#how you call a professional and you leave patches! I get it I have a lot of hair but you check thrice if you have too

[slowlyfoggydestiny]

Five fucking hours on the hairdressers and I have spots almost white because they didn’t put enough color or good enough distributed and just found a hug ass patch where he didn’t do anything like no color nothing and is just fucking there

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Code of Conduct 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Mr. Rogers’ office. This is Rosie, how can I hel--” 

“Where is he?” Peggy’s voice cuts over your own. 

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s currently in a meeting--” 

“Get him.” 

“Mrs.--” 

“Don’t argue with me. Go get him. Are you not his assistant?” She challenges brusquely. 

Her accent adds to the sharpness of her words. Her curt demeanour is a stark contrast to her husband. Your boss is always amiable, accommodating even, but the few times you’ve dealt with his wife have been similarly tense. You put a smile on so she can’t hear your anxiety. 

“Of course, Mrs. Rogers,” you preen, “I’ll put you on a quick hold.” 

“No, you will get him. No hold.” 

You suck in a sigh and hold your breath in your chest, “of course.” 

You set the phone down. You don’t see how her hearing your desktop will be any better but you wouldn’t want to irritate her further. It must be urgent. 

You stand and smooth out your dress. You step out from behind your desk, digging your nails into your palms as you ball your fists tight. You get nervous about most things. Answering the phone took your months to get used to and even now you tend to fumble over your words. 

You go to the door and brace yourself. You don’t know why you expect Mr. Rogers to be upset. He’s never been anything close to rude. Maybe short in times of stress but not unpleasant. You knock and wait as you twiddle your fingers against your striped pleats. 

It isn’t Mr. Rogers who answers by Mr. Barnes. You give a sheepish smile, “excuse me, doll.” 

He steps past you and you bid him a good day. He leaves without further courtesy and Mr. Rogers calls your name from within, “need something?” He asks. 

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Rogers is on the phone.” 

He doesn’t seem happy about that. His cheek dimples and he nods, wiggling his pen at you, “patch her through.” 

You go back to your desk and pick up the receiver, “hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s available now--” 

“I don’t want to talk to you, honey. Where is my husband?” 

You transfer her without another word. Phew. You almost feel bad for your boss as you hear him pick up in his office. His tone is low and dull. 

You try not to overhear, letting his conversation drone into a buzz. There’s enough work to be done without worrying about his personal life. Your own afterhours concerns are more than concerning. You wouldn’t say you have much going on and that’s the problem. It’s moment like those that ease your envy of others’ full plates. 

You haven’t seen the girls lately. The group chat’s been quiet but you suppose you could go ahead and say hi. Your weekly cocktails petered out to biweekly, then monthly, and now you can’t remember the last time you let go with a mimosa. 

You peek over your desk and back at your screen. It’s not only on them to keep things going. You pick up your phone and open the chat. The last message is a meme Elfie sent about printers. You shake your head and send a little waving sticker, keying in a message. 

‘Long time no see! I’m in need of drinks. Anyone free? When’s best? Hope you’re all taking care.’ 

You’re professional tone shines through even on WhatsApp. It’s a bit lame but you’re an entirely different person in text. Most people are surprised to meet the mousy secretary hiding behind her screen after the lively back and forth in Outlook. 

You set your phone down and try not to stare at it. A reply never comes while you’re waiting for it, nor does water boil when you’re watching it. As you click around and try to remember where you were, the silence sinks in. Your realisation brings your eyes up as quickly as Mr. Rogers shadow. 

You bat your lashes at him in surprise, “need something, sir?” 

He gives a half-smile, the type weighed down by disappointment. He sighs and crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame, “you hungry?” 

“Um, well, it’s only eleven,” you shrug. 

“Mm, yeah,” he unfolds one arm to rub his neck, “I’m restless. You feel like getting lunch early?” 

“Sure, I can run out and grab you something,” you stand eagerly. 

“No, uh,” he drops his arm back over his other, “together. I had a reservation for me and Peggy but she canceled. I’d hate to inconvenience the restaurant and I just can’t sit and mope in my office.” 

“Oh, okay, I guess that works...” 

“Do you need to ask your boss?” He scoffs. 

You laugh at his joke, “do I?” 

He smiles, a real smile and drops his arms, “my treat. You know what, you earned it. You work so hard around here, a little employee appreciation is overdue.” 

“That’s so nice,” you chime, “uh, sir, I... I should leave an away message, should I?” 

“Oh, who cares, come on.” 

“Well, I mean...” 

“Ah, I get it, boss is a real hard ass,” he winks. 

“Sir,” you giggle nervously and teethe your lip. He watches your mouth. 

“You can catch up later. Come on, I haven’t played hooky in years.” 

“Hooky?” You stammer. 

He laughs, “a goody two shoes. It’s why I hired you but it’s okay to let loose once in a while.” 

“I know, Mr. Rogers, it’s just... it’s work.” 

“Too much of it and you’ll turn into me,” he huffs. “Please, I’m sure your husband would hate if you were never home. Never answered the phone.” 

“If I had one, probably,” you blurt out then look away shyly. 

“Really? I thought...” he begins and shakes his head, “doesn’t matter. I’ll grab my jacket and we’ll go. I missed breakfast.” 

“Um, sure, sir,” you agree and put your hand on the phone. 

When he turns, you look down. Missie sent a reply; ‘please, drinks are required!’ Ooh! Yay. 

[luveline]

You are so talented I can’t even fathom it Jade! I seriously don’t know how you do it.

Idk if you’re taking requests rn for Spencer still bc I know you write him a lot but I love shy reader and post prison Spencer it’s so cute. I would love to see their relationship growing, maybe her realizing the feelings aren’t one sided by little things he says or does for her or how he reacts if she gets hurt.

No worries if not! Anything you write is a gift honestly. Happy New Year!

thank you sm angel, you're too kind<3 hny! ♡ fem!reader, 1.2k

cw violence and injury

You'll be fine, Spencer had said, patting you on the shoulder. Just trust me. 

This is decidedly not fine. 

You crouch low behind a raspberry chaise turned blood red in the poor lighting. When you entered the building moments ago, it was light. But now the lights are out and you can't tell your friend from foe; footsteps to your left could be Spencer where he'd followed you in, or they could be the UnSub. 

I'm right behind you, he'd said with a borderline rogue smile. You think I'd let you get hurt? 

Breath warms your ear. “Boo.” 

The air gets stuck in your lungs as brutish arms grab you. Your gun points toward your own jaw and your pulse hammers so hard you freeze, a split second, the amygdala overwhelmed. Then the UnSub tries to grab your weapon, and everything you've been taught kicks in. You twist in his arms, throwing your head back out of the line of fire as multiple agents call to you to sound off, and kicking hard at the UnSub's legs, the subsequent soft spot between them. 

You fall hard onto the floor, screaming as a weight lands on top of you.

Spencer shouts your name. “Where are you?!”

A hard palm hits you in the throat. Light bounces off of the UnSub's face as a teammate aims their torch in your direction, but you're wheezing and aching, your throat on fire and too overwhelmed to think. The hand that hurt you leaps for your gun. You hold onto it for dear life, even as he forces it once, twice into the soft of your face, leaving rings of flame behind your eye. You pull it hard from his hands and fling it across the floor out of reach, squirming under his weight, needing to be away, away— 

You pull your knee up and kick wildly, a well timed blow hitting the UnSub in the face with a damp-sounding crunch. 

“I don't have eyes on her!” Emily shouts. 

“I do,” Spencer says. His torchlight floods your area as he shouts, “Stand down!” 

You don't squeal, but it's not a very professional sound as you crawl backwards out of the way. The ring of fire behind your eyes feels ever so slightly above it now. The room is half gone. You wipe your eye and look down at your hand, dark staining your palm in a heavy smear.

“Oh,” you mumble queasily. 

The power never comes back on, but you don't notice until after, when Spencer's dragged you outside to the front yard and lowered you to a soft patch of grass, an EMT beside him dressing your wound. “Did they get him?” you ask. 

Spencer's brow wrinkles with his frown. 

“Remember what we said?” The EMT asks. 

“No?” You wince and hiss as he pulls the wings of a butterfly stitch closed over your eyebrow. 

“You have a concussion. I'm trying to work out how bad it is.” 

You honestly still feel like you're in the dark room. You reach out for Spencer's hand instinctively, needing comfort, a tether to the ground, and he clasps your fingers tightly. “You're okay,” he says steadily. 

“You're smiling at me weird.” You glance over your shoulder at the cop cars and the flashing red-blue lights. “Did you get him?” 

“Emily got him. Just after he got you.” Spencer looks like he might stand from his crouch, but he brings your hand to his chin instead, leaning on it showfully. “It's my fault, I'm sorry. I told you I'd have your back and I didn't.” 

Your chest stirs with the memory of your panic. One moment you'd been underneath him, and aching, and now you're on the grass as the forensics bring in the floodlights, so bright it's like mini suns have come out on either side of the yard. You hang your head to hide from the light. The EMT tells you off. 

“Does your throat still hurt?” Spencer asks you, pulling on your hand gently. “Answer me.” 

“My head is swimming.” 

Your memories fuzz over. When you look up again the EMT is gone. Spencer sits on the grass now beside you unhurried, your hand still clamped between both of his. His thumb rubs at your knuckles and the smooth stretch of skin beside them, apparently content to wait with you. 

“She's okay?” Tara asks, seemingly having appeared from nowhere. 

“Not enough medical. They're gonna look at Agent Walker and circle back. She might have to be admitted.” 

Tara bends at the waist to look you in the eye. “You okay?” 

“I'm fine. Are you okay?” you ask. 

“I'm doing better than you. That's gonna be a terrific bruise.” She smiles at Spencer reassuringly. “Emily wants you. I can sit with her, she'll be in good hands.” 

“She'd be in great hands,” Spencer says simply, “but I don't care. I'm staying here. Please tell Emily she can come here if she needs to talk to me. I'm not going anywhere until they've finished looking at Y/N.” 

Tara grins. “Your funeral.” 

You're slowly starting to feel like yourself again, or more aware of yourself at the very least. Spencer's touch is melding from comforting to heart-rending, his nearness a heat. He looks stupidly good-looking considering what you've just been through, the FBI vest tight on his chest, his sweet brown curls falling into his eyes as he plays with your fingers. 

“I must look awful,” you realise suddenly, a stone's throw from tearful. 

Spencer doesn't glance up at first. “You look beautiful, but the bruise is…” He looks at you through dark lashes. “It's a tragedy.” 

“What?” 

His small smile fades. “How are you feeling? Are things clear, or would you say that I'm out of focus? You're having moderate to severe concussive symptoms.” He shakes his head. “And the bruise is mottling already.” 

“I'm sorry.” 

Spencer laughs softly. After a pensive moment, he brings your hand to his mouth. Maybe he kisses it, maybe he doesn't, but the touch brings a sacredness to his promise, “I won't let that happen again. You trusted me to keep you safe.” 

“I trusted you to tell me if I was ready, and I was. I remembered how to get out of it. I'm still here.” You fluster after you've spoken, feeling brash. 

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face. “You are. You did amazing.” He removes one hand from yours. A featherlight touch coasts down your cheek, brief and encouraging nonetheless. “It's going to be a really bad bruise.” 

“Oh, well,” you say tiredly. 

Spencer's turn to go quiet. He holds your hand on his thigh. “I could kiss it better?” he offers in a murmur. 

You laugh and steal your hand back, unable to take all his attention at once. “Funny, Spencer.” 

He gives you a warm smile. You can't tell if he's kidding or not about the kiss, but his devotion to you while you're hurting is real. You're not sure where that leaves you.

[evilminji]

*evil grin of The Ponderings™*

You know who DEFINITELY would have Unfinished Business?

Heroes. Professional "If I could just MOVE, just fight a BIT LONGER, save ONE MORE PERSON" Heroes. It's the ultimate and unending Unfinished Business. To protect people. Not just their friends, their co-workers, but the innocent people around them.

That kid, stuck crying in the rubble.

That business man, screaming in pain, caught in the cross fire.

The People NEED them. They SWORE. Their very SOULS burn with the NEED to help. But... the flesh gave out. Injuries. Age. Quirk overuse. They knew... they KNEW, this was not a safe line of work... but... but! Please! Just one more person! Why can't they just make their breaking, dying, bodies MOVE!

Of course they refuse to move on.

They are needed HERE.

Yet? Their hands pass through. Their voices do not reach. A hell of their own, unknown, making. They can't let go, but they can't HELP either. There isn't enough Ectoplasm here. The walls of their reality overly patched up, since that unfortunate leak a few centuries back.

After all, the Zone had dumped near lethal quantities of unfiltered Ecto into the atmosphere. They're STILL dealing with the mutations and fall out, aren't they? At least, they are according to the Zone. (Wtf is a "Quirk"?) And, yeah, someone should PROBABLY do an assessment on the ecological recovery of the Reality. But like?

Do you have any idea how few people have an Obsession for stuff like that? Wait your turn! The list is long and you're not fuckin special, okay? The agents are BUSY.

Now, you might wonder? Wait. If they aren't moving on. Are DEFINITELY Ghosts. Starving as they are. Refusing to die as they may be. Wouldn't... Wouldn't that leave the whole ass area around their Reality an ecological dead zone? If it got over patched and no Ghosts LEFT, thus noticed, and started to try and work on it from the outside? Assuming the COULD?

Yeah. Yeah it would be!

It's called the "New Wastes"!

There used to be some cool Lairs around there. But there was a turf dispute. Someone DID something. Punched a HOLE. And everyone re-died. It was fixed but never quite re-healed. Portals... don't show up there? For some reason? Meh. Wanna brawl?

No. Danny's curious. He wants ANSWERS.

It's his fatal flaw.

Well... that and his inability to keep his mouth shut. But he likes to think he's funny. So... off he goes! And MAN! Does it feel funky out there! Weird textures. Mmmm, Don't Like THAT ™. It's probably a King thing? The Zone here... FEELS wrong.

