#is that everyone is more inclined to bumping against and leaning on each other

[wellntruly]

@airyairyaucontraire I think the Watsonian in you (in all of us) will especially appreciate this particular shot

Actually, we're gonna need to zoom in on this

Great.

[fire-lizard-ro]

Helloo hehehe im the one that asked for a columbina s/o~ it was really good :D

Can u maybe make some head cannon about them being in a relationship? Hehhe it you dont mind :) thats all ty <33

Hehehe ofc!!! I'd like to make the disclaimer again that I don't really know the character Columbina all that well, but I will try my best!!! So sorry for any mischaracterization. Thank you for sending in your ask~

Reader gender: gender neutral

Like we talked about before, you and Sunday would be partners in crime. The manipulative duo.

I think that the two of you would probably enjoy dates like going to the opera. When the singer is good it wasn't uncommon to find the two of you with eyes closed, you leaning against him, enjoying the sweet melodies of the songs. When it wasn't so great, the two of you would be whispering your criticism in each other's ears with giggles.

Sunday would like hearing you sing more, though. Even if it is just a sweet little humming under your breath as you two are settled down together to read together or perhaps do other things within each other's presence. He is, however, more than aware of the abilities you have. They impress him every time and to know that you could always control him but don't makes his heart swell with affection. A chaste, but no less full of passion than any other kiss, would be pressed to your lips. "Thank you, dove." (I've started to use "dove" as his nickname for the reader recently- It just makes sense to me.) Whether he's thanking you for the song or for not trying to put him under your control with you voice, you'll never know. He just gives you that smile of his.

It was always a treat to hear his voice as well. He's not nearly as inclined to it as you or even his sister. You and her get along quite well, I'd think. Especially since she doesn't really know about the manipulative tendencies you and your lover have. Some things are better not knowing, hm? In any case- If you asked, he would sing something for you. The songs are always gentle and slow. If it was upon your request that he is singing, he's likely to sing a love song of some sort- It's funny. Almost like a pretty bird courting his love with a song despite them already being his.

And like I'd forgotten to write last time:

When the two of you kiss, your wings often bump into each other so cute oml-

The first time it happens, it startled a chuckle out of the normally composed man. He'd lean in again to kiss you once more, this time pursposefully caressing your wings with his while he holds you close.

When he'd managed to figure out that you and he were one in the same, he slowly brought you in on his schemes and work. After asking you outright about it once he was certain of it, he'd have you help him with his... persuations. You would subtly be humming to yourself whilst he spoke with people, influencing them to sway to his side. His ideas and thoughts suddenly sound perfect to them. On a larger scale- When he'd host dinner parties as a leader of Penacony with the elite, you would act as the entertainment for the night. You would sing for them as they mingled, slowly beginning to take control of them. But once the main act was upon you, you singing your final song of the night, it was then that you would use your power the most that night (not fully, but more than before). And just like that. They were again ensnared and ready for his use. He'd plant ideas and thoughts in their minds while under your control.

And as everyone would leave for the night, h'd wrap an arm around your waist and kiss your temple. "You did amazing tonight, my love. Let's celebrate, hm?" He'd say this in a low voice before leading you back into the house for a glass of wine or whatever else tickled your fancy.

Sorry there isn't more... OTL

It's a bit hard to write for me, haha. Hope you liked it! Feel free to send in another request if you'd like~

[just-j-really]

Unsoulmates part four (a new hope)

Masterpost

Hob texts Morpheus two days after he and Audrey break up, because he's got two tickets to a ballet and absolutely no use for them anymore. He'd offered them to Gwen, first, but her girlfriend (her soulmate, actually, her soulmate she'd met at a Ren Faire in a moment out of a fairytale, complete with a kiss-print soulmark on the back of her hand) has even less interest in ballet than Hob does. And he knows bringing it up to any of his other friends will only get him concerned questions about why he keeps doing this to himself, wouldn't he be happier if he stopped actively avoiding his One True Love.

So offering them to Morpheus, who hasn't spoken to him in a month but probably won't do that, is the best option by default.

Shockingly, Morpheus replies. He even offers to meet Hob at the White Horse, a pub they'd frequented back when they were still sort of talking, to pick up the tickets.

Even more shockingly, Morpheus is already at a table when Hob arrives at the pub four nights later, like he's planning to sit and talk with Hob. Like before.

Hob is not entirely sure how he feels about that, but he's also running on maybe three hours of sleep, and the chair next to Morpheus looks extremely inviting, so he lets himself topple into it.

