self obsessed asshole like most royal icewings who just can't fathom the fact that he is in fact not better than anyone else or that he's wrong. He's a terrible dragon who does and says terrible things but everyone fawns over him because hes ohh so tragic.

.

[calicoheartz]

So ready to be fed tonight 💛

I was wondering if you could do a jealous!Caitlin x reader that's maybe slightly suggestive? It's okay if not !!

Green Eyed Passion ; Caitlin Clark ⟢﹒

summary : jealous! caitlin x reader 🫣

wc ; 773

warnings : very suggestive , read at your own risk.

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : anon , you have just been served a full course meal. This was sooo fun to write!!! enjoy besties ◡̈

Caitlin is used to being confident in herself. As an extremely talented and successful basketball star, she had no trouble attracting and dealing with unwanted attention. However, when she started dating you, a young and attractive individual who had a captivating personality, she found herself facing a new emotion: jealousy.

It all began innocently enough. You had been dating for a few months, and everything seemed perfect. You rarely argued, had little disagreements, and most importantly you shared the same interests. Never failing to make eachother laugh even in the worst of situations, it was obvious that you were each other’s person.

But one evening, as you both were attending a team event, Caitlin couldn’t shake the feeling of this rather unfamiliar emotion.

You however, were in your element. A dimly lit bar filled with different characters from all walks of life, it fascinated you, you absolutely adored engaging in conversation with others. Your charisma drawing in people like moths to a flame, your eyes sparkling in every animated conversation you found yourself in. Caitlin however, watched from the sidelines; simply smiling politely as she watched admirers approach you to strike up simple exchange.

Her mood, however, quickly soured when she noticed you talking to a fairly tall, and attractive figure. A little bit too close for Caitlin’s pleasure.

She continued to watch you from across the room, how your laugh echoed, how close you two were, stirred up feelings she didn’t even know she had. Trying to shake off this feeling, she joined a group of her other teammates, trying to take her mind off of you and your seemingly interesting conversation. But she couldn’t help but keep stealing glances at you and this mysterious stranger, immediately being stung by a wave of jealousy.

As the evening went on, Caitlin found herself being more and more isolated. She tried to engage in conversation with you, but to no avail. You seemed distracted, with your attention constantly drifting back to the figure.

Finally, unable to contain her jealousy, she approached the both of. Simply grabbing your wrist and muttering a “Sorry, please excuse us”, as she quickly dragged you away to a secluded area inside the bar

“What's going on?” she asked harshly, clearly trying to mask her jealousy. You took a step back, clearly confused on what she meant, “huh? What do you mean?”. She furrowed her brows at your response, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. “You know what I mean y/n. What is going on?”. She glared at you, her 6’0 frame overpowering yours as she simply corned you against the wall.

You smirked, now realizing why the brunette was acting so strange. She was jealous. It was very rare for Caitlin to act like this, and the outcome would only lead to one possible scenario. You were about to get your shit rocked.

You bit your lip, simply batting your eyelashes at her, sweetly saying, “i don't know what you mean, baby”.

Ohhhhhh shit. That did it. If she wasn't turned on before she definitely was now. And to be fair she wasn't the only one, you could feel a slight stickiness in between your thighs.

As if it was second nature, she captured your wrist, not even saying a word, and dragged you out of the bar and into the passenger seat of the car.

Even on your way back home, not even a slight glance was given to you, her knuckles as white as your bed sheets as she aggressively gripped the steering wheel. You knew you were fucked. She knew you were fucked, now what is going to be done about it?

As soon as you arrived at your shared apartment she immediately pinned you against the wall, her hands immediately finding their way into your locks, intertwining them in between her fingers. With one free hand, she caressed your face, as she slowly started to place wet kisses on your chest, leaving soft love bites in the process. You let out a small, but audible moan at her actions, letting her know to keep going. She slowly kept going down until she reached your collarbones until she abruptly stopped. You pouted, cool air quickly hitting your flesh where her lips had once been seconds earlier.

She gave you a sly smile, lowly muttering

Why would you start something you wont be able to finish?

omg okay woah that was intense !! definitely will write more content like this in the future.. 😏 tysm for reading lovelies !

[carbonfiction]

Could you do some angst Logan x mutant!reader comfort. Like maybe she has a similar origin to Logan where she was tested on for her powers and escaped. She ends up at the mansion and that’s how her and Logan end up together.

I’ve been wanting to write this myself for a while but haven’t had time. I need to see some truama bonding and comfort for that man with someone who really understands what it’s like. I would give anything to be that person. 😭

Hi anon!! Im so sorry this has taken me so long to get to- despite some little changes on the request, and my unsureness on writing angst, i hope you enjoy this drabble!

One step at a time

Summary: sleep can be a fickle thing, a struggle more personal than most.. But it just so happens theres another person in the mansion that understands. Written with X1 logan in mind!

Warnings?: angst, mentions of nightmares and troubled sleep, self doubt, slight depression? Comfort and fluff at the end? Idk how to tag this really.. Words: 1.5k Masterlist

People were scared of things they didn’t understand, of people that didn’t fit in to a societal box. And being a mutant? Well, you became the scariest thing of all. An unknown, a secret unshared in a room full of people.

To some, that fear, that little nagging doubt about what you are, what you could do.. fuelled somthing else entirely. Not fear, not quite, more an evil kind of curiosity. A fixation to poke and prod, bend and snap, push the limits of their fear regardless of yours in the name of science. Regardless that you too, we’re a person, different now yes, but still born of the same matter once.

Careless to the person you were, only the thing you could become. And even then, if you weren’t useful.. you were useless. Another mistake in a pile of scraped idea's, a caged creature begging for a way out.

You never wanted it, never asked to sit in a room and wonder why. Why you, why this. There was never a good enough answer, never a reason, not really. Some People were just cruel, vile and nasty, out for their own gain.. to test the limits of humanity.

But then it begged the question, what was humanity? Because it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the sleepless nights afraid to close your eyes. The sanctity of sleep a luxury. Peace a rationed thing.

Therefore It had become normal to find you in the dead of night, curled up the couch in front of the fireplace; whilst everyone else slumbered. Sometimes a book in hand, other times just your thoughts. Embered flames burning bright and warm, the crackle of wood often the only sound. It was how your relationship with Logan had bloomed.

From wordless nods walking down corridors to conversations and nights shared infront of the fire; he had become pleasant company, a friend you regarded higher- one who understood better- than most. He'd seen the same horrors behind his eyes, the years a tiresome thing.

So it's here you sit, like always, in your spot on the couch peering between pages of a book and the old grandfather clock, waiting for Logan.

It was late and he'd usually show up around now, your meetings held in a trusted pact- an agreement that if sleep held pain, this is where you'd find one another. It was up to choice then, if you'd relocate to one of your room's; if you felt the embrace of the others arms would quiet the horror, just for a while.

Because while it's true that you both may no longer be broken here in the mansion.. you'd always be bruised bone deep.

"Hey" Logan murmers softly, breaking you from your thoughts as you crane your neck toward him. Hes stood tall in the doorway, clad in sweats and a white vest, two steaming mugs in hand as he pads closer, handing you one over the back of the couch. "Figured you'd want a drink, tried to make it how you like"

You nod, taking a tentative sip with a greatful smile. Your eyes fluttering shut a moment as you swallow, relishing the warmth. Logan had indeed made it the exact way he knew you loved, and it swells your heart; the fondness you feel for the action- for him. "'S perfect, thank you.."

"Was nothin.." he shrugs, sighing into his own cup, back hitting the couch besides you. the cushions are a soft embrace for his aching body, the days seeming longer. He'd confessed one night, that the winter had never helped his affliction. That the cold air made his adamantium bones ache in a way that seemed impossible to describe. The sting of his knuckles that bit sharper with each snikt of his claws.

You shift quietly, book page marked and now placed on the coffee table. Logan watches silently as you reach for the soft blanket that lays dormant on the back. Your fingers adjusting the fabric carefully, unfolding and draping it until it rests over his knees too.

Logan smiles, a look reserved for these nights- for you- in his eyes. Its a soft, greatful, little thing; Unreminicent of his usual gruff demeanor. he lifts a large arm bringing it to rest snug behind your shoulders, tugging you closer.

Theres a comfortable silence that follows then, sat side by side. Logan simply watches as you pick the book back up, resuming your page. A warm feeling in his chest that he hasn't felt for a while as your eyes flit across the words.

He still cant understand how anyone could- would- hurt you. Would even dare harm a delicate hair on your head. It boils a possessive type of anger inside of him, that people, the very same that had hurt him, had dared. That they had ruined your trust, made you into something of their design, just like him.

And Its then that Logan cant help how his mouth moves, how it burts the words before he can even think to stop them, make them sound less jumbled. "You uh.. didn't deserve it you know?.. What they did"

The words feel foreign on his tongue but they hold meaning- one that you can feel as you cast your gaze to him.

Theres a look in your eyes he cant quite read as you hum honestly. "Neither did you. you know that right?"

And Logan knows. Hell its deep down but he knows. Yet hearing the words still bring an ache to his chest. Its beyond hard for him to even think about- admit really- even after all this time. He hadn't deserved it and neither had you. But that was certain weather perceived or not.

"Im.. Tired, logan" you trail quietly, casting your book aside as your head falls to rest on his shoulder. "Just.. So tired of being tired."

A shattering feeling stabs at Logan's chest from your admission, a sigh falling against your hair. "I know you are. Hell so am i but.." he pauses, trying to find the correct sentiment.

"We- you- can do this"

You can't help the exhaled sound that slips from you, not a laugh, not not a breath either. "Logan-" you try to protest, try to shift back inside your non vulnerable shell ready to shut down, but he has you locked next to him, fingers coming to rest on your jaw.

"No, look at me, Cmon" he murmurs, cupping and turning your cheek gently until your gaze meet his. "like you told me that once. Its one step at a time alright?"

You recall saying it, remember the context, and yet the idea of saying it to yourself feels foreign- as foreign as the words blurted from logans tongue.

He'd had a nightmare that night, had woken with a hoarse scream and his claws embedded in the plush mattress; pillows ruined with feathers everywhere, soaked in sweat. You'd come barreling in from downstairs having heard his sounds of distress, knowing the situation.

But.. You hadn't laughed, despite him being so surrounded by pillow feathers that he's sure he looked like big bird. You hadn't been cruel or judgemental, pitty in your eyes. You'd just been.. Well, you. Kind and understanding, reassuring him that it was okay, that he was safe. To take a shower and you'd sort the rest. It was from then that the fondness he felt for you had bloomed to something a little more inside of him.

You nod gently, a small, barely there smile on your lips now as you repeat. The light of the fire a soft glow in your eyes, tone a fraction more hopeful. "One step at a time"

"Yeah, thats it sweetheart" he smiles gently, a proud look in his own eye's, before his throat clears. A bashful look taking over his features as he continues, thumb absentmindedly stroking over your cheekbone. A distraction to the honesty he was going to drop "Besides.. you got this knucklehead who'd really like to keep this.. Us.. up"

You swallow, breath stuttering as your cheeks heat."You.. You would?" you sound a little surprised, yet a little hopeful, and It makes Logan smile, hearing your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yeah sweetheart" he breathes, voice a low gravel as he anxiously nods, before rushing to add. "if- if thats something you'd want?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, so excitedly it makes logan chuckle, the deep rumble joining the crackling fire. "I, uh, i mean.. ofcourse i do Logan"

Logans fingers tilt your face higher, his forehead coming to rest on yours as your fingers trace over his scruff coated jaw. "Things are better with you.." you murmer, breath puffing over his lips. "Lighter. You get it, get me.. This.."

He hardly lets you finish before his lips are pressed to yours, breaking the miniscule gap between them. His kiss so uncharacteristically gentle, like he was afraid one taste and you'd break.

"Things are better with you too.." he says quietly, forehead on yours, a smile against your mouth as his nose rubs your cheek.

And so Its that night you both agree, while wrapped up in one another, that things are better together. Better with each others shoulder to lean on. And despite the darkness that would still linger sometimes, that's all that mattered. You and him. Him and you.

[iomoru]

hi! can you do kinich x reader (or whoever you like) where there's only one bed when they were out on a trip? can be suggestive or fluff, up to you! tyy

Sharing Warmth

A/n: sure thing venus anon! (≧∇≦)/, I'm very sorry for the late reply tho I ended up getting distracted by school work so I totally forgot about the reqs-

Genre: Modern Au!, Camping Au!, Fluff, Gn! Reader, Kinich x Reader, Second Person, Proofread

Summary: During a camping trip with friends, you forget to bring your bed, and with no spare available, Mualani suggests you share with Kinich. Though hesitant at first due to your growing attraction to him, you ask Kinich, who agrees without hesitation. As you lie beside each other, the tension builds, and the simple act of sharing a bed becomes intimate. Kinich eventually pulls you into his arms, creating a warm and comfortable closeness, as you fall asleep wrapped in each other’s warmth.

The evening sky above the campfire crackled with the last bits of flame, the vibrant warmth of the day slowly giving way to the coolness of the night. The stars twinkled above like scattered diamonds, and the soft sound of crickets filled the air. Kachina was wrapped comfortably in Mualani’s arms, both sharing a bedroll by the tent.

You glanced over at Kinich, who was busy laying out his own bedroll next to the one that should have been yours—if only you hadn’t forgotten to bring it. You rubbed your temples, frustrated at yourself for the careless mistake.

Mualani had suggested the camping trip, and though you loved the idea of being in nature with friends, you hadn’t expected to forget such an important thing. Now, as everyone settled down, you were left without a place to sleep.

“You can just sleep with Kinich!” Mualani suggested with a wink. “It’s not a big deal. He won’t mind, right?”

You hesitated, feeling a little flutter of nerves. Sure, Kinich was one of your closest friends, but you’d always noticed how good-looking he was—the sharp lines of his face, his warm, green-yellowish eyes that always seemed to linger on you a little longer than usual. Sharing a bedroll might make things...complicated.

Kinich looked up from his spot, catching your awkward silence. “You don’t have a bed?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You can share with me. I don’t mind.”

His voice was calm, and the easy confidence in his tone made it harder to refuse. The idea of lying beside him, wrapped in the same warmth, sent a spark of heat to your cheeks, but you nodded.

“Okay, if it’s not too much trouble,” you mumbled.

“No trouble at all.”

As you walked over and carefully slipped into the bedroll beside him, you were acutely aware of every inch between your bodies—or rather, how little space there was. His arm brushed against yours, and though it was a small touch, it felt electric. The soft sound of his breathing became more pronounced as the night settled in.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost a whisper in the dark.

“Yeah, I think so,” you replied, though your heart was racing.

After a few moments of quiet, Kinich shifted slightly, turning to face you. The faint moonlight allowed you to see the outline of his features—his eyes flicking between yours, as if searching for something.

“It’s kind of cozy like this,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “I don’t mind sharing, but I didn’t expect it to feel...this nice.”

Your breath hitched. Was that a compliment? The way his eyes softened, the way his voice sounded—there was a warmth behind it, one that made the air between you feel heavier.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice just as soft. “It’s not so bad.”

Kinich’s hand, previously resting by his side, shifted closer to yours. Slowly, almost cautiously, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. The touch lingered, and then his hand fully intertwined with yours. It was a simple gesture, but it felt so intimate in the stillness of the night.

“You’re warmer than I thought,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re…really warm too,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the space between your faces feeling smaller and smaller. His gaze flickered to your lips before returning to your eyes. He hesitated, as if weighing his next move.

And then, in a bold, smooth motion, he pulled you gently into his arms, your bodies pressed together beneath the covers. His warmth surrounded you completely, and you could feel his breath on your skin, sending little shivers down your spine.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his lips close to your ear.