Not... the way it's SUPPOSED to be shaped, if that makes sense?

And? It feels... if you sorta squint? Like... a LOT of people AREN'T where they should be. But aren't gonna leave until they're READY. Ooof. Great. Someone messed up again. Why does he KEEP FINDING bits and pockets that need straightening out? Unruffling? It's like he has to keep smooth out this giant peice of fabric with all these stains on it. Clean the messes on it.

He feels more like a maid then a King.

Maybe he is?

Pretty sure he's more of a nanny, since the Zone is more of a whiny yet excitable toddler then anything else. Alright, let him in. And fix... whatever THAT is.

So he steps into the Reality and? Huh. Japan. Neat. He always meant to go, never got around to it. Why is that man an otter?

.......oooohohooo, this place was HELLA fucked up by Ectoplasm, wasn't it? This is multi generational exposure. It's in the air. The water, ground, buildings. But stale to the point of stagnation. That can't be healthy. At least a few people he sees have developed ecto-resistance, thank the Ancients.

Danny discovers there are? "Superheroes"? Or just... heroes, apparently. They sell shampoo lines and athletic gear. Villians are petty criminals and psychopaths. All lumped together. He gets fuckin CHASED by the COPS and half the cities spandex patrol, called a "villian" (you know, like the purse snatchers and the DUDE WHO TRIED TO OPEN FIRE ON A CROWD) for flying around trying to assess the situation. Not speaking Japanese fast enough.

Soooorry! He TRIED to answer your confusing barked demands! This isn't his native language! He's translating through Ghost Speech! He knows it sounds unsettling to the living! It's the best he's GOT, man! (Asshole)

He escapes, obviously, because he's not 14 anymore. And honestly? He could top 200mph or so AT 14. He's only gotten faster. Intangible flight means no wind drag, motherfuckers~! OR need to dodge buildings! HA. Try to follow him through THE GROUND!

A few Blob sucked (to remove the ectoplasm) bits of treasure later? And he leaves a pawn shop with local currency. Thank YOU shady pawn shop! Ask him no questions, he'll tell you not lies. Enjoy Pariah's gold.

He does tourist things. Buy foods he's never tried, wanders around. Sees what's needed. Noticed a lot of people struggle with some aspect of the ecto-mutations brought on by the extreme Limnality. Need accessibility aids.

.....well, he IS a Fenton. His parents would disown him on the SPOT if he left with out at least TRYING to help. So he tracks down one the local ghosts. He'll need a guide or two.

He? VASTLY underestimates how desperate a sea of Obsession Starved Hero and Vigilante Ghosts will act, the INSTANT, they realize not only someone can see them... but it's? Their "Boss"? They aren't sure HOW they know that. But they DO. It's THE Boss. Here to help them! Asking for HELP ™ from THEM!

Yes

YES THEY CAN DO THAT

He gets swarmed. Hundreds of ghosts fighting over each other. Shouting. Turning on each other like rabid animals. All worn down and ragged by their Obssesion starvation. He's forced to shout over them.

And? Holy shit, these are only the ones from THIS CITY, too.

Thank Zone, again, he's no longer 14. That he has friends who are Rulers ™ that taught him HOW to Rule. To delegate. Pretend he TOTALLY knows what he's doing. That every action is on purpose.

It takes less then two hours, with all the experienced Unground Heros help, to make himself a Real Boy and buy a building. Put himself into the correct databases. He officially has licenses for things he's never studied. Is a tax paying citizen. Even belongs to several local clubs.

Over the next few days? He sets up his new... oi! Quickdraw! What're they called again? Right. "Lifestyle Support Company" which? Is a dumb name. But, Fenton Works is Fenton Works. Somehow he always kinda knew he'd be inherenting. It's in a cruddy part of town and the prices are cheap as he can safely get um.

He already had two customers, even though half the building isn't even fully set up. Which? I mean... he gets it. Poor guy. Knives for hands. Sharp ones too. The other guy's Obsession made him emotionally react to colors and like three different ones were ruining his life. So, hand Prosthetics controllable by knives and color filtering wrap around glasses.

Took him a lunch break or two.

Changed THEIR lives.

Suddenly his shop is packed. Schedule screaming for relief. And the ghosts? Getting more tangible by the day. See, his work shop? Ecto proofed. Let's him relax. But it ALSO let's him radiate fresh, clean, Ecto out into the air. And as King? With a direct line to The Zone? He puts out a lot.

There start to become Sightings.

People who SWEAR they saw long dead Heros out of the corner of their eyes. Dead vigilantes. That was who through that bottle. Who tripped that thug at just the right moment. Who unlocked the door. The SWEAR. They aren't crazy!

And... at first? Brushed off. Stress does a lot of crazy thing to a person, ma'am. But? How do you brush off, making eye contact with your dead best friend? Your old mentor on the other roof? That vigilante, who you WATCHED bleed out? Can you brush them off... when a vigilante from the dawn of quirks, punches some two bit villian on live television? Calls the Heros on the scene gloryhounds? Goverment dogs?

Runs from the cops and vanishes into thin air?

When this shit KEEPS HAPPENING?

Is spreading?

Are... are you supposed to arrest them for illegal vigilantism? How? They're THE proto-Heros! You don't want your name tied to that! The HPSC is furious. The goverment is uneasy. There are like... 6 dudes and a lady, openly stalking some kid in UA. Trying to mentor him. He looks moments away from a nervous breakdown.

Us too, kid. Us too.

All? While Danny? Is just sitting in his lil shop. Tinkering. Not HIS problem. Gotta let the ghosts here get it out of their system. Get their Obsession's full. Then it's all aboard the Zone Train. He's just here to make sure no one does anything "Too Crazy".

What's HIS definition of "too crazy"?

Wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy~☆

@hdgnj @lolottes @nerdpoe @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @spidori @the-witchhunter @legitimatesatanspawn

[gilverrwrites]

Being Bruce’s secretary, a recent college grad straight from the temp agency, that Bruce has the hots for. But he tries to keep a distance because…well, you’re a little young for him. Until you accidentally ingest sex pollen and you’re looking at him, sweaty and embarrassed as you try to keep your hips from obviously grinding into your chair, praying you aren’t leaving a wet spot, because you need to be played with so desperately. He feels awful, especially after you awkwardly confess that you don’t have a ton of sexual experience, but your temperature is only going to rise unless you get some sort of relief. You need his big hand to toy with your pussy until your skin stops heating up and you need to big cock to fill you until your temperature goes down. You’re so shy about having your hot boss get you off, but if it’s a life or death situation…Bruce isn’t going to let you die on his watch.

I love being sent little stories like this, it's like a reward. A delicious little treat and I had to extend on it. Warnings: age gap, boss/employee, dubious consent via the nature of sex pollen.

He tries to keep a distance because…well, you’re a little young for him. But everybody in the building has noticed that he’s been in the office far more since you’ve been hired than, well, ever.

Slowly your duties are extending past typical secretarial work. “You should really hire a PA, Mr Wayne.” You joke.

“And have no excuse to summon your pretty face to brighten my day? No thanks.” He answers instantly, kicking himself under the table when you laugh softly in reply.

And ‘Mr Wayne’. He’d insisted on you calling him Bruce but you’d refused, citing wanting to maintain an air of professionalism, but he’s pretty sure you do it because you know it stirs an untameable fire within him that nobody else has come close to. It’s almost as bad as that tight little pencil skirt you like to wear. The one that’s just an inch above the dress code, not that he’s say anything, or that he’s even looking at the skirt of of his secretary who is no older than most of his children.

You’re wearing that very skirt the day it happens. He could tell something was wrong the moment he got off the elevator. The distinctly sweet, earthy smell of Ivy’s latest batch of pheromones permeates your office space, mixed with something else, something strong and tangy. It smells like sex.

You’re looking at him, sweaty and embarrassed. Shifting in your seat, your chair pulled up uncomfortably close to your desk. He watchs you intensely as he rounds the room. You don’t know that he’s piecing it together; the package of vials he’d had sent up from the lab and how there’s a damp patch, it must have leaked out and got on your skin somehow. The way you’re trying to hide that your skirt is hiked up to your hips, your panties in a bunch unsuccessfully hidden under your heel as you obviously grind into your chair.

You just know that his bright blue eyes are only making you feel worse; so hot and desperate. 

His hand is like ice as he presses it to your clammy forehead and you hiss, leaning back, uncaring that you’re now shamelessly exposing your soppy, swollen pussy.

“M-Mr Wayne, I need help. I n-need you.”

Bruce has never been one for swearing, but he can’t help uttering a quiet “fuck” At your display, at your breathy, needy voice and your enticingly spread legs. But he can’t take advantage of you like this.

“No. You need release.” He informs you, ignoring how his dick is throbbing, trying to sound as formal and cold as possible without slipping into his Batman voice. “Do it here, then go home. Stay there until you’re better. Don’t worry about money, you’ll get full pay.”

He’s been studying the pollen and its effects for weeks and the stuff you’d touched was an attenuated version anyway. You’ll be fine once you ejaculate it out of your system and get a good rest.

You don't question how he knows what's wrong with you or how to fix it, your mind obviously occupied with the burning sensation that's pooling through your body and making you an anxious, needy mess.

He backs up, determined to enter his office and give you some privacy but you grab his arm with a strength he didn’t know you were capable of, staining the sleeve of his suit with your slick. He can see the unease in your eyes, the bite in your lip. You don’t want to say what you’re about to say but you awkwardly confess; “I’ve been trying, I can’t do it. I’ve never done it. Please, Mr Wayne, I need you.”

He's not proud of how easily he succumbs to temptation, in fact he feels awful as he drops to his knees. Needing his big hand to toy with your pussy until your skin stops heating up is where it starts. You’re so responsive, thanking him repeatedly between such sweet whimpers as your cunt twitches around his thick, curled fingers, getting louder and louder with stroke.

He does his diligence though, trying to protect any pride you have left by calling the reception team and telling them that nobody, visitors or staff, are to be allowed on his floor until he states otherwise before he crosses the line by fixing his lips to your clit. Your whole body jerks, it’s endearing, how you want it so badly, yet can’t control yourself, can’t sit still long enough to take it, even when you grab at his hair to try and reel yourself. Makes him feel like a sick, lecherous old man for enjoying the turmoil of a woman far too young for him.

But he won’t prolong your suffering, he isn’t going to let you die on his watch. So he holds you down with his spare hand, keeping you in place as he takes care of you, his other hand plunging between your dripping walls, his mouth never leaving your sensitive clit no matter how hard you pull on him until you release all over his mouth, adding to the stain you’d already ground into your chair before his arrival.

That’s where he should call it a day, but in an emotional show of gratitude, the moment he leans away, you pull him into a heated kiss. Unbothered by the taste of yourself as you whisper ‘thank you, thank you, thank you' into his open mouth.

You’re still shaking when he lifts you by your thighs, hurriedly placing you on your desk, he’ll replace anything broken later. Right now, he needs to keep kissing you, keep hearing you moan for him. Needs to fill you up with his cock, just until your fever breaks. Just to be sure.

Brucie taglist: @wandalfnation

[kayhi808]

First Crush - 8

Your dinner & movie date was great! Dinner came out well. Bucky enjoyed it. He hadn't had a home cooked meal in a while. Bucky helps you clear the table, "I'll have to give Abby a bath & get her ready for bed, but if you want...to hang around for a bit..."

You feel his hands on your hips as he turns you around. "Yea, I think I can do that." He leans in & kisses you softly. His lips, soft but firm makes the butterflies in your belly take flight. You take his bottom lip between your teeth & tug, eliciting a soft moan from Bucky's throat.

"Mama?" Bucky jumps back, looking over his shoulder at Abby standing 3 feet away. "What doing?"

"Hey, Baby. I was on my way to get your bath started. Can you pick out your pajamas for me? You can also pick out 2 stories for tonight."

"Mama?"

"Yes."

She waddles over to hold Bucky's hand, "Can Bucky reads me a story"

You both look at Bucky. "Sure." He smiles down at her.

She claps & bounces up & down. "One story for Buckys & 2 story for yous."

"What? No, ma'am. You only get 2 stories. One for me & one for Bucky."

Abby bends over cackling, "I almost tricks yous."

"Nice try. Go find your pajamas & stories. We'll be right there." Abby skips out of the kitchen and then you're able to crack a smile. "She's only 3! By the time she's a teenager, she'll be too smart for me." Bucky drops a kiss at your temple as you pass him to get Abby's bath ready.

*****

Your evening didn't end like you would have hoped. Abby wouldn't fall asleep as long as Bucky was there. She came outside for water, monsters in her closet, monsters under the bed, to ask very important questions about Moana's Chicken if it knew how to swim in the ocean...Her interruptions were endless. Bucky left because Abby wouldn't go to sleep otherwise. Cockblocked by your own child!

You and Bucky decided that once he returns from this mission, you'd set time aside for a real date. Just the two of you. You've been so limited to lunches in your office or phone calls after Abby goes to sleep. You're dying to go on a grown-up date with Bucky.

Wednesday morning started like any other day, until an alert came in that Bucky's mission went sideways & the team suffered injuries. The med bay had to be alerted & prepped for the incoming quinjet. Bucky had been shot and one of the other agents under him was in serious condition.

It was hard for you to concentrate on work knowing Bucky was hurt. This is exactly what scared you about starting a relationship with Bucky. The fear you'll feel with every mission he leaves on. You both have kept it professional at work, but Bucky's friends know you've been seeing each other. You weren't assigned to Director Fury today, so you aren't abreast with details of the mission.

Sam drops by your office, "Hey."

Leaping up from your desk, "Sam! What happened? How is he?"

"He'll be fine. They're checking him out now. It was a through and through.

"And the other agent?"

"He's in surgery now, but it looks good." You nod, biting your bottom lip. "Want me to take you up?"