"If you ask me how I'm doing I'm going to get up and leave," he warns Morpheus, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes. He might just take a nap here. It's been impossible to fall asleep, these past few days, without the warmth of someone else in bed with him. And it's so easy, lying there with the tangible reminder of how alone he is, to let his thoughts spiral into why didn't she stay why didn't she even consider it wasn't it worth it?

But here, with the warmth and the noise of people around him and this unbelievably comfortable armchair, an uneasy half-doze starts to overtake him. He's drifting, wondering where in the world Morpheus found an armchair, when a soft tapping noise drags him back to reality.

When he opens his eyes, Morpheus is sliding a beer across the table to him. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Hob levelly, and Hob thinks that's why, why he opens his mouth to say thanks, what comes out instead is a cracking, "Do you know what it's like, having people congratulate you for having your heart ripped out?"

His voice sounds even worse than he feels.

Morpheus inclines his head at Hob in that familiar little nod; go on, I'm listening.

It's a small kindness, but it still makes Hob feel like his chest is cracking in half.

"Everyone acts like it's fine. Like it's a good thing. 'Yeah it hurts now but at least you'll stop wasting your life, at least now you'll find the person you were meant for.'"

He takes a breath. Takes a drink. "Nevermind that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her."

And then the whole story is spilling out of him, in an out-of-order slurry: the moment it happened- Audrey gesturing wildly as they ducked through the concert crowd, hand in hand; her stunned little gasp as her arm bumped another emphatic gesture-er; they way he'd stood there, confused, still holding Audrey's hand, while she and her soulmate stared longingly into each other's eyes.

The way she'd yes-anded even his stupidest bits, the way they'd had their own shared language of in-jokes, the way conversations with her were a dance and she always knew the next step.

The way, within a week, she'd scrubbed herself out of his life entirely, like she needed to fake her death to start her new life with The One.

"And- and I knew marriage wasn't happening, right?" he finds himself saying, some time and several drinks later. "Fuckin nobody marries their not-soulmate, which is STUPID. It's so stupid, remind me to tell you how stupid it is. But I thought. I thought we- I thought there was something. Something good. I thought maybe we could last."

The sentence gets much too wobbly at the end, and Hob swipes a hand roughly over his eyes.

"What did you want, then?" Morpheus asks.

Hob glares at him.

"If not marriage," Morpheus says, as though clarity were the problem there. He seems... sincere, though. Like he's actually asking the question, not trying to nudge Hob into an epiphany about the futility of his life goals. Hob's heard the second thing enough to know what it sounds like. And Morpheus has that- look, on his face. The Hob-is-an-insect look, but not. It's... it's like if that look were kinder, more genuine. More vulnerable.

So for what may be the first time, when asked that question, Hob actually considers his answer before responding. "I dunno what I wanted," he says. "I just want- I want someone to choose me. Not have me forced on them."

Morpheus stares at him. Studies him. As though the secret of life itself has somehow been hidden in Hob's face.

Hob stares back, pinned. Entranced. A little confused.

"You know," he says, after a moment, "I'm not actually a bug."

Morpheus sighs. "Come on," he says, "Let's get you home."

Despite Hob's insistence that he is fine, really, just a little tipsy and a lot heartsick and sleep deprived, Morpheus does walk him home.

Hob only remembers the tickets when they reach his building, and only then someone had stuck a sticker of a dancer to the back of a lamppost. "Here," he says, rooting around in his jacket pocket until he finds the envelope, and handing it over, "At least someone will get use out of them."

Morpheus stares at the envelope like he's never seen one before.

When he looks up at Hob, his eyes are glistening with tears. "Are you," he asks, quietly. He pauses for a long time, long enough that Hob starts to wonder if he'd handed over the wrong envelope, and then wonder what deeply tragic envelopes he could possibly have been carrying around.

"Are you going to look for your soulmate now?" Morpheus asks. His voice is as even, almost soothing, as ever.

He's looking at Hob as though the wrong answer will be his death sentence.

"Are you kidding me?" Hob asks. Despite everything, he finds himself grinning. "Never. The love of my life is out there, somewhere, I'm not going to discount them for something stupid like soulmates."

Morpheus smiles.

Truly smiles, for the first time that Hob has seen. It's a lovely expression, soft, hesitant, but so genuinely, contagiously delighted. And Hob knows, with the same bone-deep certainty as his disbelief in soulmates, that he'd protect that smile at all costs.

"Also," he says, because there's not much protection he can offer right not but there is always the shining, thrilling possibility of coaxing another smile out of Morpheus tonight, "I'm starving. Do you want to get dinner?"