You swallowed, your heart racing even faster now. “Yeah…this is fine.”

Kinich’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his touch gentle yet firm. It felt natural, the way your body fit against his, as if you had both been waiting for this moment. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, his warmth seeping into you, and it was impossible to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his closeness.

The night passed with the two of you wrapped in each other’s arms, and though nothing more was said, the tension lingered in the air, charged with an unspoken understanding.

You fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, a gentle rhythm that promised the night would be full of dreams.

A/n: guess who still haven't done their science homework! :3 (me.)

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ ✰ do not repost, translate, plagiarize, use to train ai, or share my work on other social media platforms.

[jolalibrary]

in my room

javier peña x f!reader | masterlist

summary: Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.

wordcount: 6.2k (im so sorry, this was meant to be short)

warnings: explicit. smut + angst. colleagues who fuck for stress relief. grumpy-ish javi. file room shenanigans. unprotected p in v. oral!f receiving, mention of m!receiving. javi’s hand being a necklace. cum eating (by Javi), mild rough sex? mentions of grief (due to canon-compliant death), season two compliant/spoilers for season two. javi has a filthy mouth. joetics (jo and her poetic nature, credit to @/goodwithcheese for the name), no use of y/n but javi calls you princesa/baby.

an: dedicated to javi-edit-anon, hope you're doing okay.

It begins swarmed in grief.

A chest full of conflicting emotions, fingers itching for another smoke. It is all put into motion by the same person who became the catalyst—the match to the flame, the cause of the inferno.

He doesn’t usually wander around the building. But, today was a lot of firsts. Jaw clenched. Fingers digging into his palm at the memory, the realisation—the fucking play-by-play—of how he’d been played, fucked over, used.

Now, he’s left riddled with the knowledge that he’d lost a friend a few hours ago because of something he did. The understanding of it rusting in his stomach, right next door to the place disgrace is building a home where his gut had been.

He’s not thinking, not seeking—a desperation to run and hide, yet has nowhere to go.

And then he comes across you.

Finds you in the hallway like you were sent to save him. To pull him out of the water, pump the liquid from his lungs and smother the flames from burning his skin.

The two of you having stopped, paused in your travels.

Just two isolated shadows in the middle of the corridor—an invisible line being drawn, a noticeable white mark—backlit by sorrow and emptiness.

You don’t tear your eyes from him. Stubborn, even on your loss. Purposefully, intentionally, holding his gaze across the empty corridor.

Usually, you're so put together he feels contempt at how you seem unfazed at being surrounded by the shit they all have to do daily. But now, you look every bit as undone as him—shirt untucked, sadness stitched into your usually tight, rigid frame.

The only thing similar is the way you look at him, just like you did when the hours ticked on during those late nights you were forced to work together.

Files opened, documents scoured. Two eyes fairing better than one in their search. The toe of your shoe tapping against his desk, your fingers circling the rim of your mug full of coffee (never liquor, only coffee), pen clicking and clicking—

It had been Carrillo who had paired the two of you. Handing him a task, a surname—one Javi hadn’t heard—and the option of an extra pair of hands: you’ll see she’s good, and we don’t want her poached.

Then, he’d laid eyes on you.

You who’d he’d seen around, but never the chance to talk to. Had no reason to. You forever moved in any direction but the one he was heading in whenever he came into sight. That had been well over a month ago, weeks now.

In that time, he learnt your snark, your laugh—the way you take your coffee and your petulance for sugar after 8 pm—all proper in how you handle yourself, like royalty.

It’s then he learned that you hated being called princesa. Lips curling when it dripped from his lips, back straightening—all close to fracturing, snapping. So naturally, he called it you more.

It became—like the rest of it—a habit. He dropped the name as easily as he began pushing some of his shit to the side for you, so you had a space, a small corner of his desk you could commandeer when you joined him.

It didn’t mean anything. A thing be recited, thought to himself as he buried himself inside Gabriela—who looked nothing like you.

Then, a week ago, you were already there before he got back. The soles of his shoes had come to a standstill at the top of the steps, staring at the back of you—taking you in.

There was no need to see your face, Javi knew that you knew he was there. Not saying a thing when he seated himself down, the same way he didn’t with each tap of your shoes’ toe against the metal frame and you bit the end of your pen. He’d decided weeks ago, when you wore a shirt you felt the need to undo two buttons off, that if you weren’t paired with him to torture him, he wasn’t sure what else you were sitting next to him to test him for. But he’d find out, work it out.

Then you cracked it—found it, the anomaly, the name, a connection. A semblance of something in a sea of shit. A straw to grasp, to pull—your lips, likely stained from coffee and ink, twisting into a grin, one he couldn’t help but admire.

“¿Cómo?”

Pulling a face, he had only shrugged, feeling you watch him, answering with a, “You’re good.”

“You just realised? You just notice I got tits, too?”

Leaning back in his chair, he shifts his jaw to the side. Watching you stack papers before holding his stare, letting you see him flick his eyes from yours to your lips. Suddenly all unsure how to even begin telling you that he’d noticed you—had done so since they were all forced into this fucking building.

But you’d caught him, snapped him in plain sight with those beautiful eyes of yours. “Resorting to kissing colleagues now. Fucking whores not doing it for you, Peña?”

He had smirked, wider, but it had been tough. Leaning forward, he traced his bottom lip with his thumb. “You heard about that.”

Nodding, you’d smiled—cockily, full of something other than kindness. “Half the women will be lining up if they think you have free time.”

“But not you?”

Then, you’d stood, head tilted, files in the neatest pile compared to the rest of his desk, as you rolled your lips. “No. Not me. Goodnight, Peña.”

That exchange had been before things had gone to shit.

Before his cock had undone it all, left several people dead and the person who’d paired you together, gone. Taken—leaving a widow and children without a father.

Snorting, he focuses on clearing his throat as he replays it all. How much of a fever dream it all feels, his other hand pinching his thigh as he stares at you studying him, not scurrying off like he half expects.

And the fact you don’t makes his fingers itch at his side.

A part of him, suddenly stronger than all other parts, battles to move closer to you—like he needs to see what your mouth feels like on his. Like he’s been without his fill. It’s why even as much as he wants you to close the gap, he doesn’t move. Wants you to have an out—an escape.

A chance to choose whether you want to wake up with regret. Because even he knows sleeping with him ends in two ways, and shame is usually one of them.

“You should go inside your room.”

But of course you don’t. Instead, it’s the soles of your shoes on the floor that get louder, closer.

“Do you want me to, Peña?”

It’s building, rising. His eyes trailing up and down you, mouth chewing his tongue as he gets another taste of liquor, as he finally lets his gaze land back on yours.

“You want me to walk away from you?”

No. It’s final. Gruff. More spat out than said—laced with failure and remorse—but you hear him. Loud and fucking clear.

So much so, your lips twist up, smirking more devilish than he knows what to do with. “Good.”

It’s quick—you’re quick. Yanking him close as he forces you flush against him. His mouth crashes, steals and takes as his lips sear themselves to yours. And he learns, quickly, you’re not soft, but biting.

You are all jagged sweetness that throws a curve ball in how he knows how to handle this. You. Your lips taste of sadness, tears and liquor, all cheap—so very unlike what he imagines for you—and you make a knot tighten in his core as your palm flattens over his hardening cock in his jeans.

“You tested?” he asks, hand cupping your jaw, tilting your eyes up, pulse racing against his wrist—skin warm, scorching.

“Are you!?” you spit, and he almost snorts until your fingers knot in the base of his hair, pulling, likely hoping it hurts.

And it does.

Makes him groan—but he’s quick to smother it in the back of his throat. Flatten it, hide and conceal. Getting his answer for an exchange of your own.

“We should go inside my room,” you say in response to him, pulling down on him, Javi finding he bends with far too much ease as his ear finds itself close to your lips, “I’m not quiet when I’m enjoying myself.”

Twisting you, he flattens your back to his chest, rough, hearing you breathlessly laugh. “You know what you’re doing, baby, huh?”

And you’re silent, brain whirring as he begins walking you, till your chest is almost against your door.

Open it, he whispers, watching your hand dig for the key, his mouth latching to your neck, swirling a circle on your skin, tasting lingering perfume and sweat as he grips your waist.

“Last chance.”

He hears you laugh, low, buried somewhere in your throat just as the door unlocks, all loud, cutting through the silence other than both of your racing breaths. It’s why, he supposes, his words echo in his stare as you turn your head. Rolling your lips. It's all so reminiscent of the stare you gave him at the foot of his desk—but this time, you collide your mouth with his.

Not leaving—not doing anything except turning in the space between your door and him. Those nails, the ones that tapped now scrape across his hair, burying, carding, as you lightly pull on strands—forcing a groan to bury itself in your throat, find a new home, live there.

It's quick, practically animalistic the way he sheds your layers—baring you, finding (unsurprising) that even in misery you still match. His fingers run over it on your hip, rolling his lips, the tip of his tongue swiping across as he admires, as he steals a second to commit you to his mind.

Because he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to again.

“Last chance,” you echo.

Repeating his words, using them against him. Flicking the fabric against your skin, he snorts and he flips you. Sharply telling you to get on your bed, all-fours—bend over, hermosa.

“This how you pictured it at your desk?”

He barely registers your words until he’s behind you, bare, hand sliding between your thighs as he smirks at the noise you make. How you take him, all the way up to his knuckles—his free hand stroking himself to the in and out his other hand sets, desperation mixing with a need to forget—for a moment peace from thinking, existing, being.

And you’re drenched. Practically desperate. Hips moving with his movements and strokes, the air tinged with the littlest whimpers before replacing his fingers with the head of his cock, dragging it, skating it spitefully over your slick folds.

That’s when it meets his ears, those distinct words—ones he doesn’t know will haunt him just yet—I want to feel you inside me, Peña.

It unlocks something—floods him. Taking in a breath before he glides in, burying himself in you, right to the hilt, going deep.

He revels in your tightness. The way you gasp at the feel of him—fingers digging, scrunching them into your sheets, before he wrenches you up off your hands, needing your back flush with his—a move he realises, painstakingly, he’s done before.

Softening his palm anchored on your hip, lips pressing to your jaw—the other hand busy feeling, enjoying, basking in how you swallow against his palm on your neck.

“You like that, princesa?”

You moan as his hips snap, taking him so well, so perfectly—a thing he tells you, a rush of good girl, good princesa taking me like this. And he expects a bite, a flurry of insults—an exchange that would mean this would shift from stress relief to hate fucking.

But it never arrives. Instead, it’s a barrage of chants, all yes, please, yes, painting the shitty room—giving the crumbling paint something to be disgusted at, other than its own despair. The metal legs of the bed squeal against the floor, the headboard hammering, and cluttering, leaving a mess of years of repainting along the cheap flooring.

“Take me so well. Y’know that?”

Fingers just above your collarbone, pressing, feeling your head resting on his shoulder, eyes seeking his, determined to locate them and take something from him for it. He lets you. Briefly, just enough.

“Harder, Peña,” you hiss, shoving it out through clenched teeth, blinking, breaking the eye line.

“Javi,” he hisses deep into your ear, hand sliding down between your thighs—above where the two of you are joined.

Thumb expertly swirling, tracing the letters of his name against your throbbing clit—the sound of his cock fucking into you growing louder, sloppier. Arm thrown around your waist, feeling the way your skin is sheened in sweat, practically a mess from head to fucking toe, all because of him. Crown slid, shattered in a thousand parts across the floor, because of him.

A realisation that almost nears him to the edge, to bursting, to emptying inside your perfect fucking pussy and stuffing you full of him.

Teeth gritted together, jaw tight as he peers at the place your bodies join—watching, in admiration, as you take him, suck him in, barely let him able to leave your tight pussy as your heart hammers against his forearm.

“When I’m doing this to you,” he grunts, teeth pinching at your ear, your hand gripping his wrist—thumb still swirling, the A and V being a favourite from the way you clench around him tighter, and tighter, “You call me Javi.”

It undoes you. It ripples and then bursts through you—clenching all around him, tightening, squeezing him until his vision blurs and your name curls somewhere on his tongue, all set to be spat, spoken, even fucking whispered. Somehow able to swallow it when it unfurls through him, when it shoots up his spine and surges through every nerve and muscle.

The two of you collapsing against the shitty mattress, the squealing bed, as you turn in his grasp—lips finding his, burying words against him, only soft murmurs finding his ears.

He’s hard to avoid.

More so, when a part of you wishes to be a puzzle—a thing he cannot crack. Something that would take time to understand and figure out. Because then you’d be interesting, layered, something that could matter.

All of which, you suspect he knows when he kisses you after having his face buried before your thighs, tongue saturated in you, now licking into your mouth.

There’s something truthful in it, in the way his palm cups your entire jaw and chin, holding you, keeping you rooted for a few moments before you taste yourself on his tongue and can take note of what he’s done to you. For you.

Except, you don’t meet his eyes. Somehow fearful the space between your thighs has spilled all your secrets to him. Because he’s a connoisseur, likely gifted in being able to decipher the text on your inner walls. Hooked nose dragging along your slick core before coming up for air and seeing how ordinary you were, how boring, how average. He’s likely traced the pads of his fingers over the etchings of all the things that haunt your mind, the things that thrum and go bump in the fucking night.

But he comes back. Again, and again.

And you can't understand why.

You don’t ask either. Instead, you bury any of that against his tongue, and when it’s desperate to come out, a wish to ask him, you instead choose with fluttering lashes and parted lips if you can suck his cock. If he can fuck your throat, if he can stuff you full in one end before the other—

Words can’t escape if your tongue is occupied.

A thing harder to do in the day-to-day. As things around the place return to normal—other priorities sweep over and make people forget their sadness.

It’s why you’re not avoiding him, but you haven’t sought him out.

Too afraid of what you’ll confess when you’re not on your knees. A simple softening of his brown eyes almost forces words to rip up your throat and colour the air.

It won’t do any good. No words will. Not after waking again entangled in an empty sheet. All evidence of his presence gone except the littering of bruises on your hips and thighs and the mess between your legs.

It’s easier, less complicated to keep it like this—a thing you tell yourself as you brush your teeth and wash the leftover tang of him from your mouth.

Stress release, an undoing, an antidote to sadness and a bandage that allows you a moment to heal. You don’t judge him, because he doesn’t judge you either—not the first time, the second or the tenth. Because like recognises like—eyes deciphering how you’re not that different from him.

On the surface, you may pretend to be. Layer secrets and annoyances on top of the other, until it slips into something perfect—a mask, one that any of them can’t peer through and see that you see them all. Because working here is more than hard, it’s more than difficult and often rough.

It’s mornings with your forehead resting on your door wondering if you have it in you and moments alone in dark corners silently wiping away tears.

Most people don’t see your brain, your skills all too quickly forgotten, discarded on the same bit of paper the rest of your history lived when you approached for the role.

You reckon he sees you.

Not because you hoped for it—or because of some teenage fantasy. But, because of the way he looked that night at his desk. Not surprised, but confused as to why you were mainly pushing paper, why you weren’t based where he was, doing what he does. All questions you’ve asked yourself late at night, when your mind doesn’t stop ticking, stop whirring.

You suspect he ticks too. Another thing in common.

While he may have begun his dalliances to gain words, secrets, and stories, you have come to recognise it’s more than that. You know he knows all the names of them—likely lingers in their room. Offering them more than a good time and some money, but something he seeks from them too—companionship, a moment where he’s not DEA and rather something akin to a lover.