Tears fall, "I'm still working. I don't want Fury..."

Sam laughs, "Fury already knows EVERYTHING that happens here. It'll be quick. Once you see him, it'll put your mind at ease."

Wiping away your tears, "Please?" Sam nods & as you pass him, he puts his arm around your shoulder giving you a quick squeeze.

*****

You get to the med bay and Bucky is on a bed, his side patched up with a large bandage & his arm in a sling. You gasp & cover our mouth with your hands, trying to silence yourself. "Buck." It's the first time you've seen him without a shirt, you see the way his Vibranium arm in attached to him. The scars.

It's overwhelming. The abuse his poor body has taken.

"Hey, Doll." Sam nudges you towards the bed & leaves to give you both privacy.

You brush his hair off his forehead & drop a kiss on his brow before placing one on his lips. "Can I get you anything?"

He closes his eyes and shakes his head clasping your hand in his, "Nope. This is good."

You know he's medicated, so you stay until he falls asleep before you leave him.

*****

You made arrangements with a neighbor to pick up Abby from daycare, so you can visit with Bucky after work.

When you get there, Natalie, Clint & Steve are there joking with him. He looks much better than this morning.

"Hey, doll! What are you still doing here?"

Lingering in the doorway, "I asked my neighbor if she could get Abby from daycare because I'd be a little late. I wanted to check on you before I left."

Clint teases, "You don't have to worry about him. He's like a cat with nine lives. Thankfully he's able to put himself in harms way to save the day, with his super serum."

"Shut up, man."

Natasha sees you flinch, "He'll be good as new. The serum does accelerate the healing process. There's nothing to worry about."

You give her a small smile, "Yea, that's good to hear."

"Y/N?" Bucky hears the strain in your voice.

"I'm glad you're feeling better. I...I wanted to know if you needed anything before I left but looks like you're well taken care of."

"Could you guys give us a minute?"

"No, I can't stay. I need to get Abby. I don't want to be an inconvenience; you know how Abby gets. We'll talk later." You quickly go to him & drop a kiss on his brow & turn to leave, giving a small wave to the others.

*****

The following morning Director Fury had you with him in meetings. When you got back to your office, you found Bucky sitting there waiting for you. "Bucky? What are you doing here? Did they release you already?" You notice the bruise and scrapes were already healed. He still had his arm in a sling though.

"You didn't answer your phone last night."

"I'm sorry. I texted you this morning. Abby was in a mood and I fell asleep early. I was real tired." Bucky just stares at you and it makes you nervous. "Did you want me to pick up lunch for you?"

He shakes his head & continues to stare at you until you finally make eye contact with him. "Talk to me, Y/N." He waits out your silence.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever's bothering you, we can talk it through. We can figure it out. At least give me a chance."

"I don't even know where to start."

"The beginning works best," getting comfortable in the chair, signaling he's not going anywhere.

"Abby's father. He was a fighter pilot with the Air Force. He had a dangerous job but he didn't die in the line of duty. It was because he was reckless. He was careless & lost control of his plane. He did that to himself."

"And you see him in me?" You see his jaw clench.

"I don't know. I know that i'm scared now. I feel more connected to you, than I did to Jason in the short time I've known you. My daughter absolutely adores you." You see a cocky smile on his face. "Those aren't good points, Bucky." Frowning at him, "Your job is dangerous and you risk your life to save others. I can't have someone else in my life who puts me & Abby second."

"And you think I'd do that?"

"I do. Clint said that because you're a Super Soldier, you take extra risks because you know you'll recover. You take a bullet for someone on the team because you know you'll survive and they will die. That's brave and heroic and I commend you on that."

"Y/N."

"But if I'm honest and selfish, if I let myself fall in love with you, where does that leave me? Abby? I don't think we have a place in your world. Your team, Mankind, will always outrank us."

"It's like you've got this all figured out."

Shaking your head, "I don't. And that's what scares me. If it was just myself I had to think about, my concerns would be different. I'd be willing to risk more." Taking a deep breath, "I'm protecting Abby the only way I know how."

"And if I promise to put you & Abby first?"

That wasn't an option you were expecting. "I don't understand."

Bucky stands and leans on your desk, "If I swear to put you and Abby first. Will you give us a chance?"

"How?"

"Let me work it out. I'm asking you to trust me? Can you do that? Can you give me time?" You silently nod as he pulls you in for a kiss. The chill of his vibranium hand on the nape of your neck giving you goosebumps. Or is it just the kiss itself?

Next chapter

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @crazyunsexycool @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @ozwriterchick @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @enchantedbarnes @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @blackbirdwitch22

[222col]

sugardaddy!art is completely devoted to you, as are you to him, until a dm from patrick lights up your phone late one night | 18+

it was tashi who introduced you two, at some adidas party. she'd met with you the day before, pitching the idea of forming some kind of relationship with her husband. she admitted that she knew he needed more than her, he needed intimacy, attention, devotion. things she wasn't capable of giving, her focus was on his tennis and recovery. art was attractive, and successful, you were considering. tashi explained that in return for your devotion to her husband, the two of you would supply you with anything you wanted. "so, i'd be his sugarbaby?" you questioned her. she simply shook her head. "you'd look after his needs, while we looked after yours."

she introduced you to her husband, "this is the girl we talked about." he had followed you on instagram the night before, so you imagined tashi had shown it to him after your conversation. she leaves the two of you alone. you're younger than him, much smaller in frame, you can feel the power he has over you. but he strokes your arm lightly, telling you he can't wait to get to know you better.

art falls head over heels for you, you see him nearly every day. always giving him every ounce of attention he craves. it's not hard, he's beautiful, funny, always doting on you, complimenting everything about you. he fucks you like the world stops moving once he's inside you. you're like oxygen to him, he can't really breath until he's with you. art and tashi sleep in separate rooms, as months go by, you start staying over. occasionally bumping into tashi the next morning, she always greets you with a smile and thanks you for looking after her husband. the dynamic is strange, but it works.

art kept you very private, away from his fast paced life in tennis. he followed your instagram, sure, but you were a sportswear model. who's to suspect anything strange about a professional tennis player following a sportswear model. it's a year into you and art's relationship that patrick follows you on instagram. you knew he and patrick had patched up their friendship, since they played each other in a challenger somewhere in new york, some nine months ago. but still, you can't imagine art ever mentioning you to anyone other than his wife. one, for the sake of his public image, but two, he'd never want to share you. he always asks you if you go on dates in your time away from him, but always reassuring him that you don't. "i'm yours art, i don't want anyone else."

stalking patrick's instagram, alone in your apartment, payed for by art, you see how much he's turned his life around since playing in that new york challenger. art had mentioned that patrick wasn't reaching his full potential while they weren't on speaking terms. but now he's playing in big tournaments, winning them and earning his reputation back. that's obvious by his instagram, he's travelling the world, in style. you see the notification of him liking one of your posts, as you swipe through his. no, this is bad, you think. another notification, a message this time. shit. you have to tell art. does he already know? has he told patrick about the relationship you share? it's late, you know art has a match tomorrow, you decide not to call him.

patrick's messages are flirty, you can't work out what he knows, if he knows. you flirt back. you know it's wrong, but you do it. you think about art's pout as you tell him you're flirting with his best friend when you're sworn to him. you wipe that thought from your brain, reading the messages patrick is sending you. he's in your city for a tournament, you question how he knows what city you live in, it's in your bio, he responds. oh, yeah.

what are you doing right now?

fuck. fuck. shit. it's 10pm, you're still dolled up from the dinner art took you to. you look back at your phone.

wanna meet me for a drink? there's a nice bar at my hotel.

he sends you the address, it's only two blocks from your apartment. your feet are moving you off the couch, discarding of your robe, the dress art instructed you to wear to dinner still gowns your body.

be there in 15.

why the fuck did you do that, you think, reapplying your lipstick. your mind is running a mile a minute. you slip your heels back on, grabbing your handbag and locking your apartment door behind you. art. patrick. art. fuck, you can't stop thinking about art. you still don't know if patrick knows, but you can't ask because then he'll definitely know. you haven't been with anyone else since the day you met art, it would break him knowing you're going for drinks with another man. let alone with patrick. you collect yourself as you arrive outside the hotel, you'd been here with art. you didn't recognise the name, art always books the rooms. you stayed here with him the night before he signed the lease to your apartment.

walking towards the bar, you remember the way, patrick is perched on the end of the bar. he smirks when he sees you, you smile and walk over to him. standing to greet you, he kisses your cheek, "glad you could join me, i was getting lonely." he's in a white button down and jeans. "glad i could be of service then." you flirt, sitting on the stool next to his. your knees touching his as he orders you a glass of wine. "there's no way you got this dolled up in 15 minutes, sweetheart," the bartender places your wine down next to you. taking a sip and giggling. "no, of course, i'd only been home an hour when you messaged me, i went out to dinner and hadn't gotten changed yet." patrick is leaning towards you, like he's trying to read you.

"you're telling me, you went on a date, came home, then came to meet me? that's hot." patrick laughs into his beer. "no, no, it wasn't a date," you lie, art would cry if he heard you say that. "it was just dinner with a friend." patrick doesn't really believe you, but he doesn't push. "so, you're in town for the tennis tournament?" you question, sipping your wine. "yeah, i play my first game the day after tomorrow." you know it's the same tournament art is playing in. "i was actually going to stay at a friends place who lives near by, but boy am i glad i didn't now." his hand lands on your exposed thigh. fuck, he must mean art. you don't even realise you're leaning in closer to patrick. "me too," he just smiles at you, drawing circles on your skin.

you come to the conclusion that he doesn't know a thing about your relationship with art, the most he could know was that art followed your instagram, he will have seen when he followed you himself. you don't know how it happens, but after a few more glasses of wine and flirting, patrick's lips crash onto yours. they're not as soft as art's, he doesn't have the same respect for you to wait for you to open your mouth to push his tongue in. his hand is moving further up your thigh, pulling away from the kiss. "what'd say? wanna fuck a famous tennis star?" he whispers in your ear, he's so fucking arrogant. another famous tennis star, you think. you can't resist him, he's so different to art. art cares so deeply for you, touches you so softly, asks if you're okay. patrick is cocky, only sees you as a girl to add to his list. you can't say no, you know you should but you can't. all you can do is look up at him through your lashes and nod.

he fucks you from behind, ripping your dress off your body as he pounds into you. you'll feel guilty about that tomorrow, art loved that dress. he spanks you repeatedly, he doesn't care that it hurts, he just cares about getting himself off. he flips you over, holding your ankles and pushing your legs close to your head as he keeps fucking you. your fresh set of nails dig into the skin of his thighs, nails moving to his back once he drops your legs down. you scratch the length of his spine, he winces with a smile on his face when he realises you've drawn blood. he spits in your mouth, slaps your face, its animalistic. he pulls out and finishes all over your stomach, he doesn't care that you didn't finish. he collapses beside you, instinctively you start kissing and caressing the marks you left on his body. kissing every bite mark and scratch you gave him. he softens, breathing gently as he strokes you hair. "no one's ever looked after me like this," he states, sitting up to drink the water your holding for him. you simply kiss his forehead in response, his heart is nearly beating out his chest at the sweet way you're looking after him, after just fucking the life out of you without giving a single fuck. you pull the blanket up over his naked body, getting out of bed to gather your belongings. "stay with me?" he pleads, you can't resist.

you wake up in patrick's arms, shit. shit. shit. it's 9am, you check your phone, a text from art, two hours ago.

good morning, baby. hope you slept well, off to my morning training session before the match later today. call you when i can xx

you turn around and look at patrick, fast asleep. you reply quickly to art.

good morning, my love. have a good session, already can't wait to hear ur voice <3

you're not lying. you hear his voice everyday, it's part of your routine. you put your phone on the nightstand as you start getting out of bed. "please don't leave just yet," patrick mumbles in his morning voice, holding out a hand for you. "let me just use the bathroom real quick." you respond. you smooth out your hair in the mirror, attempting to clean up your make up with only your finger, slipping into a robe on the back of the bathroom door. you return to patrick, sitting on the edge of the bed as he sits up now, leaning against the headboard. "i have a proposition for you," you tilt your head at his words. "i need you in my life, i need your body, your kindness," he begins. oh no. "i was thinking, if you were to look after me and my needs, i could do the same for you." you know exactly what he means, you've heard it before. your phone lights up, your ringtone playing. 'A.D' flashes across the screen. fuck.

[rebeliz7]

We have to stop meeting like this

Natasha Romanoff x Doctor Reader 

Request: Can you do Natasha x non avenger/reader where reader is very possessive and protective over her wife “Listen pal. There are two things I need from you. Number 1 is get away from my wife and number 2 is stay the hell away from my wife.” Natasha finds her wife’s treats very amusing, considering she’s the black widow and can more than well take care of herself.

Word Count: 2255

…

You’re about to leave the hospital, your shift having just ended, when your phone rings. 

You see Steve’s name on the screen, and your heart stops for a second before you slide a trembling finger across the screen to answer. 

“You need to come in.” He says after murmuring a soft greeting, and you immediately become terrified. 

“Steve, is she - ”

“She’s okay.” He hurries to explain, probably realizing his mistake. “She’s fine, she’s a little beaten up, but she’s fine.”

“She’s alive.” You assure yourself, before taking a deep breath, and gathering your things. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

…

The moment you get to the Compound you know that Steve was more than vague in his explanation, because you walk into the most chaotic state you’ve ever seen the Avengers in. 

Thor is speaking loudly, his voice booming and making the windows shake lightly while Tony rubs his temples, trying to soothe a certain headache. Sam is nursing a bleeding arm on the couch, and he looks pissed as he raises his voice at Tony too. 

Steve, on the other hand, seems to be trying to keep everyone in check while Wanda and Carol sit on the nearest couch looking exhausted. No one notices you at first.