[valkeakuulas]

Hi there. If you’re so inclined, I’d love to indulge my current Echo/Rex/Fives obsession. One of these would be nice :3

13. ❛ bend over the desk love ❜

18. ❛ do that again, please. ❜

26. ❛ I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it ❜

Thank you

Hahahaa, I actually decided to use two prompts since wasn't able to pick just one. 😂

I haven't really used them in actual dialog, more like taken them as inspirations and set the mood of the fic based on them. Hope you don't mind that. :3

26. ❛I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it ❜/ 18. ❛ do that again, please ❜

Rex groaned, low and deep, when Echo carefully bit his collarbone, teeth worrying the thin strip of skin at the same time as Fives' hands pushed his shirt up, fingers gliding over the muscles.

It would've been loud enough to warrant attention if not for the loud music blasting from the speakers floating around the dim club. As it was, Rex's voice was lost beneath the deep bass and lyrics, sung in a language he didn't know.

Then again, the singer could've been using plain Basic and Rex wouldn't have been able to understand them, not with how fast his brain was melting underneath the wandering hands and clever hot mouths that seemed to be everywhere at once.

Sandwiched between his ARCs, Rex locked his knees in place when Fives' nails scratched the line of hair disappearing into his pants, teasing the waistline, and Echo licked and sucked the bit of skin he had just abused.

Panting, Rex tilted his head back, resting it on Fives’s shoulder as he stared for a moment at the ceiling, lit partially by the flashing strobe lights. It reminded Rex of the fact that they weren’t in the relative safety of the barracks. Instead, they were behind some weird, decorative wall that cut this part of the club from the main area.

The spot was nowhere near inconspicuous; Rex could see beings passing them mere meters away.

He licked his lips and opened his mouth to tell Fives and Echo that they really should relocate but then Echo pushed his thigh between Rex’s, forcing them open. Rex jerked forward, hands flying to grab Echo by the shoulders when the strong leg pressed into his groin, into his half-hard cock.

In the place of words, another deep groan passed from Rex’s lips.

Rex more felt than heard the pleased rumble Fives made and the hands relocated themselves on Rex’s hips. The bastard used his strength to move Rex, making him rock against Echo, while Rex’s other bastard finally stopped using him as his personal chewing toy and captured Rex’s lips into a deep kiss with tongue and teeth.  

The friction sent sparks of lust all over Rex, his already elevated heartbeat quickening. He couldn’t stop himself from whimpering against Echo’s lips, clinging onto the strong shoulders and it took embarrassingly little for Rex to start riding Echo’s thigh.

This time Rex could feel the vibrations originating from both of the ARCs chests, pleased with how easily Rex gave in, like he always did when it was just the three of them.

Rex was all but gulping for air when Echo finally released him. He gasped in surprise when Fives pushed him forward, pinning him against Echo. The movement forced Rex higher on the thigh, the feeling of both of their cocks pressing into him making Rex’s toes curl inside his boots.

The two ARCs leaned forward, sharing a messy kiss over Rex’s shoulder.

They looked so good, so beautiful that Rex twisted and fumbled until he could hold onto both of his lovers. He would never tire of watching Echo and Fives kiss, the sight of them together making Rex’s heart swell with emotions so strong it was almost scary.

His admiration came to a halt when one of Echo’s hands squeezed between them, opening the fastenings of Rex’s pants while Fives started to push them down to reveal more skin for them to fondle. The two of them didn’t even pause their making out, their hands never bumping into each other, almost as if there was a mental link between the two.

Once again, Rex knew he should protest this but then Fives’ fingers found his length at the same time as Echo palmed his ass.

And once again, Rex voice was lost underneath the roar of the music.

[antvnger]

Blood Brothers AU - Touch

((I don’t know where this came from, but the urge to write it hit like a train. So here’s some softness and some angst nobody asked for))

They roughhoused often growing up. They never actually “fought”. They teased and picked on each other and pulled pranks on each other.

They also learned things from Charlie they didn’t really see in other guys publicly: affection through touch.

They watched their dad take their mom’s hand after he came home from work and dance with her for a moment. They watched him snuggle up against her on the couch and kiss her cheek. They watched their parents hold hands and lean against each other, and they watched their dad tickle their mom in the middle of the kitchen just because.

They also watched him pat Jarvis’ back as he smiled and told him how he appreciated the man and what he does for them. They got hugs from him all the time. He would ruffle their hair and pat their backs and give them high fives.

Sometimes all three boys would fall asleep on the couch, dogpiled together and snug as a bug. With Maria watching on with a soft smile on her face.