From the way he holds himself, Javi doesn’t think he shares that information. But it rolls from him in constant waves when he lights another smoke and drowns his throat in whatever is in his mug. He likes to think he’s effortless and austere, all too weighed down, while being complex, brilliant and wonderful.

It’s why you had wanted to fuck him. Why you had fucked him.

Because, objectively, he is beautiful. All soft in places and firm in others; he has scorching eyes and can offer searing touches. But, under all of that is what made heat blossom up your spine and commanded your thighs to press together for relief.

The way he thinks. The way he shifts his jaw from side to side and traces his finger down the length of his nose. It’s the way he holds himself when he doesn’t have to hold himself at all that makes you want him.

As it makes you feel less alone.

Less like an oddity in how you need to carve your nails into something. Your palm, other people’s flesh; wood, your sheets. All of it just so you become grounded, so there was pain, so there were feelings, so you didn’t float off or drown in a sea of mistakes, regrets and guilt.

It was a combination of both that floating and drowning as to why it happened that first time.

It had been a simultaneous tangling of limbs, a battle, a war both of you attempted to claim—a fight with your mouths, thighs, hands, tongues and bodies. Only stopped when you were both slick with sweat, the tops of your thighs coated with him and your breaths laboured. Your ear to his chest, hearing it—the way he beats, the way he lives. How blood rushes through him, all alive, real, not a fabrication.

Now, though, it’s different.

The grief is lessoned, yet you still find yourself pretending it's as rife as that first night.

A compromise, an opportunity to pretend that’s the reason the two of you do this. When in truth, the reason you don’t judge him, is because you too use sex to feel something. Needed it to claim something, prove something to yourself—that you’re desirable, attractive and fucking wanted. That you’re more than a sharp tongue and a brilliant mind, more than compliments through your way that never land—

That you’re worthy of being fucked to the point you cannot walk straight.

And, he does that so well, twists you, bends you—makes your ears ring with how attractive you are, how good you are, how perfect. A sin that rages a storm in his dreams and a thought he can’t silence.

So you avoid him. Fearful that you no longer wish to feel worthy of being fucked, but be worthy of being fucked by him.

And then he finds you instead.

Palm shoving open the file room door, all loud, like an announcement, before he lets it click into place. Allowing the air to tighten, to squeeze—all so thickening—before he’s charging, so much so the breath is knocked from your lungs with far too much ease when he flattens your back to the wall. The dust blowing from the shelves next to you from the sudden movement, the room quaking, shaking and fucking trembling as his brown eyes flick from one eye to the next.

As though he’s seeking something out.

Some truth, perhaps? A reason, a rhyme.

He splays his fingers across your hip, a hiss trying to escape from your pursed lips as your body threatens to betray you—wishing to curl into him, feel him flush, all warm and easy to escape to. Then, the other finds a home on the wall beside your head, no place to move to, to go—not that you fucking want to.

“I don’t fuck in file rooms, Peña.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. All well-versed, practically a library of quick retorts. “Where do you fuck then? Just your room?”

Surrounded by him, in all the ways that could torture. Nose smothered in the scent that is unabashedly him; eyes unable to look anywhere but him. Slowly, bothersomely, he begins to easily unpick the carefully placed resolve, practically cracking through like it was made of paper and not woven each night as you attempt to stop thinking about him.

Sometimes, it’s easier to think about him.

To snake your hand inside your underwear and ride your fingers with how much you loathe how good he feels. His name is both a curse and a fucking blessing on the tip of your tongue when you come—heat licking up your spine, washing you in something you suspect should be a shame.

But it never is.

Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.

Instead, you leave that, fold it up, and make it as small as it can be, before you undress for him. Then you fixate on his eyes, on the darkness, the way his pupils swallow the colour you know all the flecks off. You stare, because you hope to see yourself in them—an outline, a shadow, evidence of living, remaining, not chipped away until you’re just stiff work attire and coffee. Something, anything—

Especially when you’re bare. When he stares at you like you’ve been carved for him, by him. When he makes you feel weightless and also like you are never allowed to be anywhere but right here.

It’s an illusion though. A trick of your mind—a delusion where want, need and hope all blend into a concoction that is sold in pink bottles and smells like fruit.

Lifting your chin, you want to chill your eyes and harden your expression. Neither happens.

You’re thrown from your axis, deep brown managing to shroud you, make your mind empty, clear.

“We don’t have to fuck,” he continues, letting it slide from his tongue—slither out, practically hissing. “There’s plenty of ways I can make you moan.”

“I’m sure there is. You’ve paid for the practice, after all.”

His chuckle does nothing to stem the fire—the one out of control somewhere in the pit of your stomach. Clothes suddenly uncomfortable on your skin, your earlier standpoint waning, thinning to the point of transparency.

“Yeah, but I bet you’ve been getting off to thoughts of me—us. How fucking good we are,” he retorts.

Your face blanks, and you hope it’s unreadable.

Because you already have witnessed how skilful he is. Had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing him hold his desk phone since, how he grips his gun, marvelling at the memory of how his fingers feel inside of you, both long and thick. How they engulf yours, practically able to grasp both your wrists in his one hand if he wishes.

But, from the glint in his eye, he’s seen you. Already solved you—cracked you.

“You only had to ask, princesa. Would never leave you wanting.”

You snarl. And it’s that which forces your lips to crash against his, steal more lines from his tongue and tease his mind. Ridding him for once, shaking him empty as your hands clutch the sides of his cheeks. Thankful, more than you care to fucking admit, that his tongue slides past your lips, moves past the back of your teeth—accompanied, and wrapped with it, a groan that vibrates down to your oesophagus.

Bodies pressed together, his mouth slanting over yours as though he’s been wishing to do this for as long as you have. Dizzying, heart-stopping—that’s what kissing him feels like. That’s what indulging feels like.

“I don’t like you.”

Smirking, he runs it over your swollen lips, traces his confidence over your mouth. “Your pussy does though.”

His hand moves, snakes between the two of you—fingers proficient, unwavering from their mission—undoing your trousers, zip sliding down, cutting between the silence as your mouths part, lips ghosting, breaths twisting together in the small gap.

The space is filled with a moan when his hand slides inside your underwear, fingers brushing the delicate nerves that make his name illuminate in your head like it’s been spelt out in light—in candles.

“See? Soaked. Drenched, aren’t you, princesa?”

Your head spins, legs weaken. Body betraying you as it rocks against his movements, curling, craving—desperate and hungry. Because you knew it would be good, that he’d be good. There’s no smoke without fire, and there’d be no discussion over shitty baked cake and decent coffee about his skills if he weren’t best-in-class.

“So fuckin’ needy for me, aren’t you?”

It’s there, ebbing on your tongue, yes, yes yes.

And fuck, you didn���t have him down to be like this. To have you at his mercy, practically dumbfounded, his name and a yes the only things you know, think or say. It falls, rolling from your tongue before his lips busy yours. Kissing you as if he’s starved, as if he wishes to coat his tongue in the way you moan against him—his hand getting slicker, coated in your faux hatred and practised indifference that holds no weight now.

Because you want him. Would gladly let him spin you around and, press your face against a case file box and kick your legs apart. You’d beg for it, want him to hold your hands behind your back as he spears his cock in and out of you, not giving a single fuck that someone could come in—

“Stop thinkin’ about what I could do to you, and more what I am doing to you.”

His eyes on you, blown, full of lust and shimmering with a desire that embeds into your skin until it reaches a whole new temperature. Your tongue is heavy and thick, as your throat struggles to swallow.

If anything, it proves he can listen—just to what he wants. And apparently, that is you. Making it flicker, it suddenly impending, slamming itself onto the track with a focus on its station.

“Think y'like being naughty and letting me do this here.”

Your nerves ablaze, legs quaking as your trousers slide a little further past your knee, pooling at your ankles—his breath dancing across your neck and little hairs.

In vengeance, you nip at his lips, charming kisses that leave him chasing—breaths tangling, teeth biting your bottom lip as you tilt your head. But, he’s resilient, unwavering, hand all but burning inside your underwear, fingers rough, middle and trigger finger calloused and pressed against your swollen nerves as you dig your toes into your shoes so you don’t unravel.

So he doesn’t get to have this so easily.

He knows.

You know he does. Likely knows your brain is firing, tension building, muscles all but quaking in faux-determination. Just barely present to hear what he whispers, but you know it pushes you over.

Gently guides you over the edge as your hips still, throat hoarse as it whispers moans, falling, descending from you as you quickly lose control. He makes you feel alive, full of electricity—blood pumping in your ears as he tastes the way you moan his name. Waves hammering against you, suddenly needing to crash, and they do, they do—

“Fuck, I love making you come.”

His chest rising and falling, pebbled sweat on his brow as he retracts his hand, offers a finger to you—finding you wrap your mouth around it, basking in how he says you’re his good girl.

You suppose that’s why he ends up at your base door past midnight—a silent exchange, a non-verbal promise.

Him and you. You and him.

A brown bag in hand; corruption and a need to not sleep present in his eyes. Drinking you in, lingering his eyes up and down your frame—a sheet clutched against your chest.

You suspect he knows that under this thin fabric, its lace, all ready to be snapped, thrown into some corner, the places they sat covering replaced by the wet expanse of his mouth.

It’s why you let him in, mouth conjoining to his, hearing the door slam behind him as you ruck the leather from his shoulders, down his arms, floor.

“He estado pensando en ti toda la noche.”

A part of you knew he’d come—sensing it. Dressing for the occasion, sliding the lace into place.

Because you know him as much as he understands you.

It’s why you smile, if only to yourself, when he spreads your thighs, coats his cock in your want, and sinks deep into you, rectifying all that is wrong, groaning into your neck as you feel thankful for being full again.

He shouldn’t think you’re a vision, but he does.

Javi learned it quickly, but ignored it at a speed faster than that. Not wanting to be in awe, not wanting to allow himself the chance to think of himself worthy of it.

Except, he’s forever salivating for more of you—desperate for another chance to taste, to hear how your whimpers sound, feel the way your fingers card through his hair, gripping, twisting, pulling.

If someone asked him, he’d confess it on his knees that it’s all he’s thought about. The way your nails feel, how your skin feels. The noises—fuck, the noises you make—and the way your eyes glisten, shimmer, bloom and explode with fucking desire.

“Javier…”

I know, he soothes. The sheet ripped from between the of you, discarded, removed from play as your fingers work his buttons open—more and more skin appearing until he can feel the warmth of your body, your tits against him, nipples peaked as the back of your legs meets the bed.

He’s surprised at the ease you fold for him. Dragging him down, and then you’re under him. Obedient, waiting, needy. He knows it. You know it.

Just like it’s probably obvious that you make him want. That he’s ticking, watching you, unable to tear his eyes away, more so since the other night. Your face close, eyes on the file, cogs turning, brain firing on all cylinders—and when you’d slid your eyes over, he hadn’t been able to not drop his sight to your lips.

The same way he suspects you hadn’t been able to fight doing the same yourself.

It’s why he fucks you with an increased pace, skin slapping, moans more deranged than usual. The drenched fabric between your legs pushed to the side as he drags moan from your lips, wringing them out, stuffing them into some cabinet in his mind that he only opens when he can’t have this, you, writhing, squirming as he fills you to the brim, stuffs you.

“Gotta taste you.” His tongue slides a line down your breastbone, eyes on you, fixated, waiting. “Can I?”

He’s fucking grateful that you nod. Moving, sinking to his knees on the hard floor of your base room—cock hard, dripping, all but throbbing and practically fucking angry. Fingers teasing the fabric, his mouth latching, lace and the taste of him and your desire singeing on his tongue.

And you’re heavenly—a rolling thought which appears as he licks, hearing you react, capturing it all, pocketing it.

Waiting, and waiting, until he feels it—you carding your nails through his hair, tracing lines you likely already suspect others have walked themselves. He wonders if you’re thinking it must be nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary for him, except it was, is.

Because it’s you, they were your fingers—your nails. The ones that type up his reports these days because he can’t type for shit, now typing a story into his scalp, leaving a tale for him to decipher when he tried to sleep later.

He doesn’t look up, too fearful of the sight that he’ll find and never be able to rid of. He keeps his head buried between your thighs, focused, panties still hooked on one thigh, hanging there, pointless and occasionally catching on his palm as he grasps and squeezes your leg. All focused, moving his tongue, working it on you, in you, as though attempting to sort out a kink in the chain—attempting to unravel you in the same way he has done others.

Except, Javi learns, you’re not like them. You’re not something linear, you’re not easy to understand, and there’s no transaction at the end. You’re more than a concept, more than a thing he can undo and figure out just with his tongue, but fuck, he’s sure you would let him try—or at least, he hoped you would.

Right now, he’s enamoured with a task that he finds more rewarding than asking: making you come.

Tongue sinking in, tasting you, coating all of his mouth that he can with you as your hips buck into his face. Nails all perfectly manicured and in a lighter shade than when it was wrapped around his cock last week, drag through his hair. The air punctured with his name—all Javi and Javier’s, not Peña’s and Putas.

He wonders as he spells it on your bundle of nerves, whether you feel it too. This thing—this pulsating, breathing, existing thing that is there all on its own.

A click of his jaw when you laugh at someone else; a flex of his fingers when he finds you in the heart of danger.

Javi reflects—thinks.

But then it goes, fades from mind like dust when you tug on him to move closer, so close your thighs are trembling—likely dangling on the edge of release.

“Need your cock, Javi.”

He doesn’t think about feelings, emotions or the flame he carries for you again—not until you’ve left, leaving him alone, sated, the memory and scent of you being all he has.

The base of his palm presses against his forehead, kneading, cigarette billowing in his other hand because it’s all a fucking mess. From the fact that the fantasy has turned into a reality; the dream has coloured itself until it has become true.

He knew this was real, not concocted by some blackened part of his imagination looking for an escape because you say his name more sweetly than you do in his reverie.

It’s a secret—not known, a thing kept unseen. His walls and sheets know, but not a living soul. And he suddenly wants to change that. Says so much as he moans that you’re mine.

Eyes widening as they stare down at him, hands poised on his chest, hips steadying as you remain seated—filled with him, tits slowly not bouncing.

So he repeats it, “You’re mine.”

No question, no ask.

Watching you swallow, painted in yellow-light which makes the sweat shimmer like glitter.

Rolling your hips, you hold his gaze, consider it, likely question your own goddamn sanity. But then you say it:

“Yours, Peña. I’m yours.”

And he knows he liked it. More than he’ll ever admit. Coming so hard and so quick inside of you once your mouth has twisted into an O and your nails have branded lines into his chest. Hearing it, over and over as he spills into you, relishes in it.

It’s only after, when Javi runs his knuckles along the underside of his jaw, thoughts populating, appearing and popping like balloons, he realises he doesn’t just like it.

It’s more than that.

And that’s why, more than he likely should, he wished he’d asked you to stay. To remain beside him. Let him hold you and make your morning a little better.

Javi could ask. Could half-dress and hammer his fist on your door.

But he doesn’t.

There’s always next time, though.

an: grins wickedly, thought i'd try something new.

[528-hotline]

ignoring safe words with matthew 🤭🤭 just asadcssf

also can i be 🍓 anon of its free?

ignoring safe words. with matthew !

warnings | dubcon, rough sex, watersports, squirting, piss, dumbification, dacryphilia, overstimulation, choking, creampie, ignoring safe words … literal filth :3

word count | 700+

a/n 💌 oh my… well you came to the right person 🫨 yes you can be 🍓anon !! i hope this isn’t too much for you cuz i’m definitely not a sane seokryu… hehe the writing in here is not due to self indulgence, really…. (lies!!) after he kept on posting hot shit even if i was gone here, i think this drabble made it clear that i’m NAWT okay. 😁 my thoughts will stop here i’m sorry hehe (^^) i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

DARK CONTENT ahead ! read with caution (18+ only)

“look at you, my dumb pretty baby… all pathetic and stupid over my cock…”

you were all sprawled on matthew’s bed, legs hanging on his shoulders, thighs quivering from sensitivity and overstimulation. it’s already the fourth round and matthew doesn’t have intentions to stop at any second. the longer he rams into your pussy, the pleasure slowly turned into pain overtime.