“Good evening, Doctor.” Scratch that, Friday notices you, and suddenly everyone else does too. They all fall silent the moment they see you, and when no one opens their mouth you rush down the hallway to the med-bay, terrified all over again. 

“Wait up.” Someone calls behind you.

“What the hell happened out there?” You ask over your shoulder, and you realize that everyone is coming with you. 

“You know we can’t tell you what happened.” Steve says calmly, and you turn around abruptly causing him to  stumble trying to catch himself before running into you.

You notice that his brow is bleeding from a small cut, and his suit has a tear on its chest, and he looks exhausted. 

“I don’t want the details of the mission, Steve. I meant what happened to my wife.” You clarify, and he looks to his left as he swallows, and then nods. 

“Bullet wound.” He says, and you close your eyes as you take a deep breath. Then you turn around, and resume walking.

You know how secretive Natasha’s work is, and you understand the risks. She’s an Avenger, and protecting the world is her job. Injuries are, at this point, just a professional hazard for her. 

Still, she’s your wife, and over the years you’ve only become more protective of her instead of more accustomed to the inevitability of these kinds of calls. 

“She should have waited.” You hear Tony say, as you round a corner. 

“Yeah, and you were a load of help.” Sam says sarcastically, and you begin to pay closer attention to their conversation. 

“More help than you, that’s for sure. Getting yourself shot the second you showed up.” Tony snarks back, getting angrier by the second.

“You put us all in danger by going for that computer, Stark.” Thor says, and the steel in his voice is terrifying to hear. “You are not a team player.”

“Newsflash, beach boy.” Tony starts, just as you reach the med-bay. “We need that computer if we want to put an end to this nightmare.”

“That’s enough.” Carol says, and even you straighten up at hearing her command. “Not now.”

The second you spot your wife you rush to her side, while simultaneously assessing the situation with a critical eye. Her waist is patched up, and you breathe a little easier when you realize that the bullet must have not hit anything vital. She’s being hydrated intravenously, and they’ve administered an antibiotic. Other than that, she just seems to be sleeping. 

You know she heals faster than a regular person, but you can’t help but feel as scared as you do every time that she comes home with a bruise, let alone a bullet wound. She’s not invincible, despite the world’s beliefs. 

You take a moment to look at her before you press your lips softly to her temple, and pull up the sheets to cover up to her chin. You pick up her chart next. 

The bullet went through and through just like you thought. They just had to patch her up, the wound was already healing when they brought her in. 

“She should have waited.” Tony says again, and you pick up on the fear lacing his tone. Natasha and Tony go way back, you know he’s her oldest friend among the Avengers, and he wouldn’t put her in danger deliberately.

So whatever’s happened, you rest easy at knowing that he had her back. He always does.  

“That’s enough, Stark.” Carol speaks again, her voice is steel  now, and it scares you slightly. “You can try to justify what happened out there all you want, but we all know the truth. We all heard what you said. We all know that it was you who gave Natasha the go-ahead. So stop. Nat is on this bed because of you. Own it.”

The silence that falls upon the room is deafening, and your confusion only increases the moment Natasha opens her eyes. 

“Jesus, Danvers! You’re being way too harsh.” Your wife rasps with humor in her tone. You know she’s okay, but that still doesn’t stop you from leaning down to kiss her lips the moment she’s done speaking. “Who called my wife?” She asks, her hand cupping your face as you comb her hair back with your fingers before kissing her again. 

“We gotta stop meeting like this.” You joke, and she scrunches up her nose. 

“You think you’re funny.” She says, her thumb caressing your cheek.

“Yeah, well. You married me.” You shrug, and she smiles up at you. 

However, your joy at having your wife in one piece is quickly snatched away when you can feel the rising tension among her team again. 

“We can talk about this later.” Steve says, as you sit down on the edge of the mattress, your wife’s hand in yours as you both turn your attention to her friends. 

“Of course.” Tony says, but you can hear the sarcasm in his voice, and so can everyone else. 

“Tony, come on. We’ll talk about it later.” Wanda insists, her hand on his forearm, but he’s quick to shake her hand off, and step closer to the bed, his eyes firmly locked on your wife. 

“You were an idiot!” He points a finger at Nat, and it’s your turn to frown. 

“Tony.” Sam, and Carol try to stop him but he continues to advance on your wife anyway. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You wife asks as you slowly stand up. 

“That’s enough, Tony. Come on, man.” Steve intervenes, but Tony ignores him, his eyes still trained on your wife.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the master spy? The brains of this bunch, besides me?” He shouts, his anger sparking your own, and you find yourself pushing him back before he can take another step closer to Natasha. 

“Listen  here, pal.” You growl, as he stumbles back a couple of steps. “There are two things I need from you right now. One: Stop yelling at my wife, and Two: Stay the hell away from her. Got it?”

“Seriously?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you step closer, daring him to try you. He may be Iron Man, and a dear friend, but you’re Natasha’s wife, and he’ll have to respect that. 

You glare until he takes a step back in response, still frowning. He looks at Nat over your shoulder, and you hear her snicker. 

“I’d listen to her, Tony.” She tells him, and you can hear the amusement in her voice. She’s not angry, or hurt, despite Tony’s frustrations. 

“Is anyone seeing this?” He asks, his index finger pointing at your chest, as he looks at everyone else in this room. 

“Come on, man.” Steve sighs again, and you catch Carol smirking, as Wanda rounds the bed to get closer to Natasha. 

When Tony looks at you again you can see the regret in his eyes as clear as day. You don’t know what happened out there, but you don’t blame him for your wife being on this bed. Natasha doesn’t take uncalculated risks, at least not since you two got married. Whatever decision she made during their mission was her own, you’re certain of that. 

“How about a shower, and a nap?” You tell him, your hand on his arm now, and he lets out a deep breath. He looks exhausted, and he’s a dear friend of yours too. You need him rested, and taken care of before he attempts to speak to Natasha again. “Come back later, we’ll be here all night.”

“Yeah.” He nods, and he leaves quickly, leaving you surrounded by equally exhausted superheros. 

“How do you do that?” Sam asks you, as Carol and Steve walk closer to the bed too. 

“Do what?” You ask him, feigning ignorance.

“You know what.” He says, and Carol is laughing when you turn around. 

“What’s so funny?” You wife asks her as you sit on the mattress, and begin running your fingers through her hair again. You smile to yourself as the Avengers gather around your wife’s bed. 

“Nothing, really.” Carol shakes her head, and your wife frowns, fixes Carol with a glare that only makes the Captain laugh harder as she turns around, and makes for the door. 

“Don’t say it.” Sam shakes his head, also amused and you’re tempted to laugh at the look on their faces but you limit yourself to watching the interaction. 

“What?!” Your wife insists. 

“Well, your wife is a lot scarier than you these days.” Carol shrugs, one foot in the hallway already, and Sam hides his laughter behind a very fake coughing fit. 

“And that’s funny why?” Your wife asks, and Steve shakes his head, finally smiling. 

“You’re the Black Widow.” Carol deadpans, and your wife glares harder. 

“It is kinda true.” Wanda says, nodding her head, and your wife huffs in disbelief this time. 

“Children, the bunch of you.” You call them, as you stand up again to put an end to their teasing. Natasha really does need to rest, as do all of them. “Go, take showers please. And eat something.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve says with humor in his voice, and you roll your eyes as you practically push him out of the room.

When they’re gone, you close the door before taking off your jacket, and heels.

“What are you doing?” Your wife asks with a smile, even while she scoots over on the mattress, already making room for you. 

You get in bed with her, your arms wrapping around her middle as she presses her lips to your temple, and hugs you tight. 

“You need a shower too.” You tell her after a little while, and she pinches your arm as she laughs.

“Rude.” She says, but you’re quick to kiss her lips. 

“Babe, I love you. But you’re all sweaty and gross right now.” 

“I was shot!” She reminds you, and you hum in response. 

“No need to remind me.” 

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes. “I got distracted for just one second.”

“What happened?” You ask her.

“There was this really cute tabby-cat, and he was right in the middle of - ”

“Hold on.” You interrupt her, your hand in the air. “Please tell me that you didn’t get shot because of a cat, Natasha.”

The silence that you’re met with is answer enough, but she looks absolutely adorable as she grimaces, and pulls back a few inches from you. But that’s exactly who she is, isn’t it? She’s the kind of person that would get shot because she was trying to protect someone… or in this case a cat. 

“You really are scary.” She tells you, and you roll your eyes again. You know she likes cats but this is just ridiculous. 

“I swear!” You huff, and she hugs you closer, her lips pressing sweet kisses on your shoulder again. “Do they know why you got shot?”

“Wanda does.” She says with a smile. 

“That girl is always helping you when you’re reckless.”

“That’s why I love her.” Natasha smiles wider this time, and her wandering lips continue to press kisses along your neck, your jaw. 

“If you think you’re getting lucky while you’re lying on a bed after getting shot because you saved a cat, think again.” You tell her with a pointed look and she lets out a disappointed breath, a smile on her face as she presses one last kiss on the corner of your lips.

“You need to tell Tony that. He thinks you got shot because of him.” You tell her quietly.

“I know.” She sighs, and you can see how tired she feels. 

“Thanks for defending me.” She says after a few minutes of lying in silence. 

“Anytime.” You grin cheekily at her, and she presses one last kiss on your cheek before getting more comfortable. 

You both know that she doesn’t need you standing up for her. She could have handled Tony on her own, and she can take her teammates teasing. They all know how far to push after all. She is the Black Widow. 

But ‘Black Widow’, ‘ex-assassin’, ‘deadliest woman alive’ or not she’s still your wife, and the love of your life and you will always, always stand up for her. 

… 

[kirabasai]

modern tobiizu au where izuna and tobirama are rival e-sport players. they take the competition the most seriously out of the entire league. they are a pr nightmare and definition of toxic competition because they constantly go on twitter and shit on the other. they deliberately fuel fanwars. people call them the physical embodiment of league of legends despite the fact they don't even play league of legends (leaving what game they play ambiguous).

tobirama invents new ways of playing the game and abuses bugs in competions until abusing bugs gets banned because it reached a point where he was discovering exploits faster than the devs could patch them. izuna shits on tobirama for a full twitch stream saying how tobirama needed those bugs to even match him, and he says he hates how he ended up adding a new rule to the league because of how he played. izuna doesn't even play the same as tobirama, its just the principle of the fact he got a whole new rule made.

izuna is really intuitive, he's fast at figuring out new strats and mechanics and enjoys mimicing other ppl's playstyles as a form of psychological warfare. his reaction speed is very fast; "oh, you're ambushing me? lol get rektd." he goes through mouses like his monster energy cans because he just keeps breaking them (they can't handle the stress of his intense playstyle). if he had a mouse that was actually well made, he probably would not have this problem. however, those mouses just don't feel the same as the super specific, dirt cheap $15 mouse he got down at konoha-mart (or so he insists). he has a closet filled with boxes of this mouse for when he inevitably breaks it again.

one of tobiizu's pr nightmares happened like this:

at one point izuna figured out rpf fanfiction existed so he encouraged his fans to write really bad fanfiction of tobirama. why? he wanted to send it to tobirama so he could witness tobirama snap/explode/have a conniption. psychological warfare. this wasn't too bad, actually.

until tobirama publicly tweeted a link to a 100k word slowburn fanfiction he wrote detailing a forbidden love affair between uchiha izuna, professional esport player, and uchiha madara, the retired esport player who is his team's manager and his BROTHER. izuna livestreamed himself screaming for 30 minutes straight. he cried off camera. pr for both teams scrambled as they had to clarify, no this work is not real (because some people are dumb). madara has to announce his engagement for ppl to stop thinking he and his brother r like that. he's not engaged, but the internet scrambling to figure out who his (nonexistent) fiance is makes tobirama's fanfiction fall out of focus so it works out. originally the pr team wanted izuna to come out as straight but he flat out refused because "if everyone thinks i'm straight i'm doomed to not ever have a boyfriend" (he is bi and very dramatic.) he also gets back at tobirama for this eventually with the Hacked Reddit Incident (in which he hacked tobirama's reddit acct and posted various (nonexistent) issues on various subreddits, including AITA. everyone figured out very quickly it wasn't tobirama but that didn't matter to tobi because not only was his pride wounded, those posts will forever be associated with him [because things can still circulate around the internet even after the original post is deleted])

so yeah. i think you can imagine how the fandom space is if tobiizu r pulling stunts like that off extremely frequently. (chaos. its pure chaos.) somebody is probably crying in a corner, somewhere.

at one point somebody likens tobiizu's dynamic to a boy pulling on his crush's pigtails at a playground, except for them it goes both ways and is far more extreme. this spirals into the fandoms splitting into four factions: "omg they're so in love they're adorable like little kittens", "are y'all fucking CRAZY", "im just chilling here can we pls go back to normal", and unaware. tobiizu find out very quickly, and for once don't know what to do. the pr teams are just glad its nothing negative, for once.

(tobiizu are screaming in e/o's dms like this is YOUR fault. no its YOUR fault. they dont realize it but they're acting exactly like how the person who sparked it all said.)

(they'll get there. eventually.)

(somewhere, somebody is wondering "how can two people so smart be so DUMB.")

(finished this post after over a month bcause my pookie @oh-no-its-bird asked me to here u go bestie it's finally here <3)

[murdockbarnes]

I can see you

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

summary: based on I can see you by taylor swift on sntv

wordcount: 1.5k

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. I DO NOT SUPPORT JKR IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM. forbidden romance, coworkers with benefit, switch!james and switch!reader, handjob, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex.

A/N: this song is so sexy i just had to. this was written in a hurry so forgive me if it's shitty.

any feedback would be greatly appreciated, but reblogs are especially helpful. have a great day!