And through that, they learned how to do that with each other and their friends and eventually with their own families.

They would periodically dogpile nap, even when they were almost high school aged. Side hugs, front hugs, fist bumps, messing up each other’s hair affectionately or aggravatingly, playfully punching each other’s shoulder, fighting over blankets until they gave up and shared.

But once they got older, they unfortunately learned some other things too, starting with Grandpa Howard. Everything their dad taught them, he worked to overwrite.

Being the oldest and expected to take over SI someday, Tony was the recipient of Grandpa Howard’s lessons a lot. Far more than he should have. Far more than his parents knew about.

Scott was the recipient of those lessons too, and he learned quickly that nothing would actually stop those lessons. You just had to play a certain role as long as Howard Stark was in the room. It was a hard role to play but better play the con than invoke a painful lesson.

And over time, different people hurt the boys in different ways. Mean peers who wanted to humiliate the mighty Starks just because. The loss of their parents, Jarvis’s loss…

The kidnapping. The cave. Obadiah…over and over again without anyone knowing it…

Prison where the lack of contact actually stung, leaving a haunting feeling on his skin and not to mention a few particular people in prison who left another kind of haunting feeling on his skin…

Too many aches and scars to name. People and circumstances made it so only a select few trusted people could get a hug or offer a pat on the shoulder.

Any uninvited touch from an untrusted source, and you were asking for trouble.

Scott learned how to overcome it sooner because he craved the contact. And he wanted his kid to see what his father taught him, not what the world taught him about physical contact. He’d always been more inclined to want and offer hugs, much like his father.

Tony, a bit more naturally reserved like his mother, needed more time to learn how to overcome all of that. He needed more time to remember not everyone who entered your personal space had ill intent.

But the first time the Stark Boys hugged after a long time of being at odds, something in their souls healed a little bit that day.

[ednaeflowers]

@crystallizedflowers : [ darkness ] sender and receiver makeout in a completely dark room

DIFFERENT KINDS OF KISSES  /  always accepting from bf 💛

𝟎𝟎:𝟒𝟎 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬

she tried. she really tried to not let it happen, but no one in their friend circle will listen to a damn thing she says. it's like they're all deaf, or as rose dubs, they're all just '𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨,' which makes edna feel more inclined to enact vengeance of some kind the moment this door unlocks, whenever that is.

this closet is rather small, she notices, grimly, and there isn't even a light switch available. she doesn't want to stand, so she is seated on the floor, her back against the wall. she doesn't know if he wanted to sit as well, but meebo is right next to her, both of them quiet and waiting out the long, upcoming seven minutes left of this blasted game. zaveid is supposed to be a professor here and professors are supposed to be professional, so why the hell did he feel such a dire need to suggest playing seven minutes in heaven when he was passing by? to humiliate her for that cool remark she roasted him with during his class? and why did everyone else agree to play? why did everyone immediately pick her and meebo to go first?! and why is everyone laughing outside?! did they planned this?! idiots, all of them.

idiots, edna seethes in the silence.

𝟎𝟏:𝟏𝟎 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

she glances around at what she can still see, noting the plethora of random jackets and sweaters hung behind them overhead. there are also some boxes stacked across them; some opened, some closed. a storage closet? she never knew there would be such a tiny one here in the corner of the student lounge, and she mourns over the juice she didn't even get to drink prior to this madness. idiots, she reiterates again.

❛  meebo.  ❜ she is now poking his arm with a finger. ❛  i'm bored—  ❜

something collapses at her other side, making a thud noise. edna jolts, startled, barely seeing a heap of jackets sprawled beside her like a small landslide. squinting, she slowly reaches for it—

she suddenly sees pure black, feeling something like wool drop over her head. she grunts, already struggling to free herself. her hands are small, all balled up around the sweater to tug off, but from the way it still stubbornly clings onto her face, she is not faring well in this war. she will not give up, though.

𝟎𝟏:𝟑𝟑 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

finally, edna is victorious in this battle, scowling at the sweater in her hands, then the scowl deepens as she faces meebo with a promise of death in her eyes. she doesn't know if he laughed at her or not, but if he did, then she wants justice for herself.

because of the jacket landslide still to her right, she leans left towards him to toss the sweater over at his other side. ❛  if you were laughing, then i will hit—  ❜

at this moment, she learns that it isn't wise to discard things in a place void of light, because she ends up accidentally tumbling into meebo. the sweater flies out of her grasp, and she knows she fell in front of him since she hears a grunt when her left shoulder collides into what she thinks is his chest. those must be his hands trying to steady her back up, lightly settled on her arms; she is about to say she's okay and then complain about how everyone is evil for locking them up, her frown already in place—but she finds herself pausing instead as she regards him.