“m-matt, red! red! please!” you close your thighs from the overwhelming and mixed sensations you have been feeling throughout as you try to push away his pelvis away.

“nonono baby… open your goddamn thighs…your stupid pussy wanted this, right?” he coos at you as his strong arms pries away your thighs, spreading you apart, having a complete view of your cum-drenched pussy from earlier. the sight added more fuel to the flame as he carries your thighs, bringing it to his arms, his thrusts going deeper and faster. “your pussy feels so good, can’t get enough…”

“red, matthew! please, red! ‘m gonna pee, please l-let me!” you yelped, looking away from matthew as you cried in tears, fighting the pain away as he continuously pounds your poor, overstimulated pussy.

he lets go of your thighs just to grab your jaw with one of his hands, looking at your puffy eyes, eyes all reddened from crying. as his other hand lands on your clit, pinching and rubbing the slippery, reddened bud between the pad of his calloused fingers.

you squealed at the action, pain and pleasure hiking up at the same time, making you cry out loud as tears fall down your flushed cheeks. matthew licks one of your tears away with his tongue, he then chuckled evilishly from your response. you were scared and aroused at the same time. “look at me… i’m gonna fuck this pussy till you’re too dumb to even walk, you’ll like that, right? yes, of course you fucking do…” his hand travels down to your shoulder, pushing you back into the sheets agressively and proceeds on choking your neck.

“nonono, red! please– matt, it hurts! p-please! wanna– shit!” your voice almost strained as you tried to speak before you were all out of breath. speechless, you were only able to let out soft cries, thighs shaking uncontrollably from holding your bladder and the pleasure from matthew repeatedly hammering your pussy with his cock and playing with your clit. his actions made you weaker than ever, succumbing under his control, realizing that resisting was no use because he’s too strong. comparing matthew to you, you were already used up like a ragged doll.

“your dumb pussy wants a release, hm? gonna give you what you want, yeah? you fucking cockslut…” he coos at you, shaking your head in response even if you knew it was no use on stopping him. matthew lets go of your neck and your clit, pulling your thighs even closer his cock, sinking even deeper. he knew he reached your sweet spot when you gasped and by arching your back. he smirked to himself, as he decides to thrust in to that certain spot continuously, thrusting into you in an animalistic pace. a high pitched moan came out of your mouth as you grab on to the sheets, your knuckles turning into white. your bladder was already holding on to a thread and a knot in your stomach snapped when matthew did one last sharp thrust out of you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—! agh!” you gasped out, your back arched, your eyes rolling back, reaching your high once again. jets of piss landed all over his abs and torso as your hips quiver from releasing both your cum and piss all over him. you felt numb all over and your brain all scrambled up from the feeling of pain and pleasure altogether. matthew throws his head back, groaning, feeling his warm cum shooting inside your walls. he finally pulls out his cock, his cum flowing out of your pussy, as both of your liquids mixed, seeping into the drenched sheets.

“that’s it… piss all over me baby…” your warm piss still flowing out uncontrollably while he slaps and run his cock all over your poor pussy until you’re all emptied out.

“ngh… no more, please…!” you hiccuped, all empty and passed out. matthew hovers your spasming body, trying to recover from the overstimulation that he has caused, giving your neck with peppery kisses.

“i hear you baby, but expect to be wrecked like this all over again.”

[bakugou-jpg]

⊹ Past never dies | Touya Todoroki/Dabi ⊹

Request: Ayee! Can i request a scenario for Dabi with a female s/o who is a hero. They were childhood friends, till they were like 16, until dabi left and became a villain. Dabi never clicked in, except for y/n who was his only and best friend. They used to have feelings for each other and Dabi still does since he always had watched over her? by anon.

⤷ -Genre: angst -Characters: touya todoroki/dabi -Tags: light angst, reunion, childhood friends, grief -Word count: 5.9k words -Warnings: violence, blood, vomit, death, abuse [mention] -Author: noelle part of the rewriting series

You were 5 years old when your parents decided to move away from the small town village you had known all your life. With your father's business having grown a whole lot larger over the years, it was only a matter of time before he took it to the bigger cities. A man who had taken his glass shaping abilities to the industrial world rather than the hero one.

From a very young age you had known what path you wished to take. Unlike your father, you had been granted the ability to harden and shape your very own skin with it. As fragile as glass could be, you were determined to proof the world the opposite. To proof the world that your quirk had as much potential as any other.

You were 5 years old when you hid behind the legs of your mother as your parents had taken you to meet your new neighbors. At the time you thought the house you and your parents moved into was big —especially compared to your old one that was. A thought immediately thrown out the window when you first laid eyes on the Todoroki residence. The fact that the head of the household, the number two hero as if he wasn't intimidating enough yet,  watched you like a hawk the minute you stepped foot into their house didn't make it all too better.

At the time they only had three children— Touya the eldest who was the same age as you, Fuyumi who was 4 and Natsuo who was still but a baby at the time. Shouto hadn't even been born yet, Touya still being Endeavour's greatest creation at that moment.

Your mother wanted to you to befriend more children so you'd feel more at home in your new town and what better way but to meet the children next door? Something which didn't take too long as you almost instantly bonded with their eldest son over your shared ambitions. Touya more than eagerly showed off his quirk to you, your eyes immediately widening in amazement upon feeling the warmth of his flames brushing against your cheeks.

He had laughed at you when you had shown him yours, immediately pointing out the fragility of glass. Upon hearing his words you, like any child at that age, did what anyone would do after getting called weak— which was immediately jump him to proof him wrong. Touya, like any child at that age, acted accordingly— gladly returning your sparring to proof himself right.

And just like that, each of you having received a good amount of minor burns and cuts topped off by a good scolding of both your mothers, you had found yourself a new friend. In truth you got along with all the Todoroki siblings at the end of the day, but Touya was the one who you clicked almost instantly with.

At the time you didn't know about what went on behind closed doors. About the both emotional and physical abuse, neglect and the pressure put on those he viewed as an extension of himself rather than their own person. Of course, Endeavour never played the part of a warm loving father and you were aware of the fact Touya had very limited time in which the two of you were allowed to play together, but you hadn't known of the seriousness of it all.

It wasn't around the time the youngest Todoroki sibling was born that you glimpsed into the family's real problems. Around the time that it came to light that Touya's body was made to withstand the dangerously low temperatures of ice like his mother but simply unable to handle the heat of his own quirk.

When Endeavour cast Touya aside to focus on his new successor— the one who would surpass All might. With Shouto possessing both his mother's and father's quirk, Endeavour became obsessed with training the boy into what he viewed to be the perfect hero. Unlike Touya, Shouto's body was able to withstand both ice and fire making him Endeavour's perfect creation.

It was around that time that Touya started his late night journeys to sneaking off to your house. With Endeavour not even granting him as much as a glance anymore, his siblings not seeming to understand and his mother at the edge of madness, Touya had no one. You had been the only one who would listen to him, the only one that seemed to understand the reason for feeling he way he did. After all, becoming a hero was the thing the two of you had bonded over since the very beginning.

It was a silly promise the two of you had made at the time, swearing to one another that you'd become heroes together. Hero agencies right next to each other so you could visit all the time, maybe even a shared one if given the chance. The plans you came up with were never ending— the very last source of hope for Touya who believed the entire world had given up on him. The one who believed he could find a way eventually.

He could always count on you to be there with your comforting words, listening ear and pretty smile to welcome him with open arms. Touya was your very first true friend. The type you genuinely believe you'll grow old with— two 40 year old somethings sitting on your couch with a drink having a laugh while reminiscing on old times. Someone you knew was always gonna be there.

Touya had also been your first heartbreak.

That unexpected Thursday morning in which frantic pounding on your front door woke you and your parents up— an inconsolable Fuyumi and Natsuo barely being able to form words through their sobs and hiccups standing in front of your doorstep to bring you news you hadn't expected to hear for another 60 years in the least.

After all, Touya would grow old with you right? You had so many things planned after all with attending UA together, the hero agencies right next to each other and both being in the top 10 together right? Touya knew that as much as you did, so how could he just go ahead and leave you?

You were only one year away from attending UA,  the very first step towards your dream. One that wouldn't feel complete without him there. For Touya to just go ahead and die right before that..

The image of the closed casket would forever be burned into your retina. His quirk apparently having gone out of control, burning his own body to ashes. There wasn't even anything left to bury, so why had they even bothered getting a casket in the first place? You couldn't help but wonder how scared Touya must've been in his very last moments. How alone.

At times you blamed Endeavour for what happened, believing that the pressure the man put on his family and the abuse he had caused having been the reason Touya was so determined to proof himself even to the point of his own demise.

There were times in which you blamed yourself. Had your naivety been the cause of it all? Had those times in which you spoke of the future together and told him you believed in him, given him false hope? Even though his body couldn't handle his quirk, had you made him believe that maybe if he went all out it could?

The weight of your grief was always present in your heart, every achievement that you had made leaving a bitter taste in your mouth at the thought he would never get that same chance as you. Nor was he there to celebrate it with you. Surely through the years you had come to a point of acceptance, after all death is part of all our lives. It is inevitable and as much as you could never fully let him go, you had found ways to go on with your life.

At the end of the day, you had graduated. Years of hard work having been paid off in fond memories and a hero license in your pocket. At the end of the day it all worked out. Now at 24 years old, you had your fair share of experiences in the hero world already.

You weren't one of the big name heroes, but you still had a handful of fans. Here and there your name had been mentioned on the local news and you had even teamed up with some of the bigger one such as Hawks and, unfortunately, Endeavour. Now having climbed your way into the top 30, you finally allowed yourself to feel some sort of pride for your hard work.

Something which was fast to fade away as you had managed to get yourself cornered by some unnamed criminals you caught causing a ruckus late at night after some drinking. 

Your body was failing you in every possible way. For your quirk to still be somewhat cooperative was a miracle on its own, but with your knees already having succumbed to whatever it had been the tailed man had injected you with, it could only be a matter of time before the rest of your body would follow.

Maybe this was your doomed fate— to die right at the very start of it all, just a few feet away from the starting blocks. Barely having made a name for yourself, the headlines probably wouldn't even give you the recognition you deserved and simply describe you as 'B-tier hero' as the announced your death. The least you could hope for was they'd at least mention you went all out until the very end.

At this point, you weren't even sure what you were fighting for anymore. Was it still the dream of a naive teenager who believed that the life of a hero was exactly as it appeared in the movies? Praised by millions, helping those in need, and never having to worry about expenses?

But all that was washed down the drain when you realized that life was only reserved for those with flashy quirks and big personalities. People like Endeavor, whose heart was as rotten as a corpse left to wither and decay in the open sun. Men like Hawks, who hadn't even gotten a choice but to accept the cruel fate set in stone for them by the Hero Public Safety Commission—a company that did as it pleased.

All Might had been one of the few genuine ones left, but with his fall came the collapse of hero society itself.

You blindly followed the path you had chosen—after all, what other choice was left? At the very least, you hoped to be one of the few good ones remaining, to show what the true meaning of a hero was. That very thought was what kept you going, what helped you get out of bed in the morning.

With that in mind, you groaned through gritted teeth and raised your arms in front of you. Your skin tingled before a thick layer of glass replaced its upper layer. The sharp material extended to the tips of your fingers, hardening and fusing into sharp spears.

Even with all odds against you, you were determined to prove yourself. Pushing yourself up using the spears you'd just created, you struggled to harden your knees to stabilize yourself. Though you were in no shape to take even a few steps forward, perhaps this way, you at least stood somewhat of a chance. The men could only laugh at your pathetic display of courage. Three of them— all still standing and suffering only minor injuries— against you, someone who could barely stand on her own. It was only a matter of time before the rest of your body succumbed to the venom slowly spreading through your veins before giving out.

Seeing you stand again made the bald-headed man raise his tail once more. He could only smirk when he saw you slightly wince at the sight of the stinger, it still dripping a mixture of your blood and poison from the last time it struck you. You couldn't help the hairs in your neck from rising.

"Haven't had enough yet, girly? Can't blame you—"

The stinger whipped back before lashing out your way, its tip shining with beads of poison. It was the last thing you saw before shutting your eyes, arms thrown up to shield your face. Fragile as glass maybe, your very existence was proof it could be much more than that.  

Before you knew it, a wave of screams erupted from the men, followed by an almost incinerating heat slamming into your face. For a moment, it was almost comforting— right until the moment you felt the tips of the spears heat up, to the point the melting heat spread through your entire arm and burned the skin beneath

Had it been Endeavour that came to your aid? 

As quickly as your skin had turned to glass before, as quick it was to turn back. With your arm shielding your face from the heat, you finally managed to peek through your eyelashes. Almost instantly you were blinded by the brightness of the flames before you, the blue sea of fire becoming almost unbearable to stand next to. It was a challenge to be able to make out whoever was the source of the heat— the searing wind almost drying your eyes out. You could only hope the heat hadn't burned your eyelashes and eyebrows off.

It was then that you saw the source of it all—a tall dark haired man standing only a few feet away from you. He had his arm stretched out in front of him, hand open and palm directly pointed towards where the men had been standing whilst his other one was snuggly tucked into his pocket. The power held in just the palm of his hand was enough to fill the entire alleyway with a sea of flames.

He didn't even seem slightly fazed by the fact the three men from before had completely burned to crisp— there ashes falling to the ground as their entire existence had just been wiped off the surface. Even their bones had been completely incinerated.

You couldn't dare move. Whether it had been fear which caused you to freeze up or the fact forming a single coherent thought seemed impossible after what just happened, you weren't sure. You could only watch the man's back— eyes shot wide like a deer caught in headlights. 

For a moment, you had completely forgotten about your knees— until they could no longer bear your own weight. Almost instantly you fell back into the wall, a soft groan rumbling in your throat at the impact before your hand instinctively reached out to the swelling sting mark on your hip. 

The place where the man had stung you started throbbing, the burning sensation in your muscles now spreading throughout your legs. Besides the feeling of your muscles on fire and throbbing, the wound itself had swollen to twice its size from before. You could only hope the infirmary had some sort of antidote lying around for a situation such as this.

Finally the man in front of you lowered his arms, the wave of fire immediately dying down leaving only a few small fires in its wake. Brick walls were covered in black soot, nearby trash containers melted to the ground and you couldn't even begin to describe the smell of burned trash and bodies. The three men from before had been reduced to nothing but a few piles of ash, blowing away in the wind.

"You should've ran."

His husk voice rang— back still turned to you. With the heat gone you could now take a much better look at him than before. He didn't seem like a hero, at least not one that you knew of. His coat was torn in several places, a bad stitching job holding the sleeves together and most of its edges having fire damage. Despite the poor state of his clothes, it was a miracle they managed to only have such minor burns to them.

It wasn't until the man glanced over his shoulder to look at you that you caught a slight peek at his face. Purple scars, presumably caused by his fire, littered his face all the way up to his ears and neck—a collection of messily placed staples holding it all together. You wondered if he still had sensation in those areas; the patches looked so rough and dark you could only assume the skin had died a long time ago.

When the man finally turned on his heel was when you finally got to take a good look at him. The scarred skin seemed to spread across his entire body. There seemed to be more scarred places rather than normal healthy skin. Could his body even withstand his own quirk or had it been someone else's that had caused such severe burns? 