*not edited, all mistakes are mine*

they brush past each other in one of the many hallways in the ministry of magic, chasing different leads a few months into their training year as new aurors.

it was exciting, as jimston offered them complicated cases and allowed them to work them out on their own, as most training aurors wouldn't let them out in the field so early.

but jimston had one strict rule: aurors training under him could not date during their year of training.

and well, that was quite unfortunate wasn't it? training under jimston as new aurors allowed them to see sides of each other they had not seen at hogwarts, given how different their social circles ran. james was smart as a whip and her shy exterior hid something that called to james' mischievous self. the tension was palpable whenever they were in each other's vicinity.

jimston had paired them up to work most cases together, so they sat sneaking glances day after day at desks facing each other, in a small room with two other aurors.

it was innocent at first, shy glances and shier smiles, arms brushing as they walked, joking and laughing getting to know each other, and late nights working together. everything was professional, despite how hard it got progressively.

it all came to a head one night when they were working late on a case looking for leads, the little workroom empty save for them. jackets off, shirts unbuttoned in an effort to get more comfortable in the stuffy office. james' unruly hair even moreso after running his fingers through it in frustration. she was distracted a while ago when he rolled up his sleeves, his arms on display. oblivious to the effect he was having on her, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, her eyes following the patch of skin coming uncovered. james voice calling her name snapped her out of her haze, and as her gaze met his, darkened eyes meeting darker ones, he knew it was all about to change.

and the rest was history.

which is how james found himself pressed against the wall in a small storage closet a few months into their arrangement, his glasses fogging and her hand over his mouth while she pumped his cock with the other. her lips trailed over his jaw and neck as she increased her pace, grip tightening every time it came close to his tip. the combined sensation of her lips and hand had james reeling, moaning and whining into her hand as he got closer and closer to the edge. he was dizzy in the dim room, as the cloud of her perfume engulfed him. his eyes rolled as white hot pleasure overtook him, electrifying every nerve in his body as she whispered praises into his ear, her pace frantic now. he came all over her hand, her lips trailing his jaw to his mouth, now free and panting heavily. the kiss was all teeth and tongue, intense and quick. it had to be, their absence would surely be noticed by now.

distracted by the kiss, the feel of her hair in his hands and flushed skin under his fingertips, he didn't feel her tucking his dick back into his pants and zipping him up. only when she broke away and his lips chased hers did he realise, but he really couldn't find it in himself to care. he still kept holding her close to him, foreheads resting together, pressed against each other.

"oh my god," are the first words to leave james' mouth, making her laugh. "that was so fucking hot. merlin, woman, you are something else."

"come on," she says, "we have that meeting with jimston in a few minutes to discuss that new case." she pecked him once, flashed a smile, and left as quick as she dragged him into the closet.

james would feel her eyes on him when he was across the room, his coffee mug in hand and talking to someone else, and he'd turn away and pretend not to notice, fighting the flush rising up his neck. he'd pretend like he didn't wish to know what went through her head, like he couldn't still feel the feel of her skin on his fingertips, or know her taste. like she hadn't kissed him senseless merely a half hour ago in an unused office after he'd used his fingers and his tongue to make her cum.

or how she'd returned the favour right back, her mouth stuffed full of his cock, hand slick with his spit, fondling his balls.

james apparates outside her door now, hand raised to knock just as it swings open. she steps aside to invite him in, and she can't turn back after shutting the door fast enough before james has a hold of her face and is kissing her, fingers tangling in her hair. she moans into his mouth as his fingers lift her skirt upwards, hands curving over her thighs and hip until it reaches her underwear. his fingers are gentle as they pull it off, a contrast to the desperate way he's kissing her, as though she's his one source of oxygen.

james breaks away and slowly gets on his knees, maintaining eye contact. her back is against her front door, her chest heaving. her hair is messy from his fingers and her shirt unbuttoned; she looks an absolute mess, and james couldn't be prouder. his hands glance over her legs once more before they slowly part her folds, his breath fanning her pubic bone before his mouth makes contact with her clit. james licks and sucks at her clit while his fingers pump in and out of her. her moans and nails scratching his scalp encourage him to go faster, suck harsher until her arousal is dripping down his knuckles and she's clenching around him. he rises, kissing her again and holding on tightly as she weaves a dance around her furniture to her bedroom.

"you drive me absolutely crazy, james potter." she says, pushing him onto the bed and unbuttoning her shirt. "you don't know half the things i want to do to you."

"then show me." is his response as she straddles him, undressing him now. she kisses him deeply as he flips the both of them so that he's on top. she bites his lip and james detaches to give her a mock stern look. at her smile, he smiles back and plants kisses along her neck, drifting down to her breasts as he lines his cock up to her folds. his lips wrap around a nipple just as he pushes in, her chest arching into him. his thrusts are deep, his hands holding hers as she moans and writhes under him. james watches for a while, taking in her flushed skin and rolling eyes, her kiss swollen lips. his lips find her neck again, sucking hard enough to leave bruises. her cunt flutters around his cock, and his pace increases, his thrusts growing choppy as he moans into her ear. james reaches a hand between their bodies, rubbing her clit furiously as he encourages her to let go for him.

"cum for me, love. i've got you." james reassures her, focusing on angling his hips to repeatedly hit that spot inside her that makes her keen. she moans loudly, chest brushing his as her cunt tightens around his cock.

her legs wrap around his hips. "cum in me, james. please." she kisses him, hard, and james thrusts hard a few times before he's coming undone, moaning into her ear.

they're both shuddering from the aftermath of their orgasms, arms still wrapped around each other, bone weary and too tired to move. his fingers stroke her spine, her leg thrown over his, her head on his chest. james really doesn't want to leave. truth be told, he's sure he's addicted, he loses his mind every time her hand brushes against him at the ministry in a meeting, or when her perfume lingers in the room when she's not there. the way her foot brushes against his and the twinkle in her eyes when she looks up at him grinning. there's a pang in his heart when he thinks of this, whatever it may be, coming to an end.

"there's only a month left till our training's over." james starts tentatively. she hums in response. "where does that leave us once it's over? because in case you haven't noticed, i'm kinda addicted to you, sweetheart." it's almost a whisper, the way he says it.

she shifts and leans on her elbow, the better to look at james while she responds. "in case you haven't noticed, jamie, i'm kinda addicted to you too." she smiles. his resounding smile washes over her like the warm rays of sunlight, and she's glad she didn't keep it in any longer. james potter was the sun and she'd gladly have her heart broken if she got the chance to love him.

james kisses her then, soft and sweet and so different to all the ones they'd shared before. his arms wrapped around her, her light snores fill the room, his own not far behind. as sleep clouds his senses, the end of the month and the promise of a possible future looming in his mind can't seem to come fast enough.

[specialagentlokitty]

Giles x reader - my immortal love

I’d love a fanfic where Giles falls for a vampire (I’d feel like he’d tell himself not to) - @hungrybaby89 💜

Looking at the slayer that landed at your feet, you crouched down, poking her head a couple of times, trying to wake her up.

You hummed, and you looked around, trying to see if she was with anybody, but you couldn’t see or sense any other humans nearby.

You snapped your head up to the vampire in front of you and growled, making him step back, raising his hands.

“I didn’t know…”

He backed up a few steps, and the moment he turned around you threw the stake through his heart and began to leave.

You then stopped and grumbled to yourself, making your way back over you picked up the slayer.

“Oh yes, wonderful idea. Let’s save the slayer, so she can stake me through the heart…” you grumbled.

You made your way on to the street, and headed in the only direction you knew to take her, the only place she would be pretty safe.

Making your way to the school, you wondered through the hallways, and you heard noises coming from one of the classrooms but you paid it no mind.

You walked into an empty classroom and set her down, leaving the room you came back some some things and cleaned the cut on her head, stitching it up for her.

Picking her up again, you made your way down the hall and set her in the floor, then you opened the door to the library, walking in.

“Hello, I have something that belongs to you I think.”

A crossbow was pointed and you raised your hands.

“What?” The British man snapped.

“Smallish human, lurks in the cemetery most nights, goes by the slayer I don’t know her name.”

“Buffy?! What did you do?!” Xander growled.

You slowly lowered your hands and buried your nose in the fabric of your scarf.

“Put the crossbow down and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“How about we put a stake in your heart?” Xander responded.

You shrugged a little bit.

“You could, but then you won’t know where the girl is, so, your call. She could be dying for all you know.”

They all began whispering, keeping an eye on you and finally the crossbow was set down on the table.

Giles nodded his head, and he grabbed a stake instead, as did Xander and Willow.

“No crossbow, take us to Buffy and we might let you go.”

You walked out the door, and you walked around the slayer on the floor, making your way down the hallway.

You turned around, stopping in your tracks, watching as they crowded around her.

“She’s alive, tell her she shouldn’t be so reckless, any other vampire would gladly kill her.”

With that you turned around and left, making your way back outside to wonder for a few hours before you had to go back into hiding for the day.

Buffy sat up, rubbing her head slightly.

“Buffy thank goodness, are you alright?” Giles asked.

“What happened?” Willow asked next.

Buffy furrowed her brows a little, shuffling to sit on the edge of the table.

“My head hurts a bit…”

She raised her hand, feeling the stitches.

“You’re getting better Giles, nearly professional.”

Giles cleared his throat, picking up a chair he put it down in front of her and slowly sat down, taking his glasses off to run a hand down his face.

“That wasn’t me, you were already stitched up when you were on the floor outside the library.” He said.

“Who?”

Xander and Giles said nothing, and Buffy turned to willow who was doing anything to avoid looking at her best friend.

“Who brought me here?”

“(Y/N)!” Willow blurted.

“Spikes sister?!”

Giles sighed, nodding his head.

“The one and only, you were already patched up when you came here, she just brought you here then left.”

“Why?” Buffy asked.

“Well, we’ll be sure to ask the insane vampires when we next see them. Or we could just stake her and get it done with.” Xander said.

They began to talk about their next move, but none of them could shake the wonder as to why you would save the slayer.

The very same person who was tried to kill you numerous times, and nothing they thought about or came up with made up.

It was only a few nights later when she saw you again, sitting on top of a crypt in the cemetery, swinging your legs back and forth as you read a book.

“We need to talk.” Buffy said.

You looked down from your book.

“Go on then, I’m listening.”

“Not here, and with everybody. We want answers from you.”

You closed the book, and you pushed yourself down, landing on the floor.

“I suppose you do, I can’t say I blame you. Lead the way.”

You were led to a different place this time, and you stood at the door, book in your hand as you watched them all aim their weapons at you.

“Come in.” Giles said.

You took a slow step inside, pushing the door closed behind you and you set your book on the desk, sitting down in the chair.

Buffy walked over, and she wrapped chains around the chair, around you.

She stepped away when she was done and they all watched you for a moment.

“Why did you rescue me?” Buffy asked.

“Is it so bad for me to be doing the right thing?”

“When you’re related to Spike, yeah.” Xander said.

You gave a small shrug, and they asked a few more questions which you didn’t seem much interested in answering.

“Fine, then you stay here until you tell us what we want to know.” Buffy shrugged.

“Do I not get a say in this? It is my house.”

“Giles where else are we going to keep here that’s away from everybody? Away from Spike?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fine, but you’re helping make sure that she is somewhere secure.”

So, after a few hours of working that’s what they did, Giles rearranged some shelves to keep the sunlight away from you and you were confined to a small corner of his home.

The students all left and you leant back against the wall, plucking one of the books from the shelf and you began to flick through it.

Giles sat at his desk, taking a sip of scotch as he tried to do some research.

He heard the chains rattled as you moved about and he turned to look at you.

“Must you keep moving?” He asked.

“No, I just want to.” He sighed.

Setting his glasses down he picked up his chair and walked over, sitting just out of your reached and he looked at you.

“Why did you save Buffy?”

“Because I can.”

He shook his head.

“No, you have a reason behind this. All the information on you clearly states that you are methodical in what you do, you never do anything without weight up the pros and cons.”

You shrugged.

“So what? I think about what I do, that’s not illegal.”

“No, maybe not. But it does make you incredibly dangerous. You nearly wiped out a whole empire. So, there is always a reason behind what you do. You could have killed buffy, you could have chosen not to come with her, so tell me why.”

“What if I don’t? Then what?”

Giles got up, grabbing a cross and some holy water he sat down in front of you again, setting them next to his leg.

“You will.”

You didn’t seem scared of his threat, you could tell that it was empty, he wasn’t actually going to do anything to you.

Despite the fact you were a vampire you had made no clear effort to hurt any of them.

So, for nearly a week that’s how it went, he would try get you to talk and you wouldn’t, you simply just ignored him, settling for reading.

And he realised that was the key.

This time he came back, and he sat in front of you, holding up a book.

“That’s mine.”

“You tell me what I need to know and I’ll give it back to you, do we have a deal?”

You looked between him and the book, clearly you were attached to it.

Giles reached over, going to hold it over a candle.

“Fine!”

He pulled it back, setting it down in his lap.

“I saved the girl because either way, whether she lived or died there is going to be a slayer, it’s the natural order of things whether my brother likes it or not. She just happens to be here and knows what she’s doing.”

“I see, so there is a reason why you saved Buffy.”

You nodded your head, laying on your back, hands on your stomach as you stared up at the ceiling.

“Spike wants to destroy the world along with everything in it, which means no food for us. Now, I don’t know about humans but for a vampire starvation is a bitch, it’s not fun at all. If he keeps up his way, he’s going to ruin a perfectly good world in which we live for many years.”

Giles furrowed his brows a little, leaning forward slightly.

“You don’t agree with him, do you?”

“No. I don’t. He can kill all the slayers he wants they’re going to keep coming back, there’s no stopping that, and eventually it’s going to get him killed.”

You turned your head to look at Giles.

“Maybe he deserves it, punishment for everything he’s done. He kills for fun, for sport.”

“You don’t? I read your history, and it seems like you’ve been doing the same thing as well.”

“Do some more research Rupert Giles, not everything is always as it seems. Just because it is written doesn’t mean it’s true.”

You held your hand out, and he reached over, handing you the book.