𝟎𝟐:𝟎𝟒 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

the room is dark to a point where she can barely see his face unless they have very close proximity, but that's exactly it: his eyes are so purple and she has never met someone with eyes of that color before—and paired with his bright hair, he practically glows to her in this darkness.

she has always wondered which parent he resembles more in his family. blue hair and purple eyes aren't exactly common, and that's one of the reasons why she thought he was weird when they first met. bumping into each other on the way to class, then finding out they coincidentally have the same environmental science class together as an elective: one could compare it to the likeliness of a typical boy-meets-girl story. edna doesn't particularly like those; they're so cliché and boring, and she wonders if that makes her a hypocrite because meeting mikleo was probably the most interesting thing that's ever happened to her here in this uneventful school.

she doesn't really know what to feel towards him. after all, they're in different majors with different schedules, with only one elective class keeping them somewhat intertwined. he hangs out with mainly sorey, and she is usually by herself. he dorms with sorey, she commutes from home; he likes architecture and history, she likes art and science. he did mention having an interest in marine biology, though, so she wonders why he's even taking environmental science. one is about the life of sea creatures, the other about earth and nature. opposites in every way. it's like they have nothing in common.

𝟎𝟐:𝟐𝟖 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

but if that's the case, she wonders, then why is he not letting her go yet?

another jacket drops behind her, adding to the landslide. some of the pile shifts downward from the impact and blocks out the crack of light seeping in from the bottom of the door, so she can't see his face all that well anymore, not even his eyes, not even a sheen of light reflecting off his glasses—or maybe she just can't see his eyes anymore because she can't focus right now. he still holds her by the arms, the touch is careful and gentle, and edna actually starts feeling nervous because what is happening right now? what's going on? why isn't he letting go? this is so unlike him. he has always respected her personal space...

❛  …m-meebo?  ❜ she tries, tentatively.

it is quiet for a moment. she feels his hands clench a bit around her arms, and the nervousness continues churning in her chest at his silence, even more now that it's absolutely dark in here. she can't see what face he's making anymore, and that's a little scary to her: he's always been more open and expressive, so it was easy pinpointing what he felt—but now, that's null for both her and him.

then finally, instead of hearing words, she feels something brushing against the corner of her mouth. it then brushes against her lips this time, and stays there—and suddenly, she cannot breathe.

𝟎𝟑:𝟏𝟐 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 

the hands still seizing her arms, the feeling of her lips being sealed, the way she is pulled forward: it is a kiss, she realizes. he is kissing her.

why?

her heart has never skipped this way before, and it's strange. it has never occurred to her, the idea to kiss him—but maybe a part of her did think something about him because she doesn't remember anyone else who is so apparent in her life outside of onii-chan until they met.

even though they have different class schedules, edna sometimes spends her free time on campus personally pestering him. if he goes to the library, then she also goes and settles into the seat next to him, and doodles on some of his notes, and steals his glasses when he's not looking. if she sees him in passing, then she tries to tiptoe and spook him from behind for a greeting. the boundary line between them starts getting muddied when they're both in the environmental science class: she bothers him for his notes, she talks to him about anything she can think of from whatever she watched on tv last night to how she spent two hours figuring out how to incorporate normins into her newest art project, she sometimes plays with his hair when they wait for class to start, he is the first person she goes to whenever they need to pair up for a new assignment, she takes it upon herself to hog his textbook if she forgets hers, she automatically sits in a seat right next to his whenever she arrives to class later than him, she will wait for him by the door to walk together if she is the first to leave the room after class ends—

maybe she already felt something by then. maybe.

𝟎𝟑:𝟑𝟓 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

this is why she starts closing her eyes and accepts the kiss, returning it by leaning forward to chase after him when she feels him parting away. that was her first kiss, and it felt nice: it was as fluttery and sweet as people say first kisses are, and he's her first kiss. he's her first kiss, and also her second kiss.

𝟎𝟑:𝟓𝟐 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

she doesn't know what face he made about it, or if he even reacted at all in this darkness, but he must've felt something to lean back against the wall and press their lips together even more by pulling her with him. she isn't sure if the airiness in her chest right now is due to how long they've been at this without breathing, or if it's because of this soft tenderness sprouting in her chest from the way he gently settles his hands on her.

edna doesn't lie when she claims that she's a frail girl; the most she willingly carries is her favorite umbrella, and she tends to get sore muscles easier than others. some call her a princess because of it, but she prefers '𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺,' and she has already dubbed meebo as her one and only manservant. it was their routine to be witty at each other, and other times, to be witty with each other. she likes the consistency of it; never makes her doubt their relationship—but right now, she is doubting. everything is not balanced anymore.

it's brand new.