As shocking as his scars had been, it was his piercing blue eyes that locked with your own that almost instantly caught your attention. The very same bright blue in which his flames burned. Almost mesmerizing if it weren't for the fact fear currently settled deep within your stomach.

For any hero, or even civilian, would've been able to figure out who the man was after taking a quick look at him. A face that had been on the news and headlines so many times even children heard of him—and feared him.

It should've been obvious from the very start with how high of a temperature and what color his flames burned. No hero would go so far as to wiping someone's entire existence off the earth within seconds. Despite this, there had been something in you that tried convincing you that perhaps the knight in shining armor that came to your aid was just another hero—maybe even a vigilante.

Not a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Was he here to mock you? Toy with you until the very end? It was embarrassing enough you couldn't help yourself against the other three but looking back you should've been thankful for such a quick end. 

After all, the villain known as Dabi, someone affiliated with the League of Villains, was known for his cruel methods. If it wasn't death by hours of torture, body littered in severe burn marks and clothes melted onto your own flesh— it was death after having been consumed in his sea of flames. In which case you could only hope he left your bones so that people still had something they could bury or identify you by. 

Maybe, just maybe, if you hadn't been in the condition you currently found yourself in you could've stood somewhat of a chance. Not even a chance at victory, that was completely out of the question, but just a mere chance to flee at the slightest opening given. Flee from the fire, flee from him. Even then you were in no shape or form a good match against him— glass had a melting point after all.

Heavy was the sound of boots echoing through the alley as he got closer to you. Not once had he broken eye contact with you ever since your eyes had locked for the first time. Dabi was a man that was hard to read, a villain known for the fact he genuinely did not seem to care about his actions. You couldn't tell if what just happened affected him in any way or whether it was just another day on the clock for him.

You weren't sure whether or not the unsettling heaviness in your stomach and the sweat beading on your forehead were caused by fear or side effects of the poison coursing through your system. Maybe if you were in luck the poison would take you out faster than he would. What seemed like a slow and painful death before, now looked like a merciful one.

"You are no Mirko or Mt lady. Know your limit."

His tone was a condescending one— voice awfully low as he got closer to you.

"W-what the fuck do you want from me..?!"

The words came out lacking every little bit of confidence you would've liked it to have, voice trembling in a way that betrayed the tough facade you had tried to maintain. It was painfully obvious that the act you tried putting on did in no way match the fear that had run your blood cold. You felt like a lamb cornered by a wolf, one who got their pleasure out of seeing the fear of its victims before ripping them to shreds,

Hearing you snap back at him caused him to pause for a moment, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. With the obvious power difference he probably hadn't expected you to still try and bite back at him. For just a moment there was a tiny flicker of hope in you that held onto the thought that maybe, just maybe, you had intimidated him for a moment. A tiny flicker that was immediately dimmed beneath the shit-eating grin that tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Is a man not allowed to perform a good deed once in awhile, miss he-ro?" The last word spoken a little dragged out, the R rolling over his tongue, tainted with mockery. To him you must've been no better than a kid dressed up as a hero for Halloween. A mere joke.

Dabi didn't even seem to consider you a threat as he continued to drag his feet forward, hand stuffed deep into the pockets of his slightly damaged coat. With the way his eyes bore into your own you didn't dare look away, scared he'd be at your throat the minute you would. You weren't even sure whether to be relieved he had yet to make his move or to be even more frightened of that.

A sharp scoff escaped your throat shortly after he finished his sentence. For him to even consider himself a man rather than the monster he had proven himself to be, was as much as a joke to you as your entire existence was to him.

"Working on your good karma now?" 

There was a nauseating feeling slowly spreading through your chest, your insides churning as the internal battle against the poison was starting to get the best of you. Cold sweat began to drip down your face, every fiber of your being screaming for relief as if your organs cried out for help.

You weren't sure whether to focus on him or the rising panic of trying to swallow down the inevitable, desperately trying to stall the moment in which the content of your stomach made its way into your mouth. It was only a matter of time before you'd succumb to the effect of the scorpion man's quirk.

A loud cackle echoed through the alley, the disturbing laughter bouncing off of the charred cement walls. The sound of his voice invaded your eardrums, adding only more discomfort to the already throbbing pain inside your skull.

His hand ran through his hair as he smiled down at you, a visible joy radiating off his face. The further his lips curled upward, the more the staples seemed to strain against the pull of his lips. You wondered what it felt like— whether or not they hurt. Could he feel them pulling at his skin constantly? Did the sharp edges hurt the inside of his mouth? Maybe they felt like piercings to him, no different from the ones in his ears and nose.

"You haven't lost your sense of humor— how wonderful." 

Dabi stopped in front of you, his piercing blue eyes peering down at you as he towered over you. Only then did you realize just how tall he actually was. As if his appearance on its own wasn't already intimidating enough, dead charred skin only being held together by low quality staples of which some were still covered in dried blood.

It was hard to put your full focus on his words as you tried your very best to keep your breath steady. With every second that past the strength to keep your own head up felt like a much bigger challenge than before.

"Such a marvelous hero you've become—"

The man kneeled down in front of you, a grin still very present on his face as his eyes scanned over your face. With a slight tilt of his head, Dabi pressed his lips together into a thin line. The way he was studying you felt almost violating with how close his face was to your own. 

A heavy, stale smell of smoke invaded your nostrils as he got closer. His clothes reeked as if they had marinated all night by campfire, a scent that made you feel strangely nostalgic to your youth. It was the very same smell which Endeavour carried around with him after a long day of work. Though Endeavour's was more subtle, it always lingered in his office.

"—and still as pretty as ever." his husky voice murmured, a small grin spreading onto his face.

Before you could even fully process his words, his fingers were on your face— gently moving the strands of hair that stuck to your sweaty forehead away from your face. His touch was strangely gentle, the skin of his fingers being nowhere as rough as the rest of his exterior. Soft even.

Death was kinder than any man ever would be. To be humiliated at the hands of the cruel, scarred pyromaniac in your final moments was not how you wished to spend your last moments. At this point, even if he planned of mutilating your body beyond recognition, the poison currently having spread through your entire body would take you out long before that.

With that final boost of motivation, you managed to use the last bit of strength your body could offer to activate your quirk at your fingertips. A tingling sensation spready through your skin as it transformed, a glassy layer forming at your finger tips. Tiny claws extended, and in one quick motion, you managed to slash the palm of his hand.

With the current pathetic state you were in you only managed to cut him once before he leaped back, causing you to fall forward. In your life had you never felt so incredibly betrayed by your own body— usually being able to fully transform yourself and now barely having managed to turn your fingers.

Your arms were the only thing currently supporting you, but with the way your muscles were currently twitching you barely even managed to do that. It was a fight against your own body at this point— vision starting to blur the longer you stared down at the ground and your heart hammered against your ribcage, each thump echoing the growing despair of your declining health.

Turquoise eyes widened as they stared at the blood seeping from the palm of his hand, forming a small puddle on the ground. If you had cut just a little deeper, you would have split open his staples, forcing him to endure the hassle of putting himself back together again. The thought made him smirk.

Even in the state you currently found yourself in, you still tried fighting him? Though your quirk might've not been one of the flashiest ones and especially not one that could match his own— yet here you were. Willpower that could rival those in the top 10.

He squeezed his hand, more blood seeping between his clenched fingers before dripping down his wrist onto the ground. In a swift motion, his tongue dragged across his skin licking up some of the blood that stained his skin.  It was then that you noticed a glistening, small metal ball resting on the tip of his tongue now tainted in crimson blood.

A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat, a twisted smirk once again tugging at the edges of his mouth. "My, my— that's no way to greet an old friend, (Y/n)-chan" He taunted, voice laced with mockery.

As hard as it was to focus on your surroundings with your current state, those words had not gone past you— eyes immediately narrowing in response.

It had been quite a few years since your debut as a hero, years in which you faced countless of villains. From street-level pick pocketers to more notorious criminals that had made a name for themselves, you had fought many. However, due the fact you had not been one of the top heroes, you never crossed paths with anyone affiliated with the League of villains— that was until now.

For an organization that hadn't been around long, the League had grown at an alarming rate in the last few months. The Hero Public Safety Commission had their hands full with them, especially after All might's fall. Missions regarding the League were reserved for the top heroes— people like Hawks and Mirko.

Especially someone like him—a man covered in scars from head to toe with flames that rivaled those of Endeavour, would surely be someone engraved on your memory. Even if you had encountered him, there was no way you could've gotten away unscathed.

A soft grunt rumbled in your throat as you pushed yourself backwards again, your back resting against the wall. You searched your mind for any possible solution, confusion clouding your mind as you tried to recall where you possibly could've seen him.

Black hair, piercings, scar littering half of his body, flames that burned hotter than anything you'd ever felt before, turquoise eyes—

"C'mon doll, i haven't changed that much have i?"

Your breath hitched in your throat , a gasp caught by disbelief as your eyes widened in realization. For a moment it seemed as if the world around you had gone completely still, the only thing you heard being your heartbeat echoing in your own ears. It felt as if your heart had turned to ice, the chill spreading quickly through the rest of your body— numbing your limbs and wiping your thoughts.

His piercing gaze felt even more unnerving than before, turquoise eye boring into your own staring straight into your soul. The intensity of his soul sent shivers down your spine, unsure whether or not to feel relieved or scared.

"Touy—"

Before you could even utter as much as a word, Dabi was right in front of you with the palm of his hand pressed against your mouth in an attempt to silence you. The rough skin of he bottom of his hand felt like sandpaper against your lips, the sharp edges of the staples grazing your skin as his other hand held the back of your hand.

He leaned down and once again, the heavy, stale stench of smoke that he carried with him invaded your nostrils. The very same suffocating smell of death and ash that hung in the alleyway. As his cheek lightly brushed against your own, his warm breath fanned onto your ear-shell causing a shiver to run down your spine.

"Sshh— wouldn't want anyone to hear now, would we? I've got a whole show planned for it and all, would hate to spoil the surprise.."

His voice dripped with amusement as he whispered into your ear. You didn't even have to see his face to know that he was smirking, this was all a game to Dabi after all— your confusion and fear were his entertainment.

"I did miss talking to you, you know? About time we catch up."

The man leaned back slightly and, just as you had suspected, that same shit-eating grin pulled at his lips. The rough texture of his hand was still firmly pressed against your lips, the suffocating pressure only adding more rising nausea in your throat. Even despite all this, you couldn't ignore the feeling of his other hand softly threading through your hair like a twisted display of affection.

For just a moment you had completely forgotten about the state your body found itself in, that was until the nauseating feeling creeping up your throat from before that you had tried to swallow down came crashing back down on you.

As if sensing your discomfort, Dabi quickly pulled his hand back, just in time for you to throw your body to the side. You heaved as you gagged, the bitter taste of vomit rising in your throat and burning in your stomach. Tears burned in your eyes, a combination of both the nausea and helplessness, and the overwhelming wave of emotions running wild in your head. 

A pair of hands grasped the back of your head, plucking away the damp strands of hair that clung to your face as you leaned forward while emptying the contents of your stomach on the pavement. Your hands desperately clawed at the ground beneath you, the sound of your retching echoing in the alleyway.

After a few seconds you could finally allow yourself to breathe again, coughing violently as the acidic burn from the vomit scratched at your throat. You couldn't help the tears that streamed down your face as you desperately gasped for air, your arms trembling beneath your weight as you tried to keep yourself from falling down.

"Y-you— i was there..I-i..i buried you, you..ha.. you died." Your voice trembling, each word weighed down by the grief and disbelief coursing through you.

With the last bit of strength your body could grant you, you managed to crawl a little to the side before your arms gave out causing you to fall to the ground. The lightness in your head was slowly consuming you, the faint noise from the nearby fire crackling and distant cars now fading into a muffled blur.

You couldn't even muster the strength to turn yourself over, holding your eyes open being enough of a challenge on its own. It was Dabi who's hand gripped your waist that rolled you onto your back with ease so he could look at you. It was hard to focus through your blurry vision, his face blurred— only his eyes vibrant enough to capture your attention.

A strangely affectionate smile tugged at his scarred lips, unsettling as it was you couldn't help but feel at ease for a moment— but the ominous gleam in his eyes was quick to take that comfort away. It was the cloth he used to wipe your mouth clean that made you— just for a moment — recognize his old self beneath the rotten exterior he had build around it.

His thumb ran softly over your cheek, brushing away the dirt smeared across your skin. You could barely even feel his touch at this point, the exhaustion weighing you down to the point it barely registered. As your eyelids grew heavier, you felt a sudden shift— a pair of hands sliding beneath your back and knees right as you were lifted from the cold ground with ease. Your head lolled to the side, resting against his solid chest where the faint, steady thrum of his heartbeat felt like a soothing lullaby dragging you further to the edge of passing out,

"—the past never dies." was the last thing you heard before you felt yourself slip away into unconsciousness.

A/N- I rewrote this entiiiire thing! The original was so corny and bad i couldn't stand it. Hope you guys enjoyed and please stick around for more rewrites :D Also big thank you to my lovely friend for proofreading <3

[fiber-optic-alligator]

For the one word prompts: caught?

For you, anon, you get Rodimus being a well-intentioned asshole! How fun!

WARNING: THIS STORY INCLUDES SAFE VORE. THIS THIS IS SOMETHING THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, THEN PLEASE DO NOT READ.

The night is dark, and you are alone. Sitting at the bar, voices and music mingle together and create a despondent melody which does nothing to ease your aching heart. You stare into the drink you are nursing; the amber liquid makes your lip curl with a grimace. Shaking your head, you push it away.

The bar is lively, yet lonely. You aren’t the only one here who is by themselves, yet the company of solitude isn’t one you wished for or anticipated. Gnawing resentment hollows out your gut. This is the last time you ever trust one of those stupid matchmaking apps. Stood up on the fifth date, and you don’t even know what you’ve done wrong. Is it your clothes? Does your breath smell? What about your hair? Is your personality shitty? You’ve spiraled through the panic and sadness, but now is time for the stage of dull anger. If they didn’t want to be with you, they at least could have told you properly. It’s a whole lot better than being completely left in the unknown.

Someone slides up into the stool next to you. No mind is paid on your part until they speak. “Rough night, huh?”

You lift your eyes to the man and take him in. He’s slouched forward with his arms crossed on the counter, head lowered a bit so he can see your face. His hair is held up by an orange headband, and he has a massive black flame tattoo rippling down his right arm. His eyes are curious and kind. His smile, though soft and without teeth, somehow dazzles you. He’s sort of dressed like he’s ready to go to an 80’s-themed Halloween party…but you can’t deny that he is quite handsome.

You huff and look back at your drink. “I’ll say.”

“It’s fine.” The man’s voice is smooth, practiced. You have a feeling he’s spoken to others in this exact same scenario before. “Plenty of people here are goin’ through it. But you…you seem more defeated than upset.”

You don’t appreciate this stranger butting into your private life while you’re wallowing in your misery. Shooting him a glare, you spit venom from your lips. “I didn’t ask for your pity, and I certainly don’t want it. Who even are you, and why the hell are you trying to talk to me?”

He holds up his hands placatingly. “Woah, woah. I’m not trying to start anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just…I saw you, alright? I saw you, and you looked…really down. Kinda tugged at my sparkstrings-uh, heartstrings-to see someone so sad like this. I thought…maybe I can help cheer you up.”

You give him an incredulous look. “Are you trying to hit on me by telling me you’re sad to see me alone at a bar?”

“What? No! Did you not hear a word I just said? You look like you could use some company, that’s all!”