You sat up and opened it, flicking so many pages until you stopped and he got up to go do some more research.

“Do you know what he’s planning?”

“No, the moment he found out I didn’t agree with him he forced me to leave. Spike could never hurt me, but he could bare the fact I didn’t agree with him, so he kicked out in broad daylight.”

Giles turned to you, and he walked back over, crouching down.

“You need to do whatever you can to stop him, before it’s too late.”

“Is there anything you can tell us that may help?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

You rolled over on your side, and he could see the healing burns on your arms.

Giles got up, making his way back to his desk.

He stayed there for a few minutes and he got up, he wanted a book from the shelf but didn’t want to go near you.

“Can I have that book by your head, the red one?”

You passed it over and went back to staring at the wall.

When he left the following day you were still asleep, and when you woke up you began messing with the chains, and you unlocked them, walking across the house careful of the sunlight to the kitchen.

Sitting on the counter, you hummed to yourself as you opened a packet of biscuits, flicking through one of the books left in there.

Giles walked in, setting his bag at his desk, and he looked to your corner before turning back to the desk.

He froze, rushing over he whipped around to look for you, and he found you in the counter.

Walking over, he stood in the doorway, and you froze, biscuit in your mouth as you slowly closed the book.

“I’m not here.”

“How did you get out?”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

He sighed, and he marched over, taking the biscuits from you.

Jumping down the counter, you tried to snatch them back, and he held them out of your reach.

“Does being a hostage mwan nothing to you?”

“No not really.”

You jumped up, taking the biscuits from him and you walked back into the living room, dodging the rays of sunlight.

“Is there any use in me putting those back on?”

“I mean if it makes you feel better sure, but I’m just going to do it again.”

“Right, and I guess that explains where half my food has been going.”

You grinned a little, slowly walking away from him as he tried to come closer.

“Alright, fine, you help us and we’ll let you go.”

You nodded in agreement, and you walked to his desk to see what he had.

Your nights were spent at the library with them, helping them with what they needed help with, and slowly you began earning their trust.

During the day you were confined to Giles’ house, wondering around and finding things to do to pass the time.

They began to trust you, seeing you weren’t as bad as history made you out to be, that everybody had a chance at redemption.

Giles began to grow used to having you around, it was nice having the company.

Especially on days off where he usually just sat around reading, he was trying to sort some of his things out while you were walking around reading.

Giles picked up your book to set it on the table, and he watched as something fell out.

Reaching down, he picked it up, sitting down on the couch as he looked at it.

He could instantly recognise it as a drawing of you, though as old as it was, paper yellowed with age, it was incredibly detailed, and you were wearing an elegant dress, a bright smile on your face.

“My mum painted it for me, the day before my wedding.”

“You’re married?”

You shook your head, sitting down next to him as you looked at the painting.

“No, i couldn’t go through with it, it felt wrong. I never really loved the man, my mum wanted me to marry him.”

“I see.”

“Not long later I fell sick, Spike, or rather at the time William saw the only path to go down was to turn me as well.”

Giles held the painting out to you, and you set it down on the table, taking the book you opened it and pulled out another.

He took it, a beautiful lake scenery, the dark sky with stars, a half moon in the sky.

“I painted this a few weeks later.”

“It’s so vibrant, full of life, full of soul. I thought vampires didn’t have souls?”

“We don’t, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find things beautiful Rupert. Most vampires meet a violent end, it’s what fuels their hate, I didn’t meet a violent end, I still saw beauty in the world, I still do.”

Giles set it aside with the other.

“Do you have one? A soul I mean.”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Sometimes I think I do, sometimes I think I don’t.”

He nodded his head, and he chuckled a little bit.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“You were going to get married, really?”

You punched his arm lightly and laughed softly.

“Yeah, I know even I can’t believe it. The only thing I’m disappointed about is I learned how to dance for nothing, those lessons were brutal.”

“That’s the only thing you’re disappointed about?”

You shrugged a bit.

“You live in those times you’ll understand it.”

Giles got up, making his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on, and you followed him, leaning on the counter.

“How old are you? The age you died?”

“I was in my thirties that much I remember, time starts to bleed all into one after a while.”

Giles nodded his head, turning his attention back to the kettle on the stove and while you hummed as you wondered away.

You sat on the floor, looking at the rays of sun just in front of you and he set your tea on the table.

Walking over Giles put his hands under your arms, dragging you away from the sun.

“You are going to get yourself burned or worse.”

“Not if I stay out of it directly, come on, it’s warm.”

Giles walked in front of you, crouching down so he could look at you.

“There’s other ways to feel warmth, sitting in front of one of the few things that can kill you doesn’t exactly seem appropriate does it now?”

You grinned sheepishly, your eyes gleaming with mischievous.

For the first time Giles noticed that your eyes were the softest (E/C) that he had ever seen in his life.

Unlike other vampires your eyes seemed so full of life, joy, compassion, warmth, gently, and so full of pain at the same time.

He cleared his throat and quickly stood up, grabbing his jacket.

“I must go, stay out of the sun.”

He quickly left, rushing out to his car and he sat in it, resting his forehead in the steering wheel.

He had been spending so much time with you he hadn’t even realised it, he was falling for you, and falling hard.

The way you laughed, smiled, danced around the rays of light to avoid them, how much you enjoyed reading, your jokes, the way you would ever so carefully move around him as not to accidentally hurt him.

“No… no.. no…” he whispered.

He had criticised Buffy for this exact thing, criticised her for falling in love with a vampire.

“You cannot love a vampire Rupert.. you cannot..” he whispered to himself.

Admittedly you were absolutely gorgeous, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, one of the perks to being a vampire.

But you were supposed to be the enemy, you were only helping them on account of the same goal in mind on stopping Spike.

He took a drive, trying to clear his mind, and after a few hours he returned.

He walked through the door, content with the fact he had cleared his head, confirmed he wasn’t in love with you.

Hanging his jacket up, he took a small breath and turned around to find you playing one of his records, dancing to to yourself.

You looked absolutely stunning, moved like water, not a single sound or step from you, you had your eyes closed and seemed lost in your own world.

He tore his gaze form you and he quickly rushed away, pretending he didn’t notice.

Making his way into the bathroom, he locked the door and stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection.

“Dear god… I’m falling for a vampire…” he whispered

[fortloser]

Hello again! Sooo kinda a personal question but what was yalls childhoods like?

(Also, hope u feel better snipes!)

-Terror

Hallo everyone! I finally got my hands on those portraits! Now most of the others became rather uncomfortable when I started questioning them about their youths. I got answers ranging from “why are you so bloody intrested in how im doing! There’s nothing special about me or my childhood, now bugger off.” to more reasonable explanations. I tried calling Scout on his cellular device but he seemed very preoccupied. Oh well, he’ll get back to you on that, onto the testimonies! Brace yourself friends this will be somewhat lengthy.

I first approached herr Demo, and getting him to open up was fairly easy. His favorite alcoholic beverage and a snack did the trick!

“ It must be me birthday if yer spoiling me rotten doc, I guess I can share something about me youth if yer willing to lend an ear. I grew up in Glencoe Scotland, a great place if you like trails and hiking. Me mum and dad were professional monster hunters and me being the wee little lad that I was wanted to impress em with the greatest catch any child could give their parents, the Loch Ness monster! I did it all on me own but it came at a cost,,”

After that herr demo just stared off in the distance and I made a mental note to ask him more about that later, The Engineer was also very open about his youth! I came to him shortly after dinner knowing he would be busying himself with one of his long-term projects and would enjoy some company, his leg was still a little stiff from a rather nasty fall and so movement was difficult at times. He was more than happy to talk while I assisted.

“Luckenbach Texas, everybody is somebody there. It was recently bought by a goat farmer. Can you believe that? He called himself an Imagineer and after that, a bunch of hillbilly musicians started moving in. Can't complain though, It breathed new life into my home, I hated going back and seeing the state it was in. My mom and pop own a small pig farm there, and I still try to visit though unlike my good-for-nothing twin with his stupid fancy job at “NASA”,,

I don't think I should share his personal frustration about his twin with the public so let's move on, yes? The next day I approached Heavy, he was last on my list and seemingly already aware of me interrogating the entire team, and as he was cleaning his minigun he told me to take a seat.

“You want to know about heavy, Da? Then I will tell you about heavy. Grew up in big town near mountain, you would not know it. Had big family, many sisters and brothers but Heavy was oldest. Family was poor but happy, loved summer, snow would melt and grass and flowers would show, heavy likes this. Went to good school had many friends, now heavy works to give family same life. Doctor is happy  with answer?”

I was surprised he was so willing to talk about his youth, I politely thanked him and left to prepare for that day's battle, I suppose that only leaves me left.

I was born in Germany, my mother was German and my father was Dutch and they both moved to Germany so my mother could be close to her family, he was a watchmaker and she was an artist, this relationship did not last and they got divorced. My motherstayed in germany allowing my father to raise me on his own back in the netherlands. I spent a lot of time in my father's workshop while he was trying to fix up old clocks. I didn't have many friends but who needs them when you have books and wildlife to observe? I excelled in all of my studies and pursued medicine, and eventually ended up here writing to you after I just finished up patching the last of my colleagues.

Stay healthy

With kind regards medic

[i-magines]

Wildest Dreams: Chapter 8

Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 | CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 9 | CHAPTER 10

synopsis: You’re an assistant director in an indie movie set and fate makes sure you keep crossing paths with a certain Chilean actor.  

disclaimer: This is my first Pedro Pascal’s fictional work + the first fanfic I write in English, as it isn’t my first language. Unfortunately, I do not own Pedro and this is all a product of my imagination.

rating: M (keep scrolling if your under 18 please)

warnings: age gap, mature content, eventual drinking and drugs, fem!reader, smut every once in a while, a little angst, shower sex (piv), angelic, conforting pedro.

word count: 1,541

The next morning, you woke up with a terrible headache and a sick feeling in your stomach, probably from anxiety. Pedro was laying down as the big spoon, his arms around your waist, as if he could defend you from anything in this world. You tried to move without waking him up, but he squeezed his grip even more and gave a kiss on the back of your neck.

“Where you goin’?” His morning, lazy voice giving you chills. “Don’t leave me just yet.”

You relaxed your body as he came closer to you, if that was even possible. You loved his manly smell, tobacco and some cheap soap. Flashes from the night before, the way he protected you, not caring what anybody would think. It was enough proof that he was by your side, at least for now — let it be infinite while it lasts.

“You feeling okay?” He asked, his fingers tracing an irregular patch on the side of your body. “Got me so worried, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine”, you said with a low voice. “Thank you, P.”

“Good”, he whispered as he smelled your hair. “I called my agent, they can’t make it go away, but they will see what they can do to prevent your face from appearing in the pictures.”

You breathed out strongly. Your face all over the internet was something you weren’t looking forward to.

“That would be great”, you used a thankful tone. “I’m sorry about my behavior last night.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about”, he promised, leaning to kiss your cheek. “There never was a time before now, before you… That’s usually not how I roll, especially in my professional environment.”

You nodded, feeling a little less stressed and started to move again, sitting on the bed. You felt exhausted and was happy to still have the whole day to rest, before going back to the set.

“I need to take a long, hot shower”, you let him know and he gave you a smirk. “What?”

“Won’t you ask if I wanna join?” He said playfully. You gave him a big and honest smile, how could you not?

He took that as a yes and walked closely behind you to the bathroom. You turned on the shower and waited for the warm water to come. Pedro hugged you from behind and you could see in the mirror in front of you the look on his face. Slowly, he got rid of your clothes, kissing you all over you body. You did the same with his own and he held your hand to help you get in the shower.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to your body”, he confessed as he followed you. The warm water running through your body, relaxing your muscles. “So beautiful.”

“Stop it”, you laughed softly. Pedro started to massage your shoulders, you let out a soft moan. “You take such good care of me.”

“That’s all I wanna do.”

He held your chin up and kissed you calmly. You let one of your hands rest on his chest, the other one grabbing his hair. He put his arms around your waist, one of his hands on your ass. His tongue asked permission to touch yours, and your kiss got deeper. You felt his half hard cook poking your lower belly, making butterflies fly everywhere inside you. You stopped the kiss for a bit, gasping for air.

Pedro looked at you, a sparkle in his eyes. He cups your breasts with his hands and, after he saw the relaxed expression on your face, he put his mouth on your nipple, sucking it softly. He definitely knew how to use his tongue. You grabbed his arms, your nails scratching him a little. One of his hands moved to touch between your legs and he gasped at how wet you were.

“We don’t have to”, he told you, looking deeply into your eyes, always making sure you were comfortable with the situation.

“I want to, P”, you smiled and kissed his mouth again. “Maybe just a little more delicate today.”

“Anything for you, baby girl.”

Pedro held your leg with one hand, as you crossed it around his hips, and the other one supported your lower back. You kissed slowly, the warming feeling growing inside you.

“Is this okay for you?” He asked, kissing your neck.

“Yes”, you replied, getting inebriated by everything about him. 

He didn’t have to do much, as he positioned his cock close to your entrance and you pushed your body down to take it inside.

“Fuck”, he moaned. “Your pussy swallowing my cock all in.”

His thrusts began slowly, just giving you the opportunity to really feel his thickness making you feel complete. It wasn’t his main focus, as he positioned his hand to rub your clit. He made circles around it and pitched it a little bit, giving you chills. You felt that feeling pulsing inside and tried to focus on it, not letting it go.

“Squeezing me so good, baby girl”, Pedro whispered in your ear, biting it softly after. “I love the feeling of you all around me.”

That helped the growing ecstasy on your lower belly, you were getting closer.

“Your touch is fucking magical”, you confess. “I-I’m so close, daddy.”

He held his tempo, allowing you to reach your climax. You felt the feeling reaching your whole body, contracting your insides as you moaned loudly. He stopped everything he was doing, but kept his cock inside you.