𝟎𝟒:𝟏𝟎 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

that's a tongue, she realizes, dazed, so she timidly allows access after it lightly prods at her lips for entry, and it feels very different: it gives '𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴' a whole new definition. her face feels hot, and it's also hot at where he touches her; she feels the warmth of his palms and fingers so easily through the fabric of her dress.

he hasn't once hesitated because he kisses her very surely, a telltale sign of his own personal stance on their relationship. she wonders when did it even start for him. after all, she has never picked up any signs and he has always behaved like usual around her—but in retrospect, she grew up with only a brother throughout her entire life, and onii-chan has always warned her about being wary around boys and men. ( what about you? she had asked, eyebrow raised. i don't count, onii-chan replied back, watching some tv documentary about beetles. ) edna thought he was being ridiculous, and made it clear to him that she decides who she wants to talk with, even if that person is mikleo.

mikleo had always been fair to her, treating her normally with sorey when they all first met. sorey is a kind, cordial person and his best friend, and that's how edna remembers him. unlike sorey, though, mikleo is easier to pester, and that's why edna decides to do it so much. it was fun. she just didn't realize this one decision sealed her fate.

𝟎𝟒:𝟓𝟒 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

eventually, she vaguely notices she is somehow in his lap because she's sitting on something softer than the floorboards, and her neck hurts less now, and he was sitting to her left but he's now at her right, and her skirt is bit hiked up her thighs from the new position. her mind is a blur, all muddled up, but it's coherent enough to decide that she wants to stay there as their tongues dance and sneak in brief in-between moments of catching their breath.

but soon, she has to force herself to part again, feeling a bit lightheaded and warm and dizzy, but once she takes an audible breath for more oxygen, he probably did the same before recapturing her lips again with the same amount of love as before. it makes her heart hammer loudly, so her arms rest upon his shoulders to pull him in this time, and she shifts to angle her head comfortably to kiss back, mouth open again for him, their tongues meeting once more. his arms are encircled around her waist, and he's parting away again—

𝟎𝟓:𝟏𝟖 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

she squeaks, her bottom lip feeling pained. did he just bite—

his tongue returns, sneaking back into her mouth, wrapping around her tongue. the abruptness invokes a whimper from her, despite herself, and leaves her breathless again, some saliva dripping down her jaw. she isn't sure how he's so good at this: she thought nerds only read books and study and geek out, so this is unfair. very unfair.

unfair, edna thinks, indignantly, and blindly moves her hand until she finds his ponytail and gives it a light tug. he pauses, so she assumes he felt that.

mikleo parts away again and is still for a moment, so she takes the opportunity to breathe for air. she assumes he will return for her lips, but this time, she feels something tap against her neck, startling her.

that's his finger, she concludes, feeling his hand slowly rest on her nape. it slides up to her head to gently nudge her forward, pressing their bodies even closer as the other hand nudges from the middle of her back. she can literally feel his heart beating like hers. something flutters tremendously when she feels his lips and breath on the right side of her neck, and—

she moans, softly and shakily, and hopes that won't leave a visible mark because she doesn't own any turtlenecks. his glasses aren't bumping into her anymore like how it was bumping against her nose during the earlier kisses, so he must've taken them off prior changing targets to her neck. belatedly, she also notices that the right strap of her dress had somehow slid down her arm, and she never knew how hard it was to stay quiet until now.

𝟎𝟔:𝟒𝟓 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

he keeps rotating between slow, gentle pecks and sucking and bites that always invoke a noise from her. she starts thinking it's deliberate when he bites a little rougher this time, and she stiffens while giving a shaky whimper in return. it pulsates below; the amount of love is overwhelming, and she finds herself starting to crave, so she tilts her head to offer more of her neck and likes that his arms hold her securely. it feels right like this.

she has never cared much for romance, but she has also never felt so loved before. is this even love? she doesn't know how to answer, but she does know that mikleo has never done anything that would seriously dissuade her trust, and she finds it comforting that he's in her life because she wouldn't know what to do if he isn't there to anchor her. she has onii-chan, but he's family, and edna's never had any actual friends that stuck around until mikleo literally bumped into her that one day he was tardy to class. meeting him led her to meet sorey, rose, and alisha. in a way, he has really changed and expanded her life, like how an ocean will carry and bring new discoveries to the land. she knows so, because he is so many of her firsts. he is the ocean to her, letting her see a bit of the world beyond the horizon little by little. it's such a vast world out there that she's never seen before.