“Well, I don’t want company. I want to be alone.” Your voice cracks a little. I feel like I’ll be alone for the rest of my life.

The man is silent, searching your features with those soulful auburn eyes. His voice is nearly a whisper. “Date chickened out on you?”

“...I guess it’s pretty apparent, isn’t it?”

“Not to be an asshole, but I kinda guess that’s the main reason why I see miserable people drinking alone at a bar.”

You laugh. It’s not a bitter sound, yet it isn’t totally happy either. It’s simply a sign of minor relief to be laughing at all. To feel your heart do that funny little jump that comes with being around someone who doesn’t make you feel totally lost. Despite only having met him a few minutes ago, this man has a charismatic aura about him that naturally pulls you in.

He grins. “Look at that. I got a laugh outta you. That’s a good start. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t tend to reveal just anything to strangers I’ve only known for less than 24 hours,” you reply.

“Touché. So why don’t we become more than strangers? I believe the term is…acquiescence?”

“Acquaintance.”

“Ah, right.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Sorry. English…isn’t my first language. Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you answer. “What’s yours?”

Panic crosses his face fleetingly. “Um…m-my friends call me…Roddy.”

“Roddy?” You raise an eyebrow. “That’s…interesting.”

“I know, I know, not ideal by people's terms. But it’s just what stuck.” He shrugs. “I like your name better. It’s pretty.”

“You think so?” you ask, unable to hide a genuine smile.

He nods. You are caught in his gaze, and there’s something distinctly captivating. His eyes make you want to believe every word he says. “Why would I lie? It’s a whole lot better than ‘Roddy.’ It’s…nice. I like saying it.”

“I’d hope you’d know better than to try and seduce someone who just got their heart broken.”

“Who says I’m trying to seduce you? Maybe I’m just trying to be your friend.” He laughs, then scoots towards you and dips his head down to peer at you through his lashes. “What, do you think I’m trying to seduce you?”

There it is. You know you’ve lost this battle. “God,” you grumble, ducking away to hide how red your cheeks are. “You are incorrigible.”

“C’mon, it’s making you feel better! You need to get your mind off what happened, right? Hanging out with a friend is exactly how to solve the problem!”

“We aren’t friends. We literally just met.”

He pauses and pouts, leaning back and crossing his arms. You think he almost looks hurt by your claim. “Don’t be like that. We could be friends. This is how humans get to know each other, right? Talking and laughing and bonding?”

You wrinkle your nose in a short chuckle. This guy has the weirdest ways of talking, but you don’t really mind it. You find it endearing. “All of that takes time. I’m not going to trust you instantly. Relationships always need to grow, platonic or not.”

He’s listening with a serious expression. He goes along with what you say, and you genuinely think he’s listening to you. When you’re done, he nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come on so forwardly, if I did. I…I’d like to be your friend. You seem like you could use one right now. And…I’m here to find one, too.”

“Finding friends in a bar? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” you ask.

He smiles. “I found you, didn’t I? You fit the bill. I can tell you’re kind…sweet. I think we’d be really good friends.” He reaches forward and brushes his fingers against the top of your hand. Something strange happens; there’s a jolt of static that makes your skin tingle, and a shiver goes down your spine. For a moment, your vision seems to swim, and you think you see flashes of red and orange and Roddy’s eyes turning a bright, alien blue. You blink, disoriented, shaking your head in a vain attempt to clear the sudden fog clouding your mind.

“So, what do you think?” Roddy asks, silky smooth. “Will you let me keep you?”

“Keep me…?” you echo.

“Keep as in…befriend. I want to show you there’s more to this universe than the sadness you’re experiencing. This world…Earth…is so small. Wonderful, but…tiny compared to what else is out there. So much to see, so much to do. So much to find. And guess what? I’m gonna find it all. You wanna come with me?”

“You’re confusing me,” you whisper. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. “Let me show you.”

He leads you out the back door into the bar’s parking lot. You feel like you are walking through a daze. You don’t know what’s happening to you, but you want to put your trust in this man. The way he looks back and gives you such a radiant grin, like the sun itself shining upon you, melts your heart.

In the back of the lot, a car awaits. It looks…retro, like him. Sleek, yet exceedingly loud, it’s some sort of muscle car with a host of red, orange, and yellow. Flame decals are painted across the hood. As the two of you draw closer, the lights turn on and the engine rumbles, growling with a pulse that runs through your bones and makes your heart stutter.

Something feels wrong.

It didn’t before. Roddy exudes no sense of danger. Yet this car…it’s off. Not normal. Alarm bells begin going off in your brain. Your feet drag you to a halt.

Roddy gives you an inquisitive look. “What’s wrong?”

You can’t take your eyes off of the car. “I…I don’t want to go near that thing.”

He winces, worrying at his bottom lip as he glances at the car with a concerning amount of confliction. He squeezes your hand.

“It’ll be okay,” he says. And then, his entire body ripples with a burst of static, and he disappears.

You don’t know what’s happened. Staring at your hand, you blink in shock. You can still feel the warmth of the man’s fingers pressed between yours. Was…was he even there at all? Did you imagine it? No, you couldn’t have. The car is still there. What the hell is going on?!

The car moves.

An alien sound emits from it as you watch it begin to shift in on itself before your very eyes. The mass of metal expands and grows, forming a pair of arms and legs, a torso twisting and snapping into place, massive shoulder blades heaving upward with a head rising up with sharp finials extending like dragon horns. Twin pairs of bright cyan optics open and immediately focus on you. You feel your heart drop straight into the pit of your stomach. It’s a robot. A car-turned-robot. You think you might have ingested too much alcohol, but the way the robot’s body whirs with the smooth sound of machinery as it takes a step towards you, the way you can feel the vibration of its feet hitting the pavement is so, so real, you know this is happening. This isn’t a hallucination.

You still don’t know where Roddy went.

The robot makes a purring noise, squatting down and extending a hand. Panic rips through you, and you stumble back, avoiding the reaching fingers. “No!” you shriek. “Stop! Don’t!”

It pauses and frowns, making a low whining noise. It shuffles closer and gestures for you to get closer. You wish to do no such thing; you want to get as far away from this monster as possible. What does it want with you? To kill you? Eat you? No, robots can’t eat. Is it going to abduct you?

Letting out a huff of exhaust, the robot’s eyes narrow resolvingly. It inches closer, and you continue to move back. There is nowhere to go. You can’t make a run for it. It’s faster. You can tell. There is no chance of escaping.

Your eyes flash to the bar’s back door. Not thinking about the possible consequences, you act only upon pure, desperate instinct. Like a deer bolting from a wolf, you whirl and pelt for the door, pushing every ounce of strength into your legs to propel yourself as quickly as possible. Get away. You need to get away.

You aren’t fast enough.

The robot slams its hand down on top of you. The breath is knocked from your lungs as metal presses you into the pavement. Fingers tightly cage you in, pinning your arms to your sides. Everything spins when you are lifted into the air, slowly, gradually. You cry out and struggle with all of your might, screaming bloody murder at the thing. “No! No! Stop! Stop it! Put me down!”

The robot warbles loudly. Is…Is this fucking thing laughing at you?

Well, all of your bravado goes out the door when it brings you close to its face. Bright optics study you with unsubdued excitement while huge metallic lips part. It grins triumphantly, making a multitude of loud purrs and hums while it turns you side to side like you’re some sort of exotic creature. Fear grips you; there’s so much terror in your soul, you can barely breathe. Too much. This is too much for one night. It’s been tumultuous, and now there’s a giant robot holding you and you might die, you might be-

The robot’s mouth opens wider. There’s a blue pulse deep within it that is the same color as its eyes. You see teeth bigger than your head loom closer as it draws you near, segmented tongue reaching to meet you.

Ah. So you’re going to be eaten, then.

Your scream is cut off when the robot carefully tosses you in. Jaws slam shut and artificial saliva soaks you as you are turned over and tasted again and again and again. Your mind reels with the overstimulation. Everything is happening at once and your brain isn’t keeping up with it. And when you feel the robot tilt its head back and begin pushing you backwards towards its awaiting throat, you can only think of one thing: doom.

Your fingers dig into the plush tongue, searching for any hold that will prevent you from going down. But it is to no avail; the robot simply raises the unbelievable muscle and gives you one last coaxing nudge. With a shriek, you are caught. The throat bobs and gives out a squelching glk. Blue light completely envelops you as you are squeezed and kneaded at all angles. It’s a long journey, one you are hardly conscious of since you nearly pass out from your terror. And when you make it to your final destination, there is no letting up in the embrace. Walls of muscle made out of strange, squishy cables filled with pumping pink liquid force you to sink into their warmth. By god, you are so warm. The robot’s stomach gurgles happily, giving you long repetitive squeezes. You aren’t in any pain. But you are exhausted from the mental and physical strain being eaten alive has exposed you to.

Lying on your stomach, you try to push yourself up in order to fight. The stomach senses this and hugs you even tighter. Your arms shake with fatigue, and you fall back down into the puddle of saliva you landed in. There’s no use fighting. You can’t get out.

Somewhere above you, the robot is purring. A steady hand presses against you from the outside and begins lightly massaging your little form. You let out a weak groan that is meant to be words; perhaps a plea for mercy, or maybe a string of curses. Whatever the intention might be, you don’t have the energy to properly form it. Right now, all you want to do is sleep.

So you do. You are out like a light, pink being the last thing you see. All the while, Roddy’s words repeat themselves to you, over and over and over again. “Will you let me keep you?”

It seems he’s decided not to give you a choice.

[jhuzen]

i’m not sure if you’re taking requests right now so feel free to ignore/delete this if not ! i wanted to request a piece on a jealous al haitham where reader starts fawning over how pretty kaveh is when they meet for the first time! this is mostly cuz that was my own reaction after seeing kaveh HAHA m!reader too please! thank you :]

reticent jealousy [m.reader]

i have emerged from my tomb of university things. and i sincerely thank you anon for giving me such a fun request! this is so fun to write considering that i’ve been ignoring haitham in anticipation for kaveh’s ass LMAO. it’s also a little longer than what i intended since i wanted to oil my gears in writing again, i hope you don’t mind hehe.

𖦹 alhaitham being jealous of mister nuisance roommate, reader forgets the concept of personal space

Ever the charming man you are, you never failed to entice the people you’ve surrounded yourself with. With your charismatic wit and sincerity, coupled with that good looks you’ve somehow acquired from your beloved parents, it was not rocket science to figure out why people were drawn to you like moths to an attractive flame. You constantly piqued the interests of each and every person in the vicinity. It was natural to be attracted to you, you were beyond mesmerizing.

So much that you even managed to capture Alhaitham’s interest. Meeting him at the Akademiya was nothing short of interesting. Your family sent you to study in Haravatat — coincidentally being under the same Darshan as the now infamous scribe. Though it was not your interest, you complied out of respect to your parents, staying in between being average and excelling with barely a half of your efforts.

Alhaitham, at first, thought you were an idiot — only to realize how much bigger of an idiot you are when he came to see just how well off you truly are in your studies with you coming in clean that your far better grades than most students was just a product of your thirty percent effort.

Despite your open expression of fondness to certain things (which, admittedly, had given you a disposition of an exuberant airhead), Alhaitham respected you as a colleague and had even given you some of his approval when you would open up to him about your true passion.

Much like how people appreciated the handsome masterpiece that is you, you yourself beheld the beauty of the world. You loved anything that was pleasing in the eyes, and your hands worked to capture them in your paintings. If one took a good look at your works, one could see the inherent romanticism that you displayed. Everything and everyone was beautiful in your eyes, and among the cold and tired and researchers under your Darshan, you were the shining beacon of sincerity.

Really, it wasn’t so hard to fall for you. And Alhaitham went in ahead and tripped, and fell right into your strong arms.

Though his pride served as a hindrance in professing his affections that were left cooped up inside him for the entirety of your years spent as scholars in Akademiya, your observant eyes and empathic attitude finally gave mercy and aided his pining for you and did the asking for him instead.

Thus the beginning of the sneaked through kisses on your visitations in the scribe’s office, the nights he has spent with you in your home to avoid a certain roommate of his, the dates that were spent by the edge of cliffs, with his head on your lap as he read while you painted the romantic hues of the sunsets in Sumeru — all of which you cherished and Alhaitham even more.

You have always proudly proclaimed that Alhaitham was your greatest muse, and it was rarely a stretch considering that there was an office in your quaint little home that was filled with to the brim of masterpieces you created with your beloved as your sole subject. The sketches that were hastily pinned on a foam board, the paintings of him that gave the man a far more lively depiction of himself than the real one, and the pièce de résistance of your living portfolio was the your lover’s torso, sculpted to perfection.

(You swore you’d put his head in it, but he grew to realize that it would take awhile on the times he’d catch you locked up in your room, in a daze while tracing your fingers on the grooves of his sculpted abs.)

And while Alhaitham valued subjective opinions so little, when it comes to you, your words are his scriptures, his guides that he could never let go of. He waited with bated breath every time he silently sought your approval on how he looks, on how he presents himself as it was an investment to your love — the man that appreciates beauty out of everyone else — he sees it as a way to reciprocate your care. He puts in great effort for you just to return the sincerity that you bring him.

Either way, there was absolutely nothing that could break you apart. And whether people were in the know of your status in your relations with each other, everyone in Sumeru City was aware that wherever you are, the now Acting Grand Sage is always close by and the same applies vice versa.

And today just happened to be one of the times that you were free from your commissions that you’ve received from overseas and Alhaitham was surprisingly free despite his much busier schedule as the Acting Grand Sage.

There was an undeniable bliss in the atmosphere as you strolled around with your beloved and in the silence that you and Alhaitham held, there was comfort and respite. No words were truly needed the moment his hand slipped into yours, barely concealed by his coat that asymmetrically hung onto his form from the public eye.

“Ah!” you suddenly blurted, breaking the silence between you and your lover and catching Alhaitham’s attention, “Look at those fine ceramics! Judging from the design, they’re imported from Liyue, hang on, dearest.”

Alhaitham’s lips turned down into a subtle frown when your hand left his grasp, unable to feel the familiar light callouses that you’ve obtained from working your hands to the bone in your line of work. He looked up from his book to see you gravitating towards a certain stall, eyes narrowing at the way the girl behind the goods seemed far more entranced to your visage than keeping watch of her wares.

He gets it though, he understands more than anyone else. He was meant to be the untouchable Alhaitham — the man that cannot be swayed by just a pretty face. But you yourself broke past his walls without even knowing it, he was already convinced he has to be with the pretty boy of Haravatat. You were the unstoppable force to his immovable object and the only solution when you met ended up with his lips on yours and him underneath you, completely under your mercy.

Still, it doesn’t shake off the fact that you are objectively a handsome man, someone inherently charming with the sharp wits to boot. Alhaitham was sure that even if you can’t provide, someone will be infatuated enough to provide for you (however this in itself is not him admitting that he is near that stage… definitely not). People will throw themselves at your feet, and women and men have approached you with a hidden motive countless times during your dates with him.

Though it was consoling to see you reject them with grace (though he preferred a brutal slap to the face), there was a thought that kept intruding within him when he saw the reality upon dating one of the most sought out men in Sumeru.

You were a man that appreciated and sought beauty. And in truth, he wasn’t just your muse although he was your frequent one. There was always something unsettling the moment your eyes lay on a person who you find appealing, and his scowl couldn’t help but be evident when even without having to be naturally seductive, the way your flustering touches reach other people to convince them to be your muse.

Alhaitham had a green-eyed monster that he unknowingly nursed — its jealous head rearing out on certain moments, breathing down on his neck whenever you left him, your beloved muse.