“I could stay here forever”, he said, peaking your neck softly with his teeth.

“You into cockwarming or something?” You replied, smirking at him.

“Maybe.” He was serious, but soon left out a big laugh and you joined him. 

You looked at eachother, just taking in the moment. Fuck, you could really fall for him if you let yourself get caught on those feelings you may or may not be having. Perhaps, you could even love him—  you quickly shaked that thought away.

The two of you spend the rest of the day just hanging out together, watching TV, eating some minifridge snacks and cuddling. It was a perfect escape from reality and, for a brief period of time, you felt like what you had could actually be a normal relationship. You forced yourself to stop, you couldn’t fantasize like this. In the afternoon, you went back to the movie set and went straight to your cabin, Pedro to his. Later, he knocked on your door. You let him in and he grabbed you, kissing you strongly with so much passion. You made out for a little, just enough to get him shirtless on your bed, smoking a cigar.

“Do you agree we’re already fucked?” He asked you with a serious look on his face, and you agreed with a headshake. “Great, so fuck ‘em— we still have like a month here, so I’m gonna make sure everybody in this crew knows you’re fucking mine.”

The day after, the whole crew was giving you all these dirty looks, so you figured everybody was on the same page as Donna and the paparazzis. So it didn’t make a difference when Pedro sat with you during lunch break or when he held your hand and touched your face gently between scenes. You’ve tried so hard to suppress what you were living, that you were denying yourself the right to be happy and enjoy what you were having together, even if it had an expiration date. 

In the evening, Pedro had a meeting with the producers and you hung out with Flo, kinda hoping she would give you her thoughts and also spill some tea about what people were talking behind your back. She came over to yours and you opened a bottle of cheap wine.

“So, I thought you two were only flirting like, for fun”, she laughed, lighting the mood. “But I’m so happy for you honey, he’s such a honk.”

You let out a loud laugh, nodding.

“Yesterday when we got the news he was seen in Berlin with a mysterious young woman, I gasped, you fucking bitch— you never told me a thing!”

“It has been hell, Flo”, you confessed, staring your feet. “I really like him, I do. We’re not going far, though.”

“I know it sucks when we’re young and it feels like we’re gonna feel those huge feelings forever, but I promise, we won’t”, she comforted you, that was one of her talents as a friend. 

“What are they saying about us?” You asked, deep down afraid of the answer.

“Some were like ‘good for her’, thinking it was cute and fun, while others… Well—” She stopped for a moment, apparently looking for the right words. “People talk shit, that’s what they like to do. You could have been dating the catering guy and I guarantee you they would still be talking about it.”

“Yeah, sure”, you weren’t sure at all, but you didn’t want to force her to repeat all the awful things you could already picture people saying.

“If you ask me, there’s nothing wrong with you guys”, Flo smiled at you. “Enjoy what you’re living right now, you can always cry about it later anyways.”

CHAPTER 9 AVALIABLE NOW

TAGLIST: @kyuupidwrites @omg-its-typical-aesthetics-fan @vivibabiez @ivyohmy @sebastianstansimp @tubble-wubble @28cnn @3zae-zae3 @technicallysassyfox @bellatrixyoass @mandolover86 @eliffluisa @one-sweet-gubler @anaxmcu @untitledarea @shesa-riott @chloelmao67 @majesticjellyfishzombie @adriennemichelle98 @januarycolor  @lxdyred @nabiiturner @brilliantopposite187 @acciojamesbarnes @sweetpea99 @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @zeyzeys-stuff

[ghostssimp]

Can’t Kill A Ghost

Ugh, this sucks, but I'll leave it here. My motivation to write is at zero. There's none of it. Also I'm thinking about writing for other fandoms too, so I can take a little break from COD, because I have no motivation for it.

The mission you went on, got south, so you and Ghost had to run. Terrorists got the information of the two of you being there and you barely got your heads out. You got shot in your shoulder in the action. The two of you got to the nearest safehouse, which was an hour and a half distant away. Good thing Ghost found a motorbike and the two of you rushed away. The pain in your shoulder didn’t help, but you had to hold onto the muscular man, to be close to him as you escaped.

Soon, the two of you reached the safe house. It took a good 40 minutes, but you managed it. When Ghost got off the motorbike, his eyes met yours in a hint of worry. The pain in your shoulder made you feel weak as adrenaline wore out and you felt the pain more and more flowing through you.

He helped you down and, to your surprise, he took you in his arms. Here's the deal, you like your Lieutenant, you like him a lot and moments like this are fatal to you, because you think that there are just seconds away for you to blow up. There were a few times that he looked at you he showed something to you, a little feeling in his eyes that wanted to betray him and show emotion, but he always found an excuse and turned away. You're glad for that. You can't bond. You're not allowed. You can't lose anyone else in your life.

Ghost put you down on a couch and rushed to find first aid. You grimace at the pain and lean a little on your good shoulder. "You know Lt., I can walk. I'm shot in my shoulder, not my leg." He walked back getting everything he needed. "Shut up and take your shirt off." His eyes looked at the wound. "Don't. You can't lift up your arm. I'll cut the fabric." You look at him through your lashes.

"And what will I wear around?" He grumbles under his breath something that you didn't catch and already rips the shirt from your sleeve to your shoulder with, scissors.

"You'll walk around naked." His eyes didn't even look up at you, but were fixed on your wound. The good thing is that, because you didn't know how to react. There were a few minutes of silence as he started to patch you up and you hissed when he put alcohol on your wound.

"I don't think that's appropriate, Lieutenant." He was silent for some time. His breathing was steady and deep, making you concentrate on it instead of the pain and the needle that is now going through your skin. 

He finished and started to bandage you up. "Why do you never call me Ghost?" It took you by surprise, and you flinched at the question. "I uh, I'm keeping it professional." Lame excuse.

"Banshee, give me a proper answer." You glance at him. "Well, this is also a proper one." Your heart is beating. You never called him Ghost. You know his name is Simon Riley. You never said it out loud. It was always Lieutenant or Sir. He was finished and, finally, the two of you locked your eyes. "Thank you Sir." He's staring down at you. He leans over to you, just inches from your ear.

"Banshee. Y/N. Say my name, just once. I want to hear it." Your breath hitched. You've never seen him like this. You've never heard him talk like this. You didn't know how to react.

"I just... I can't sir."

"Tell me why then."

You pull back to look at him. His eyes looked ready for anything that you would say to him. It is full of emotions that you can't read. His hands dipped the couch beneath you as you sat between them. He dominated over you. It made you want to tell him everything. For a second there, you were hesitating.

"Soap is always bugging me. Why did I get called Banshee? Banshee is a mythological being that brings death. Lt. It screams and you know that death is coming. Everytime in my lifetime I sad the nane of a loved one person, they end up dead. I bring death anywhere I go, I am fucking death." His eyes shifted over you. You felt your heart pounding faster with each second you were this close to him.

I died a long time ago, baby. Say my name." his hand found place on your tight, gripping it and giving it a squeeze. Your stomach flipped and heat started to wash over you. His fingers sneaked around and found a way in your trousers. They pushed away panties and he dipped in.

"Say it. Y/N. Say it." a moan escaped your lips as he worked you over. "I can't sir."

He stopped and leaned over your ear, his mask touching your cheek as his raspy voice ringed over.

"You can't kill a ghost."

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

PoisonCat (Valentine’s Day Exchange)

Pamela (Poison Ivy) Isley x Selina (Catwoman) Kyle

(1,055 words)

Summary: Ivy discovers she really likes to be called “Doctor”

Warnings/Tags: 18+ (not quite smut, but it gets reallll suggestive), botched heist, patching up wounds, friends with benefits (they are definitely gay LMAO), light medical play, discovering a new kink, make outs, getting real sensual with it

Notes: Surprise @acapelladitty!!! I was ur gifter for the exchange!!! I’ve never written for Poisoncat before, but after doing a bunch of research for them, I now love them (I mean, I already did before but you get it LMAO). I wanted to let you know that you are a huge inspo to me and I’ve really enjoyed all the times we’ve cooked up some wild shit 😭😭 Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

-

It wasn’t often that a heist went awry for Selina, but this time was sure to take the cake. Triggered security systems and broken glass were the least of her problems, now having to face the consequences of working with Edward Nygma. Mentally, Selina beat herself up for knowing better than to work with a conniving snake like him, but that didn’t matter now. The loud blaring of sirens could be heard in the distance as she lept from rooftop to rooftop with ease. Continuing to escape deeper into the night, Selina knew exactly where to run to.

Far enough away from the scene of the crime, Selina found herself perched on top of the overgrown warehouse. Thick branches and moss covered the outside, making the building look abandoned. Nobody would even think that a place such as this would be an ideal hideout, but for Selina, it was a refuge. A sanctuary. The home of an old friend.

Climbing through the window, Selina’s entrance was almost anticipated as Ivy watched her come in expectantly.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Ivy grinned.

“Nice to see you too, Pam.” Selina leaned against the wall, out of breath. “How did you…?”

“Word gets around fast,” Ivy shrugged. “Plus, all the cop cars woke me up.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, I was up anyway.” Ivy made her way over to Selina. Pulling up her mask, Ivy inspected the small cuts and bits of glass occupying Selina’s face and body. Her face was streaked with blood and sweat. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? You look like hell.”

“Yeah,” Selina snickered. “I just got back.”

———

Selina was seated on top of the table. Her tight, black suit was cast aside, leaving her in an undershirt, her underwear, and several small bandages. Around her was a bowl of discarded glass and a small trash can of bloodied gauze.

Ivy made her way in between Selina’s legs, standing in front of her. She applied the disinfectant carefully. Selina winced at the sudden sting, but Ivy took a gentle hand in the application. The gaze in Ivy’s eyes was soft. It was easy for Selina to get lost in them.

“You’re staring again.” Ivy spoke up faintly.

“Am I? Purred Selina. “You’re so close to me, must be your pheromones.” She giggled. “Or blood loss.”

Ivy chuckled playfully. “First of all, my little flower,” she pushed a bit of Selina’s short hair off her face. “You haven’t lost nearly enough blood for delirium.” Ivy set down the disinfect. Her arms soothed their way up to Selina’s shoulders. “As for the pheromones?” Ivy’s hands cradled the area between Selina’s jaw and neck. “They only amplify what’s already there.”

Selina glanced down and back up again, soft laughter escaping her lips. “Whatever you say, Dr. Isley.”

There was a pause from Ivy. It was as if a switch went off. Cocking her head in consideration, she asked Selina to repeat what she had said.

“Whatever you say… Dr. Isley.” Selina repeated.

Ivy’s green complexion flushed. Selina’s forwardness was always welcome in their interactions. Having Selina in her current position would more often than not signal that they were going to have sex on a night like this. It seemed to be going that way thus far. It was the use of Ivy’s professional title being used in such a flirtatious manner that stopped her dead in her tracks. It fired her up, far more than usual, and Selina could see it from a mile away.

“Y’know…” Selina swiftly wrapped a leg around Ivy’s body, pulling her in closer. “I still feel a little hurt from the glass, I think I might need a more thorough examination, what do you think… Doctor?”

Their faces are just inches apart. Ivy scans Selina’s face. Selina’s dark, pleading eyes sparkled with mischief. Ivy always enjoyed the little dynamic they had. Usually she would be the one to initiate anything. A few whispers of filthy nothings, controlling some stray vines to gently twist around her thighs, and a kiss to the neck and Selina would be a goner. However, tonight was not one of those nights. Selina was pushing Ivy’s buttons and they both fucking loved it.

“Well, I may not be a doctor in a medical sense,” Ivy cleared the table, getting up behind her. “But in my professional opinion,” she continued as her hands reached Selina’s sides, pulling the cat burglar closer to her. Ivy’s hands wandered up to trail over Selina’s breasts. Ivy could hear Selina’s breath hitch, and decided to push forward. “Maybe if you’re in that much pain…” Ivy whispers as Selina can feel her breath tickle her ear. “… I think some bed rest is in order.”

Selina turns her head around and presses her lips to Ivy’s. What first started as small pecks soon evolved into a tender kiss. Ivy could feel Selina snake a hand through her red curls; her nails gently scratching her scalp. Ivy let out a soft sigh as Selina pulled away for a moment. She fully moved herself around to face Ivy completely, before straddling her thigh and returning the the kiss. Selina let out a low moan as Ivy playfully bucked her up her thigh. With a coquettish chuckle, Ivy’s hands trailed down to Selina’s ass before gently nipping at her bottom lip.

“Fucking tease,” Selina grinned. “Who knew that the illustrious Dr. Isley could be so salacious?”

Ivy hummed before quickly hoisting Selina off her thigh and off the table. “Then I’d suggest we take this appointment to the bedroom,” Ivy wraps an arm around Selina’s shoulder. “I do have a reputation to uphold you know.”

“Oh please do,” Selina’s hungry gaze caught Ivy’s as they made their way into the bedroom. “I would so love to see that reputation in action.”

Ivy lowered Selina onto the bed, hands caressing her thighs as she sunk down, kneeling in between her legs. Selina shuddered at the sudden sensation of Ivy’s nails gently dragging across her thighs. It was one of her weak spots that Ivy loved to exploit.

Ivy batted her eyes puckishly up at the mewling Selina. “Don’t worry my dear,” Ivy placed a kiss on Selina’s inner thigh. “I know just the thing to make you feel all better.”

[farity]

There is only one bed, part 2

Pairing: Modern AU Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary:  Spies running from a common enemy find refuge in a tiny inn.

Warnings:  Smut

Points if you recognize the side characters’ names.  Also: no, your name is not Jan.  It’s a meme.

part 1

“The drive.  Give me the drive.”

When he didn’t move, the guy aiming the gun at your head cocked it and you kept your breathing steady through the terror that ran through you.  Training, you went through your training, remembering breathing exercises, how to keep your muscles from tensing.  You glanced at the guy who had very recently fucked your brains out.