she wants to kiss him again, so she removes her arms from his shoulders to find him. when she is certain that it's his face, she interrupts him by cradling it with her palms, lifting it away from her neck so that she can lean forward, tilt her head, and press a gentle kiss to his lips. there is so much warmness seeping out of her heart, pooling throughout her whole body, and she thinks it wouldn't be so bad to fall in love as long as it's him.

shyly, she is the one who prods her tongue out to ask for entry this time—

𝟎𝟕:𝟏𝟎 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

the door is loudly knocked, and a voice casually announces, ❛  heeey, i'd hate to interrupt your 'waiting', but time's up. some people also want their jackets back, so you might want to hurry... hint, hint.  ❜

        !!!!

edna immediately scrambles away, finally remembering where they're at and why they're in here. her hair is already disheveled from that sweater assaulting her head earlier, so she quickly unties her hair, gathers it to cover the right side of her neck ( she doesn't even know if there are any marks at all ), fixes her dress, wipes at her face with her hands, then starts helping mikleo pick up the fallen jackets and sweaters. the light from the bottom of the door seeps back in again, and she stubbornly avoids his eyes as she helps hang the jackets. her face is scorching hot, so she's grateful there's no light switch in here.

( outside, an amused snort could be heard, and there are footsteps that sound close, as if they're guarding the door. )

her heart and lips are still tingly, and she is fairly certain there will be questions being asked to her that she will never, ever explain, so once she hangs up everything from her end, she mumbles, embarrassedly, ❛  you walk out first...  ❜ he's taller, so she'll be hiding behind him from everyone's eyes, and already, she finds herself wishing this wasn't originally a game limited by only seven minutes. this might be a game to others, but to edna, these past seven minutes are irrevocably real. she's embarrassed, but she also doesn't regret returning that kiss, and in turn, returning his feelings.

is this love? she still isn't completely sure, but she wants it to be true: she wants him to be her first and only love because she trusts no one else to love her like this. she trusts no one else to be the ocean in her world.

[jirouing]

★ ·.·˙··˙·.· MOONLIGHT SHOWERS !

➫ pairings ;; armin arlert x m!reader.

➫ wordcount ;; 1,299

➫ synopsis ;; while on a stake-out, armin sits down to join you for a night to sky watch.

➫ authors%note ;; fluff / my first aot fic ? fosho fosho

"Make the rounds again, be sure there are no other survey ships coming from the north."

A chorus of affirmations followed the commander's orders. The soldiers all split up and coddled into their own groups to keep watch, all except one Y/N. He remained in his spot on the lukewarm sand, the grains hugging his feet as he moved around to avoid the shivering pokes of the waves coming upon the shore.

In the midst of the splashes of water, he picked up the light sound of footsteps coming his way. Silently, he took up his boots and swapped sides to make room for the person, who plopped down so close to his side, the warmth from their body radiating. One glance out of the corner of his eye found Armin as his comrade. For a moment Y/N caught himself starting, his eye subtly watching the blond man gaze up at the sky. But subtle didn't last too long as Armin's eyes shot towards his, those ocean blue eyes were unbelievably bright and warming as they settled on him.

They crinkled just the slightest bit when his pink lips curved into a soft smile that was reserved special just for him.

Armin bumped shoulders with him, tipping the other over. He managed to scoot closer to Y/N and their thighs grazed each others. Even through the rough material of their pants, Y/N still felt that shock.

"The moon is really beautiful. It reflects so nicely onto the sea, don't you think?" 

A sigh left those lips and Armin wove his hands underneath his legs as he brought them to his chest. Y/N felt inclined to agree - he means, the night sky was something he's always adored. Getting to sky watch was hell inside the walls; they were always annoyingly tall and he could never see the stars in all of their glory. His folks never didn't want him out too late either so this was his only opportunity to fully appreciate it.

Y/N leaned back on his palms and huffed out a little laugh. "Yeah I could think of about a bazillion things I like about it." That sparked Armin's interest as he shifted to face him, a giddy smile ready. "Oh really? Name one off the top of your head."

"I love the way it's rays bathe you in it."

They were both fully facing each other now and Y/N has never felt so lucky that his heated face has gone unnoticed. Damn him and his mouth to hell.