And it seems as though the fates have woven a test for him. A test that certainly does not appeal to his fancy.

“Oi! Alhaitham, you jerk! Did you steal my keys again?! You locked me out of our— ahem, my apartment again!”

The Acting Grand Sage’s eyes immediately narrowed when he heard that familiar voice. One that he often used as an excuse to come and stay the night with you (really, he never needed an excuse, but his ego refused to absolutely be fragile even to you at moments). He pondered his options, and the choice him just turning away was the most inviting one, yet he knew that would only prompt his roommate to whine louder and attract more attention.

He turned towards Kaveh, his blank expression masking the little exasperation that’s bubbling up inside him, “I’ve never seen your keys.” It was a lie, as it sat snugly in his pockets for a good day now. “Why do you always come to accuse me of such things?”

Kaveh was quick to scoff at Alhaitham’s question, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms before prattling on, “Oh don’t give me that hooey! I know it’s you! Instead of coming home from my projects and just relaxing, I have to go see if Cyno’s still awake to crash into his place!”

“Maybe if you pay your rent, you can stop losing your keys more,” a silent dig had Kaveh faltering with a huff.

“So it is you!” The blonde only shifted his footing before leaning in to jab his finger into Alhaitham’s chest, “And maybe I’ll pay my rent if you start losing those hideous decorations. I’ve only liked one thing and it was that painting that you suddenly brought home.”

“What I do with my money is none of your business,” Alhaitham cooly brushed Kaveh’s accusations off — of course it was deliberate every time he purchased a vase or a rug that had a clashing color palette, or anything remotely sacrilegious in an artist’s (more so yours) eye. But he wouldn’t deny that one painting. It was something he brought home from you, something you even encouraged for him to take as a gift from you on a random day.

Kaveh pinched the bridge of his nose as he heaved a begrudged sigh, “Whatever. Just lend me my keys and—”

“Oh! Aren’t you just the most darling man I’ve ever seen!”

Alhaitham’s heart stopped and instantly dropped down to his stomach when that angelic voice of yours suddenly rang in his ears.

Apart from his crudely decorated purchases, one reason why he never once wanted you to visit him in his apartment often is mostly for the fear of you having to meet his roommate. All for numerous reasons — something that Alhaitham foresaw that he wouldn’t be in favor of in the slightest bit. You know he has a roommate, and knew that Kaveh was the reason why Alhaitham looks relatively exasperated on certain days. For so long, you’ve wanted to meet this man, and yet Alhaitham blatantly refuses because he’s afraid that Kaveh’s ineptness would rub off on you or that you might start taking clients out of the goodness of your heart and not as a proper job.

“What?”

“What.”

Kaveh scoffed, “Oh, just great. Here’s another one of your admirers. Give me the damn key and I’ll leave before I start hurling my precious lunch in the middle of the street.”

And yet both men stiffened up when you passed by Alhaitham, your gaze can be completely mistaken for something lovestruck as you gravitated towards Kaveh. The blonde froze as your pretty face got closer to his, your eyes scrutinizing his features, and even then, the poor architect could only avert his eyes from yours, flustered, before meeting Alhaitham’s darkening gaze, only furthering his confusion.

You finally leaned back, “Ah— Apologies for invading your personal space—! I just! I just find you absolutely breathtaking!” Your sincerity was quick to reach Kaveh, and his face erupted into a blooming shade of bright red. “Oh! What a cute boy you are! And your proportions are undoubtedly stunning!”

“W-Wha—?”

Alhaitham watched in silent mortification when one of your gentle hands trailed towards Kaveh’s arm, sliding down to grasp his hand and bringing his arm up, “Give me a little spin, won’t you please?” You asked with a smile of plea.

Utterly confused and still dumbfounded and embarrassed, Kaveh couldn’t find himself to refuse your polite request (he’d love to call it coercion, but you were so nice) and spun around, his hand still within your warm grasp. He could feel his heart stutter when he heard your pleased hum of approval.

“A good eye for fashion too!” Your hand finally left his and stepped back, “Oh! You are perfect!”

Alhaitham’s eyes narrowed. His arms quickly crossed to his chest — a defense mechanism as the familiar dread slowly sunk in him, spreading to every single crevice of his body. His muscles tensed with every sing of praise that left your lips, with every touch you left on Kaveh’s form, and the way his nuisance of a roommate certainly relished in the sudden attention you’re giving him.

Worst part of it all is that Kaveh wasn’t even remotely aware that you were dating Alhaitham in the first place; that this admiration of yours was just you fawning over your new chosen muse. But he doesn’t know that — so your fondness can be quickly mistaken for blatant lovestruck adoration.

“‘Haitham! Doesn’t he look amazing?” You finally turned to your lover, whose eyes grew soft quick the moment your attention was on his.

Kaveh wrinkled his nose, “…Huh? ‘Haitham’? You know this man?” He asked, his embarrassed look finally reverting into that familiar expression of annoyance as he looked at Alhaitham.

“Of course! You know him as well?” You tilted your head a little to the side with a small smile.

The blonde was strained as he nodded, “He’s… an acquaintance.”

“My roommate,” Alhaitham finally clarified with a displeased grunt. It’s one way to rip the anticipation off, and in an instant, your eyes were elated as you turned to his roommate’s direction.

“So you’re the illustrious ‘nuisance roommate’ Kaveh…” you chuckled a little as you lent your hand to the architect, “It’s nice to finally meet ‘Haitham’s roommate.”

Kaveh took your hand and shook it cautiously, eyes narrowing a little. If you’re in the company of Alhaitham, surely you have some form unbearable personality as well… especially with that disarming sincerity that you exuded, “And you’re the…?”

“The boyfriend,” you stated, clear as a day with a small smile on your face and Kaveh’s grip tightened on your hand.

“The what?!”

“It’s not so shocking,” Alhaitham finally interrupted your conversation with his roommate, his arms uncrossing as he took a step closer to you. “And no, I didn’t pay him.” He already interjected before Kaveh could accuse you the same way he did to the traveler and their floating companion on their first meet.

“I certainly would’ve given a receipt if he did.”

Kaveh’s hand fell from your grip as his life crumbled before his eyes. His roommate that he classifies as the most unbearable person in the whole universe… is suddenly taken? By you? A handsome guy that he has never met in his whole life for some reason? He has to take a reality check, and his vision blurred. No way his loser of a roommate is getting laid before him.

Absolute sacrilege.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham had half a mind to take you and just leave Kaveh while he processed the sudden drop of information. But there was a sick sense of satisfaction that coursed through the Acting Grand Sage’s veins when Kaveh had an existential crisis just because he was absolutely clueless to all the hints that pointed to him having a lover. It was entertaining, to say the least, and once again, Alhaitham had the upper hand.

However that satisfaction soon melted into raw jealousy when your hands clasped Kaveh’s bringing them up as you finally worked your charms.

“So then, Mister nuisance roommate, I hope you don’t mind if I ask a moment of your time.”

Kaveh blinked out of his stupor, suddenly becoming flustered when your hands enveloped his, “N-No— I don’t mind… what do you need?”

And like a man about to profess his love to someone, your eyes glimmered as you popped the question;

“Will you be my muse for this month’s project?”

Alhaitham’s hands itched to grab a hold of you and tear you away from his roommate as his eyes glowered and dug into Kaveh’s form with absolute malice and jealousy. Why did you even have to find his mess of a roommate remotely attractive? What even is so ‘beautiful’ about Kaveh that you just had to touch him? Do you even have to be that close to ask him to be your muse? And why do you keep showering him with praises?

Poor Kaveh had little chance to refuse you as you looked at him so expectantly. Letting out a reluctant yes, you absolutely glowed before showering him some more praises, and ecstatically telling him that you will be over Alhaitham’s apartment to discuss further details with him.

And while Alhaitham simmered in his jealousy, he failed to notice Kaveh finally leaving and you coming back to him.

It’s like his vision cleared when he finally felt your arm snake around his waist, pulling him closer to be your side, “Your roommate is rather adorable, dear,” you said, sneaking a kiss to his temple.

Alhaitham scoffed, “I’d rather you not say that while expressing any form of affection to me.” His tone was cold, but even you can feel how utterly upset your dearest love is.

You only laughed before pinching the lean fat on his waist, prompting the stoic man to jolt, “I find your jealousy far more adorable, however.”

“So you were being deliberate earlier?”

“Oh, absolutely not. I just do it so none of the muses I ask can refuse, though my compliments are of utmost sincerity,” you said before flashing Alhaitham that cheeky grin that he found himself admiring for the nth time now. “It’s a good psychological tactic, y’know?”

“At the expense of your lover’s feelings. How crude,” Alhaitham huffed. “You’re going to have to make up for the poor treatment you’ve given to me.”

The sultry grin on your face was enough for Alhaitham to know that he won’t be coming home tonight.

Ah. Kaveh’s keys are still in his pocket.

Oh well.

[cambion-companion]

Ripples

Bathael, beloved. Larian really did a number on us with that Sharess Caress suite and that pool and all those lovely rose petals. Thought I would write something inspired by this anon ask:

Raphael bath after a shitty battle. Whether he won or lost, he deserves a very luxurious bath 🛁

Raphael x gn!reader | ficlet | bathing, wine and roses

The sweet scent of roses and cherries filled your nostrils as you sank back into the velvet water of Raphael's personal bathing pool. A soft smile curved your lips, your eyes closed as you floated for a moment, hearing only the song of the rippling water, the sputtering of the candles and the slow rhythm of your own breathing.

The sound of the door opening cause you to squint one eye at Raphael as he entered, his human guise bearing no form of clothing. You flushed from head to toe and tried valiantly to act unbothered. "I didn't expect you to join me, Raphael."

He stepped up the stone steps, his sharp eyes fixed on you. "How shortsighted of you, little mouse. After all, everything within these walls belongs to me."

Ignoring the obvious meaning behind his words, you sat up slightly to make room for him. Immediately as Raphael reclined, you noticed the water temperature begin to rise.

"Tell me." Raphael continued, amused by your silence. "Haven't you a city to save?" He swirled a finger in the water idly. "Something more productive than sitting in a devil's pool...like a frog in a pot."

"Oh, so I'm a frog now, am I?" You tilted your head, finding again that easy banter that had always existed between you two. "The madame informed me your room had been vacated."

"She was dishonest with you." Raphael's amusement increased and he chuckled low. "How utterly quaint."

"Apparently." You replied, dryly. "But at least she provided free drink." You turned your back to him and reached to where your goblet and wine bottle stood waiting. You now noticed the madame had left two glasses upon the lip of the bath and rolled your eyes. "Ah, yes she knew exactly what she was doing."

Raphael's eyes studied for a moment how the rivulets of crystal water ran down your skin and dewed upon your hair. Then he smiled easily once more when you turned back, taking the offered wine smoothly. "Curious." He sipped, raising a brow in an almost playful fashion. "I don't recall paying for company."

"And I don't recall working here." You laughed a little, shifting as the water had become rather hot. "Yet here we are."

"Yet here we are." Raphael echoed. The way he suddenly was looking at you made your lips part, and your head suddenly feel empty and too full at the same time.

Raphael extended his hand to you, beckoning once. "Come closer." He grinned at your hesitance. "I won't bite. Not today."

You could leave. Apologize and get out of there. Yet something drew you to him, as a moth to flame, and soon you felt his skin touching yours.

You took his hand, and he brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. "Very good. You have nothing to fear from me, my dear." He tilted your chin up until your eyes met. "Not yet. Now, let us see where this evening takes us."

[captainsophiestark]

The Hard Call

Azriel x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Requeted by Anon! Nonnie, thank you for enabling me to write about Az and Flynn, I absolutely love you for it ❤️ Feel free to drop by any time you want to talk anything SJM-related! Hope you like this, and good news, I have a Flynn fic coming in the next couple days too!

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Summary: Azriel made the hard call when he had to, but he's feeling pretty guilty about it.

Word Count: 1,610

Category: Angst, Fluff

WARNING: House of Flame and Shadow spoilers below the cut!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I swore under my breath as Nesta jammed Ataraxia into the back of the Daglan, the Asteri, whatever it was called. Black blood spurted out of its mouth, but a moment later, the thing—Vesperus—pushed back against the tip of the blade and removed it from her chest. It shouldn't have been possible for something to survive a direct hit like that from Nesta and that sword, but a lot of things from the past few days shouldn't have been possible.

When a fae female had landed in a heap on the River House lawn in front of my mate, I knew we were in for some strange new challenges. But never in a million years could I have predicted the journey she'd led us on through tunnels apparently running all under the Night Court, straight into the heart of the Prison. And now we were facing down one of the most dangerous creatures in the universe, just me, Az, and Nesta, with the female Bryce as an unreliable additional ally.

I tightened my grip on my sword and tried to calm my racing heart as I stood shoulder to shoulder with Azriel. We'd gotten through countless life and death situations together before, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure we'd be able to get out of this one.

Vesperus gave Nesta a horrifying smile as the wound in her chest quickly healed. I glanced to Az, but he kept his eyes locked on the monster before us.

"Ataraxia didn't work," Nesta breathed. "The Trove-"

"Do not summon the Trove," barked my mate. Based on what we knew about this thing before us, I immediately agreed. "Don't bring it near her."

"But-"

"Not even for our lives," he snarled, leaving no room for argument. The same harsh resolve solidified itself in my mind, and I braced myself for the possibility of a last stand. At least if we went down, it would be fighting side by side with my mate.

A flicker of shadows floating softly over my shoulders was the only indication that my mate felt the same. The Daglan grinned, and I got ready to pounce.

****************

Hours later, I sat slumped in my favorite chair in the Velaris townhouse, trying to recover from everything that had happened under the prison. We'd managed to kill the Daglan-Asteri, despite Bryce trying to question it, no matter the risk to our world. But she had gotten away in an impressive display of power, which meant her world's Asteri might have a chance at using her to find us.

Needless to say, when Az, Nesta, and I had made it out of the Prison, we'd had a lot to debrief about with the rest of the Inner Circle.

Nobody was happy about the situation we now found ourselves in, but for the time being, there was also nothing we could do about it. So once we made a basic plan to try to gather information and prepare in case something from that other world came back, we all split off for our separate tasks. Az still had a few things to go over with Rhys, but I was free for the time being, so I'd come to my favorite cozy spot in Velaris to try to come down from the insane adrenaline that had been pumping since Bryce got here.

One perk of Rhys and Feyre building the River House and Nesta keeping Cassian at the House of Wind more often was that the townhouse, my personal favorite location, was often free for Az and I to use as our own. I closed my eyes in my favorite armchair by the fire, still in my fighting leathers, and focused on taking deep breaths to try to get the tension out of my shoulders.

I'd actually almost managed to drift off to sleep when I heard the front door open and shut heavily. I didn't need to look to know Az had just arrived, so with a deep sigh to drag me back from the edge of sleep, I raised my head and turned to look at my mate.

"Everything figured out with Rhys?" I asked. He nodded once, moving into the room with a face like stone. I frowned, sitting up and paying a little better attention as he took a seat on the couch, his gorgeous hazel eyes never leaving mine. "What's wrong?"

A muscle in Az's jaw ticked, and I knew he was mustering a response to my words. Despite his reputation as the unreadable spymaster, all our time together as friends and then as mates had given me a leg up on everyone else who tried to read his expressions.

I stood from my seat in the armchair and moved to sit before Az on the couch instead, taking his hands in mine. His eyes searched my face, and I let a small smile work its way through the exhaustion, trying to put him at ease. He could take however long he needed to, and I'd be ready to listen when he wanted to talk.

"I'm... sorry."