His face revealed nothing, his stance was relaxed.  “The one with the porn?”

You heard, in the distance, a car.  Another one.  That couldn’t possibly be good.  It stopped down the road, not like the previous car you’d heard earlier.

“Give me the fucking drive or I kill your little girlfriend.”

He smiled, “I picked her up earlier, don’t even know her name.”

The next thing you felt was a hard thump on the back of your head, and you fell to the floor, your vision blurry.  He lunged towards the asshole who’d hit you and the other guy fired.

You saw him fall back at the same moment that the door slammed open and three men rushed in.  They were shouting in High Valyrian, your weakest language, and you caught something like “man down”.  

He was saying something to them and before you lost consciousness you thought you heard him say something like “friend.”

* * * * * 

You awoke in a government hospital and the first face you saw was Lou’s.  Your boss was dressed in a sharp suit as always, her blonde bob swinging as she spoke on her cell phone.  “She’s awake, gotta go.”  She smiled down at you.  “Good to see you, kid.”

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

You sat up. “The guy, the Westerosi agent who was with me.”

Lou raised an eyebrow.  “You were brought to us by two agents from Dragonstone, who said you’d been caught up in one of their missions.”

You nodded, “yeah, there was a wounded agent I patched up, he was shot right before I passed out.”

“They didn’t mention that.”

The doctor walked in, gave you an update.  You’d been out a couple of days with a concussion but the swelling in your brain had gone down and your vitals were good.  You could go home the next day if things stayed the same overnight.

You barely listened, your mind elsewhere.  You caught Lou’s eye, and you could tell she was reading every thought in your head.

“I have to go,” Lou said, “rest and I’ll talk to you tomorrow once you’re home.  Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded as she left, her brisk steps fading as she walked down the hallway.

* * * * * 

Five weeks later you were ready to kick someone’s face in.  Nobody had any answers for you.  You had even called the Dragonstone agency and explained that you wanted to ask some questions of their agent.  Very important questions for your boss at your agency.  If he was alive, if he was still working for them, no one would tell you anything.  

You had even thought of asking Lou if she could ask her contacts, but asking your boss to locate a guy because he’d made you come twice was hardly the most professional thing in the world.  You liked your job and didn’t want to be sidelined because you got hung up on some guy whose name you didn’t even know.

Maybe you could get one of your hacker friends to locate him.  Hey, can you find this guy, tall, gorgeous, amazing ass and stellar dick?  You rubbed your eyes, wondering if a shower would help.  

You walked towards your bedroom, leaving a string of clothes as you reached your bathroom.  Would you ever find him?  You’d known him for less than a day but there had been a connection and it wasn’t just sex.  Mind-blowing, amazing sex.  Sex that had ruined you forever.

He had to be alive.  Even if you could just find out if he was ok, maybe that would be enough.  Sure, Jan, you told yourself.  You showered quickly, putting on your favorite robe after.  

Lou had left a message on your phone, something about all the time off you had accumulated and to fucking take it before it disappeared.  You’d been doing admin stuff since you got out of the hospital, but when you reached your laptop, all the files you had been working on were gone. Fucking Lou.

Maybe you’d travel.  Take a few weeks, bum around the continent, avoid heading towards Dragonstone. 

Who were you kidding, the only place you wanted to go to was Dragonstone so you could snoop around.  Like you were going to turn a corner and bump into him coming out of a Starbucks.  Did they even have Starbucks in Dragonstone?  

And then there was the thought you tried to ignore.  What if he was fine?  Alive and kicking, and simply didn’t care?  What if he had moved on to his next mission - and the next girl - while you were flopping around your place like a moron, completely hung up on him?  

Your phone buzzed and when you picked it up there was a text from your ever-omniscient boss.

Answer the door.

Um, no one has rung the door, Lou, you thought as the doorbell rang.

You opened the door and there he was, alive and fucking gorgeous, standing before you.

Every thought in your head evaporated as you looked at him.  His hair was a little longer, and he was dressed in black, like he had been back then.  You knew your mouth had dropped open but no sounds were coming out.

* * * * * 

She was well.  Alive and whole and healthy.  A little pale, but she looked good.  More than good, Aemond thought.

He shifted his weight from one foot to another, suddenly nervous.  He hadn’t given a thought to what would happen now, to what she would say or do.  

“Hello,” he said, because she wasn’t saying anything.  She was just staring at him, one hand clutching the lapels of her robe.

“You’re alive.”

“Yes.”

“You were shot.”

“Yes.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him into her home, closing the door.  She stood a couple of feet away from him, still staring.  “Was it bad?”

This time he nodded.  He wouldn’t tell her how bad just now.  

She let out a strangled sob and covered her mouth.  “I tried,” she said breathlessly.  “I looked for you.”

Fuck it, he thought, and reached out to envelop her in his arms.  She started crying and he heard so much fear and anger as well as relief in her tears.  “I believe you,” he whispered into her hair.  She had freed her arms and wrapped them around his neck and he could no longer wait.  He began kissing her neck, the sweet scent of her skin one he had dreamed of every night since that day in the inn.  

She turned to meet his mouth with hers, fisted one hand in his hair while he lifted her up.  Her robe, which had barely been tied together, began slipping off as she wrapped her legs around him.  “Bedroom,” she ordered, “last room on the left.”

He made his way to her room, barely remembered to kick off his shoes before he lowered her to the bed.  “I’ve dreamed of you,” he said against her lips, and felt her smile.  “Every night.  Every fucking night, you torment me.”

“Likewise, dragon boy,” she replied, and he smiled at her.

“Aemond,” he told her.  “My name is Aemond.  Targaryen.”  

She told him her name and then pushed him onto his back.  “Wait,” she tucked her hair behind her ear.  “Where were you shot?”

He raised the t-shirt he was wearing, and first she saw the cut she’d treated.  It was a neat thin line and she smiled.  “That healed up nicely.”  He sat up then, removed his sweater, then began to pull off the t-shirt.  

“It looks worse than it is,” he warned.

He tossed the shirt to the side and let her look.

“Fuck.”

The scar was jagged and ugly, and it was right over his heart.

“They got it out.”

“How far?”

He looked at her, shook his head in confusion.

“How far from your heart?”

He smiled gently.  “Less than a millimeter.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, looked away from him, unable to speak.

“I’m here.  I got a second chance,” he murmured.  “And I don’t plan on wasting it.”

With that, he reached for her.

* * * * * 

Less than a millimeter, you thought.  You would make that millimeter count, you decided, as he grabbed you and pulled you down to the bed.  You ran your hands down his chest, gently skimming over the scars until you’d reached the waistband of his jeans and felt him shiver against you.  

He reached down, undoing the button and zipper and then started pulling off your robe, the thin cotton giving easily as he bared you.  “I never got to take my time with you,” he said, and your heart started pounding with anticipation.  He slowly gazed at you from head to toe and when he looked back up, his eyes were almost feral.

He cradled your face in one hand as he loomed over you, kissed your temple before his hand slipped down to your throat and you arched against him, pressing one of your own hands over his.  He kissed you then, hungrily, nipping at your jaw as he made his way to your neck.  There he feasted, edges of teeth and soft swipes of tongue, until you began whimpering, wanting him inside you.

He pulled back to finish removing his clothes, but before you could reach for him, he turned you over, spreading your legs with his knee before settling half on you, half on the bed.  You felt him push your hair out of the way so he could nip at the nape of your neck while he reached around and his fingers began moving between your legs.  

You’d dreamed of those dexterous, long fingers of his, frustrated yourself with your own many times, and a long moan escaped you as he reached deep inside you. 

“Am I hurting you?”

You shook your head,  “No,” you managed as he sucked some of the skin at your nape between his teeth.  

His fingers moved slowly within you, and you gasped when he spread them open, widening you.  “I remember how tight you felt,” he murmured.  “I remember everything about that day.  The way you looked, the way you felt, I couldn’t get away from you.  Not during the day, and certainly not at night.”

His voice had darkened, each word said against your skin like a prayer.  His fingers were pumping inside you now, your hips matching his pace, and soon you arched against him, your body taut, a gasp escaping you as you came.  

He was kissing your shoulder, slowly removing his fingers from inside you as he turned you onto your back.  “I cannot wait any longer,” he whispered as he reached down and began aligning himself with you.  When he started pushing inside you, you gasped, remembering how he had felt all those months ago.  

“God, yes,” you breathed out as he began filling you.  Nothing had felt as good as he did right now.  He pushed your knees back, struggling to move slowly as he sank into you.  When he was finally seated fully inside you, he closed his eyes for a moment.

“You feel so fucking good, sweet.”

* * * * * 

“LIkewise, dragon boy,” she replied, wrapping her legs around his hips.  

Aemond pressed his forehead against hers.  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he started, and felt her fingertips pressed against his mouth.

“You really need to stop that, Aemond,” she said, and the sound of his name in her lips made him deliriously happy.  “I can take it, and I would really, really like you to fuck me now.”

He needed no further invitation.  Rearing back, he thrust hard, the sound she made somewhere between a moan and a purr, and he did it again, hips snapping as his restraint began to slip.  He took her hands in his, pressing them into the mattress above her head.  “Yes,” she whispered, “fuck yes.”  She tightened around him and he let out a familiar string of curses in High Valyrian.

“What did you just call me?” she smirked up at him.

He took her mouth in a bruising kiss as his hips continued to pound against her.  “Vile,” he murmured, “enchantress.”  He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, then released it when she whimpered.  

He could feel her thighs shaking, her breathing becoming more and more ragged, and he began to drive faster, her cries encouraging him as he lost himself in her.  “Please,” she begged.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and she threw her head back, a hoarse scream ripped from her throat as she came.  He managed to ride out her contractions until finally, he surrendered, letting her take him with her.

* * * * * 

The blurriness in your head began to dissipate, slowly, as Aemond kissed your temple.  “Hmm,” he murmured, “that was worth the wait.”

You couldn’t manage to put two words together in your mind, and simply enjoyed the warmth of him as he held you.  Your fingertips found their way back to the ugly scar over his heart, brushing over it as if you could erase it completely.  A thought had began to form in your head, a question you needed answered.

“How did you find me?”

He looked down at you, surprised by the sudden question.  “Your boss knows my old CO, Deb.”

“Lou?”

“Yep.  She sent Deb a text ‘for your wounded dragon’ and it had your name on it."

You shook your head, confused.  “Wait, if she knew to give you my name, why couldn’t Lou just ask for your name?”

“I guess she wanted to know if I would run with it.”  He caressed your cheek.  “I had to wait until I could leave the hospital, which was three more weeks.”

“So why didn’t you just call, or email?”

He leaned in and kissed you gently.  “I was terrified.  If I called and someone else answered the phone.  If I emailed you and you never replied.  I decided I would show up, look you in the eye, and if you wanted nothing to do with me, then I could turn around and walk away, but I needed to see it in your face.  Whether you wanted me or not.”

“I tried,” you said.  “I tried so hard.  There was nothing, absolutely nothing on any of the usual threads.  Not about your team, not about a wounded agent, nothing.”

“I don’t exist,” he said simply.  “My name isn’t listed anywhere.  If we’d all gotten killed the agency would have never acknowledged us.”

“Your family?” you asked, wondering about parents, siblings.

He smiled.  “They think I’m in the arctic.  Eventually they would have received a letter stating that I was working for the government and was KIA.  No return address, no phone number.  The moment the envelope is opened, the ink begins to fade so within a couple of hours the page is blank.  And it doesn’t show up on photographs or video.”

“Fuck.”

“I knew that going in.”  He pulled you closer.  “I also knew I had a deadline.”

You reached up, brushed a lock of his hair out of his face.  “What is it?”

“Turning thirty.”  

“When is that?”

He smiled.  “Today.”

* * * * * 

She baked him a cake.  She only had ingredients for a plain vanilla sponge, but the buttercream was so good, he ended up eating half of it before she smacked his hand and made him sit at the table. 

“And she bakes, too,” he’d said, admiringly, when she started pulling out ingredients.  

“I am multitalented.”  She lit one of the candles sitting on the little shelf by the TV.  “But I have no little candles, so this will have to do.”  She brought over the massive three-wick-candle, made him blow it out before she’d let him cut into the cake.  It was a little wonky and there was only enough buttercream for the filling and middle since he’d eaten half of it.  

He watched her over his slice of cake.  “What about you?  Any plans for the future?”

“Well,” she smiled, “not many of us live to see middle age, so I always thought I’d do research or translating when I was done with field work.  Plus I want to travel.  Like, actually see the places I’ve been sent to, like a regular tourist.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, “I’ve been to so many places and not enjoyed any of them.”

“Does that mean anything?” she asked, indicating the ring he wore on his pinky.  

Aemond looked at his hand, smiled.  “My sister gave it to me before I left.  Something about threads of green, threads of black, weaving something or other.  She gets strange thoughts sometime, but she’s cool.”  He speared his fork into another piece of cake.  “I keep it hidden unless I’m on my own time.  This is really fucking good,” he added before taking a huge bite.

“All that sugar is going to leave you with a massive headache.  Here,” she refilled his glass, “drink more water.”

He did, and got up to do the dishes while she sat at the counter.  He had spent most of the past decade forgetting or ignoring his birthday and now she’d baked a cake for him.  

“Look, I just need to say something-”

“Oh shit,” she replied, but was smiling at him.  “You’re married with seven adorable, but unruly, children.”

He gave her a look.  “No.  I wouldn’t have tracked you down here just for sex. This is going to sound incredibly naïve, considering what we do for a living, but it’s like I can envision-”

“A future.”

“With you.”

He said nothing for a few seconds, only watched her as she looked up at him.  “Come with me.  Let’s go see the world.  Not from safe houses or sniper points.”

She smiled.  “I don’t know, I’m an excellent shot.”

He smiled back, but extended his hand out.  And waited.

And then she stood, walked around the counter, and placed her hand in his.

* * * * * 

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