I raised an eyebrow. "For what, exactly?"

That muscle in his jaw was working over time, the rest of his face the same inscrutable mask he'd worked so hard to perfect.

"For what happened in the Prison. For... being willing to let you die down there, rather than risk Nesta summoning the Trove. You deserve a better mate than that."

My jaw dropped, shock preventing me from responding for a few small moments. Az just kept staring at me, and even though his face didn't show it, I could feel the guilt eating him up at his core.

"Az, you have nothing to apologize for!" I finally managed. One of his eyebrows quirked up and he frowned, expressing doubt at my words without speaking one of his own. I huffed and squeezed his hands tighter.

"Listen to me, Azriel. The reason you are my mate is because you made that decision in the Prison. We both know that letting something like that into the world with a weapon like the Mask is an unacceptable option, as long as there is anything in this world we can do to prevent it. If the Daglan or the Asteri or whatever she was had gotten her hands on the mask, it probably would've cost the lives of everyone we've ever cared about, and the rest of this world along with it. Nothing is worth allowing that to happen."

Az ground his jaw, his gaze softening and his eyebrows furrowing as he continued to scan my face.

"Are you... sure? Cassian and Rhys... I think they'd tear the world to shreds for their mates."

I just shrugged. "For what? If the world is gone, if the cost of that choice is absolutely everything else, then what's the point of saving each other in the first place? We'd have nothing left, other than the blood of the world on our hands."

Az grunted, and I shifted closer to him, bringing one hand up to cup his cheek.

"Az. I love you, so much, and a part of that love is because you're not so selfish as to risk throwing the world away for me. Especially since, more likely than not, we'd be dead anyway not long after she got that mask. Neither of us is selfish enough to make a call like that, and I love that about us. The only thing that matters is that we stand together as long as we can, and I knew damn well in the cave that if either of us was going down, we were going down side by side, fighting to our last breath. Obviously I'm happy we both made it out of there, and I'm not saying we shouldn't fight for each other, but that call you made today? I'd be pissed if you'd made a different one."

Az studied me for another second, and I let him see every truth and emotion written in my face. Finally, he sighed, the tension going out of his shoulders as he reached out and pulled me closer to him, arms around my waist. I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck and tangling my hands in his hair. We'd almost died today, and I wasn't about to take the fact that we were both still here together for granted.

"Have I mentioned lately how happy I am to have you as my mate?" Az asked, his voice a little gravelly as he leaned in closer to me. I smiled, leaning forward and letting my lips ghost over his own.

"Yeah, actually, you have. But I'll never complain about hearing it again."

Az smirked, then gently closed the last of that distance between us, his lips brushing softly against mine. I leaned into the kiss, eager for more contact, and I could feel Az's smirk widening right before I deepened the kiss. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me as tight to his body as possible, and I tangled my hands in his hair, letting myself get swept up in him.

I'd meant every word I'd said to my mate, about the choice he'd made and how I felt about it. But I was also incredibly happy it hadn't come down to the cost of our lives, and that we'd made it out of there together. And now that Official Night Court Business had been taken care of, I intended to fully celebrate and appreciate Azriel, and the fact that we were still here together. And I knew he intended to do the same.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

[aweina]

i’m on my hands and knees for brat tamer mike HOLYYYYYYY

like i’m on the same page w/ the other anon, i too love submissive men BUT imagine him getting so ticked off with you being all bratty and whining that he shoves you in a supply/storage closet with him and tells you off and your faces and bodies are so close to each other and…

i’m sweating at the thought of it

ᰔ. 8 o’ clock : mike schmidt — suggestive warning !! + note. fell on my knees for a split second … i needed to write this quickly, thank u for the idea anon (″ロ゛)

it was too early for this.

mike firmly stands as he watches you fling your arms around, obnoxiously pointing at the coffee cup. face puffy with anger, whines and insults bouncing off his weighted shoulders. he tried, okay. maybe there was a part he missed when ordering, maybe he said something different — he couldn’t tell, mike only remembers trying not to fall asleep on the stranger standing in front of him.

“i’m sorry, okay? why don’t you order it yourself next time.” his voice was harsh and groggy from a rather unpleasant sleep.

the knit in your brows and sudden pause made mike grit his teeth and ball his fist tightly. i regret saying that, he thinks. you’re going to be more repulsive than ever.

you arrogantly strutted into his personal space, nearly bumping your chest pressed against his. mike can feel your seething anger, permeating on your flushed skin — the light in your eyes turned into golden flames. seriously, how can someone be this angry this early?

“no! you should know my order by now, it’s been days mike! i literally ask you to do one simple thing and you can’t even do it because you’re so stupid and fuck, you’re so usele – ”

a bone-shaking tug to your security jacket travelled you into a confined room, the darkness that veiled over the walls revealed cleaning supplies, one by one, dropping by your feet from the sudden invasion of your presence and mike’s.

a heavy sigh escapes his lips before he talks.

“you know you talk too much. all you do is complain to me, can’t you be any more fucking annoying, huh?” his whisper burned your skin, the insults seemed to pass through your psyche.

“i. am. not. annoying.” you weakly hissed, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp but to no avail.

“oh yeah? but you were so loud earlier, do you even hear yourself? whining and bitching all the time?” he sounded so mean, the angry rasp in his voice laced with exhaustion.

his shadowy eyes slowly gaze down at your lips, now the color drained between your teeth. you can’t speak now, you’re utterly hopeless.

the veins strung along his arm nearly pop from the death grip he had on your collar — whitened knuckles barely grazing your cheek. close, too close, mike thinks. your widened eyes and speechlessness left him satisfied at his attempt to intimidate you. the quivering grasp on his worst says so, but still, this position made it hard to bathe in his victory.

the fan of your warm breath brushed against his throat, the perfume that cling to your neck and collar was all he could smell. it was overwhelmingly sweet, the complete opposite of your briny personality. the flush of your body pressed against his, one knee locked between your legs. both your heartbeats so in sync, dancing in some chaotic rhythm. mike was conflicted. you feel so good against him, the scent on your skin made his mouth water. his teeth — lips — so close to your neck.

despite these feelings, mike raises his brows, expecting an answer.

surprisingly, you slowly nodded, a soft spoken “sorry” barely touching his ears — your quiet obedience overriding your previous seething words. he didn’t believe your apology one bit, but the shiver course through your entire body made you uncomfortably shift your crotch against his thigh — trapping you between the wall and his body.

mike backs away as his grip loosens, gazing at you with shifting eyes. towards your flushed face and wrinkled collar, down to the fallen clutter of cleaning supplies and your spilled coffee.

he simply dusts himself off, tugging at his sleeve, checking the time on his watch with a straight face.

“clean that up.” mike mumbles as he lazily tilts his chin towards the mess, patting down a mysterious wet stain against his pants with a quirked brow — leaving you tucked into the corner of the janitor’s supply room utterly bitter and especially, guilty over your secret gratification from his manhandling.

[thatlotuscookie]

hello how are u doing😊 could you please write for dabi x fem!reader who is a solo villain. and before you meet your soulmate u meet a chibi version of them, and you usually meet them when you turn 18, but reader didn't so she thought that she doesn't have a soulmate and then one day chibi version of dabi appears out of nowhere, and the chibi has dabi's personality and that's super cute because of its size. and i would like this to be about how reader deals with tiny chibi and how it warms up to her

✧･ﾟ: a/n : hiii anon!! im doing great and i hope you're doing good yourself. thank you for requesting! this is so adorable :33 i hope you enjoy, and that i captured everything in the right way<33

✧ Title: ✧ Tiny Flames ✧ ✧ Characters: Chibi!Dabi x Reader (Fem!Reader) ✧ Genre: Romance, Action, Comedy ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: You’ve made a name for yourself as a feared solo villain. As your eighteenth birthday arrives, you eagerly await the appearance of your soulmate's chibi form. But when midnight strikes without any sign, you resign yourself to the belief that perhaps soulmates are just a myth. However, after a particularly exhausting mission, a sudden flash of light brings Chibi Dabi into your life. ✧ Content Warnings: Minor language?, themes of villainy ✧ WC: 1612 words // 9.4k chars

In the shadowy underbelly of society, where chaos thrived and villains ruled, you carved your own path as a solo villain. You had built a reputation—feared and respected by heroes and fellow villains alike. Thriving in the thrill of the chase, you relished the freedom that came with being an independent agent of chaos. No one dictated your actions; no alliances held you back. You worked alone, and you liked it that way.

Your name was whispered in hushed tones, often accompanied by tales of your cunning plans and daring heists. You had mastered the art of deception, slipping through the cracks unnoticed, leaving a trail of confusion and destruction in your wake. Yet, despite the adrenaline rush of your dangerous lifestyle, a nagging void lingered within you—a yearning for something more profound, a connection that eluded you in the chaotic world you navigated.

Every year, on your birthday, you awaited the moment that would signal the arrival of your soulmate’s chibi form—the tiny, whimsical representation of the person destined to be by your side. It was said that the chibi would appear to you when you turned eighteen, guiding you toward your true love. However, as the clock struck midnight on your eighteenth birthday and no chibi appeared, your heart sank.

Was it possible that you were destined to be alone? The thought gnawed at you, but you quickly pushed it aside, convincing yourself that you didn’t need anyone. You were a villain; you thrived in solitude. But deep down, the ache of loneliness lingered like a shadow, reminding you that something vital was missing from your life.

Months passed, and you resigned yourself to the belief that perhaps soulmates were just a myth. You threw yourself deeper into your villainous pursuits, planning heists and wreaking havoc on unsuspecting heroes. Yet, even in your most triumphant moments, a part of you longed for connection—a partner to share in the exhilaration of your exploits.

One fateful evening, after a particularly grueling mission, you returned to your dimly lit lair, exhausted yet exhilarated. You had successfully executed a plan that would send shockwaves through the hero community, but instead of feeling accomplished, you felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. As you slumped against the wall, letting the adrenaline fade, a sudden flash of blue light illuminated the room, causing you to blink in surprise.

When the light faded, your heart raced as you stared at the tiny figure standing before you. He was a chibi version of Dabi—small, spiky-haired, and exuding an intense aura that was oddly familiar. He stood no taller than your hand, his fierce glare somehow managing to hold the same intensity as the original Dabi.

“Who the hell are you?” Chibi Dabi demanded, his voice laced with a cold edge that sent shivers down your spine.

You blinked, half-expecting to wake up from a strange dream. “I—I’m Y/N. Your soulmate, apparently?” Your voice came out more incredulous than you intended.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” he retorted, his icy demeanor unfazed. “I don’t need anyone.”

His response stung more than you expected, but you were determined not to show it. “Well, you’re here now, so what do we do?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions in your chest.

He shrugged, crossing his tiny arms over his chest defiantly. “Do whatever you want. I’m just here because I have to be.”

As the days turned into weeks, the bond between you and Chibi Dabi grew stronger, but not in the way you had hoped. He remained aloof, often retreating into his own world, indifferent to your presence. Despite your attempts to engage him, he would simply roll his eyes or give you snarky remarks that cut through the air like a cold wind.

One evening, after a particularly hard day, you returned home feeling defeated. The weight of your actions pressed heavily on your conscience, and you found it hard to shake off the guilt.

“Why do you look so miserable?” Chibi Dabi asked, his tone lacking any real concern.

“Just thinking about things,” you replied, trying to dismiss it.

“Thinking? That’s lame. Just burn something and move on.” He leaned back, his tiny form perched on the edge of your desk, looking like a fierce little king on a throne.

You laughed softly, but your heart felt heavy. “It’s not that easy. Sometimes it feels like we’re just doing bad things without any real purpose.”

Chibi Dabi’s gaze hardened, and for a moment, the intensity of his demeanor threatened to swallow you whole. “Then why do it? You’re the one choosing this life.”

His bluntness made you sigh, feeling the sting of truth in his words. “Because it’s all I know,” you confessed. “But I don’t want to be alone in this.”

“Too bad. That’s your problem,” he replied, crossing his tiny arms again but failing to hide the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

Despite the hurtful nature of his response, you felt a flicker of determination ignite within you. “I’m not going anywhere, Dabi. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.”

His eyes narrowed, but for a brief moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something softer beneath the cold exterior. Yet, he quickly masked it with indifference, turning away. “Whatever. Just don’t expect me to hold your hand.”

As the days passed, Chibi Dabi continued to be an enigma—cold, distant, yet somehow intriguing. You couldn’t help but be drawn to him, the fiery spirit that flickered beneath his tough exterior. With each passing day, you sought to break through the wall he had built around himself, determined to warm the icy heart of your chibi soulmate.

One evening, after an encounter with a rival villain left you rattled, you returned home, only to find Chibi Dabi sitting on the table, legs swinging in mid-air. He eyed you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. “What happened? You look like you lost a fight.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I didn’t lose, but I didn’t win either. It was… complicated.”

Chibi Dabi leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. “Complicated? You mean weak.”

“Dabi!” you exclaimed, half-laughing, half-frustrated. “I’m not weak. I just—”

“Then stop whining about it,” he interrupted, a small flame flickering to life in his hand. “If you’re going to be a villain, act like one.”

“Easy for you to say,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone light despite the hurt lingering beneath. “You’re all fire and no fear.”

His expression softened slightly, though he quickly masked it with irritation. “Maybe you need a little fire, too.” He stood up, his tiny fists clenched at his sides, glaring defiantly at you. “You don’t need to wallow. You’re better than that.”

A warmth spread through your chest at his words, despite the typical coldness of his personality. “Thanks, Dabi. I appreciate it.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t dismiss your gratitude. Instead, he seemed to regard you with a flicker of admiration. “Just don’t let it get to your head.”

Days turned into weeks, and with every shared moment, your bond grew deeper. Dabi’s once-icy demeanor began to soften as he discovered the warmth of companionship, while you learned to embrace your vulnerabilities. Though you remained villains in a chaotic world, you found solace in each other’s presence.

One night, as the two of you sat together on the couch, the glow of the television illuminating the room, you decided to watch one of your favorite movies—a thrilling tale of heroes and villains in a world much like your own. You settled into your spot, and Dabi perched on your shoulder, his tiny form fitting perfectly against you.

“Why are we watching this trash?” he grumbled, crossing his tiny arms as the action began to unfold on screen.

You chuckled. “It’s just a movie, Dabi. Just enjoy it.”

“I’ll enjoy it when I see some real fire,” he shot back, but the way he leaned closer to you hinted at his interest.

As the story unfolded, you found yourself glancing down at Dabi. His fierce expression mirrored his adult self, but you noticed the way his little eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He was fully engaged, despite his earlier complaints.

During a particularly intense scene, you felt him tense up, gripping your shirt tightly. “What’s going to happen?” he muttered, clearly invested despite his attempts to act tough.

You laughed softly. “You actually care, don’t you?”

“Shut up!” he exclaimed, his face turning a shade of red that contrasted with his usual cool demeanor. “I just want to see how it ends, that’s all.”

As the movie progressed, you noticed that Chibi Dabi began to shift closer, using your shoulder as a makeshift pillow. His tiny form curled up against you, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, a stark contrast to the cold exterior he often projected.

When the credits rolled, you found yourself smiling down at Dabi, who was now fast asleep, his tiny face relaxed and peaceful. You reached down to gently stroke his spiky hair, a sense of warmth enveloping you.

“Guess you really enjoyed that, huh?” you murmured, your heart swelling with affection for the tiny villain.

Dabi stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. In that moment, you realized that the icy barrier around his heart was slowly melting, revealing a warmth that matched the flicker of fire within him.

You knew the road ahead would be challenging, but as you watched him sleep, a sense of peace washed over you. Things would be okay.