Armin looked shell shocked at the answer but stuttered out a fit of chuckles. "You know that's one thing you love, I thought we were talking about things we liked."

"But it's true," the brother man sucked at his teeth. "You've always been a looker but the moonlight just makes it even better. It just...it just makes everything that I thought couldn't get better just pop!" Y/N spoke with his hands, Armin followed with sheepishness. He didn't know where this burst of confidence came from but it was too late to just backtrack.

"Come on, you're just saying that. I'm nothing special, not with everyone else here." The blond tried to play it off as a joke, a strained laugh and all, but his voice faded into a soft whisper and it frustrated the other to no end. Y/N shifted to his knees and stopped Armin's hands from rubbing at his neck. He molded their hands together, squishing the milky hands in between his own for a stark contrast.

"Armin...you're one of the smartest guys I know. But you gotta be the most ignorant one when it comes to love." Y/N was exasperated. The blond blinked at him with furrowed eyebrows, "I- excuse me?"

He took a breather, listening to the waves once again, they got close and almost washed away the mess they had made in the sand. "There's so many things about you that I can just never get enough of," shining blue eyes egged him on; just begging him to continue. "Your wise mind and determined soul from the moment you stepped into the corps. You inspired me from the beginning. Learning to be your comrade, your friend is something I've cherished--"

"--The only thing I would want more is to have your heart."

Hands twitched in between his before he was engulfed into a hug from the now tearful blond. "Y/N...that was the sweetest thing ever! ... I can't fathom why you keep it to yourself all these years." Not once did he move an inch and Y/N savored the feeling of his arms slithering around him, getting tighter and tighter. The man shrugged the best he could, slumping down into his embrace. "I don't know man. It just never felt like the right time to me. The whole titan-killing and now Marley, I was more afraid that I would end up never telling you."

Armin shakily exhaled and it fanned the crook of his neck. "Yeah. I get it. But even if it's the end of the world as we know it, I'd tell you that I love you in a heartbeat." Y/N closed his eyes and smiled to himself, he was so glad to hear it.

They both sat there in silence, over the waves were their comrades hushed voices as they continued on with the commander. Neither dared to pull away, only getting more comfortable in each other's arms.

"Hey, Y/N?" Armin was the first to speak again.

"Yeah Armin?" he opened his eyes.

A short pause and then came, "can I kiss you?"

The man could've sworn that his mind was playing tricks on him, but just to confirm everything, he breathed out a "s-sure." Armin then leaned back and caught his eyes, he couldn't stop smiling and it was all too contagious that Y/N felt the giddiness creeping up on him. A hand gripped his waist and a hand latched to the crook of his neck. As the blond was slowly leaning into him, Y/N thanked the moon for shining down on them in this moment.

It was like time stopped when lips met his, his heart pounding hard against his chest. The only thing he could focus on was how soft the blond's lips felt and how everything about him just invaded all his senses. If he still thought this was a dirty trick, he ought to be a fool.

Their lips moved sweetly against each other, and neither could get enough. Armin was shifting closer to Y/N, the raw emotion dripping onto the other, their limbs becoming entangled by the second while the night sky washed over them.

Suddenly they both felt pain in their heads, wincing and looking up to find a cheeky-eyed Connie with a thunderspear in his right hand.

"Times up, love birds. You both need to get back into position, captain's orders-" but his grin grew and he twirled the spear to tease. "Or do you guys need a little more 'alone time'?"

Y/N groaned and put his head in his hands while Armin jumped off the sand to tell Connie to quit it, which led into a little playful chase between the two along the shore.

How embarrassing, the lonesome man thought. But he still smiled as he watched a beet red Armin shout after Connie's cackling ass.

Maybe they'll get another time like this. Y/N looked up to the sky and hummed. Another wave crashed in and almost took his boots with it. He stood up and gathered them and made his way back, yelling at both of his friends to hightail it.

Next time, he thought, they just have to do this again.

[wishuhadstayed]

Plus One

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word count: 3000ish

Summary: it’s baby time y’all!

Warnings: pregnancy complications, angst

Author’s Note: to those who have been waiting, I AM SO SORRY. I hope this will be worth it! Part 8? to Begin Again. Please feel free to yell at me in the comments if you feel so inclined.

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Conversation flowed in the dining room and kitchen of the Hotchner residence as the BAU team and family impatiently anticipated the forthcoming announcement.

“It’s a boy, has to be,” Morgan mused.

“No way. Definitely a girl,” JJ contradicts.

“As much as it pains me to say, I think I have to go with Morgan on this one,” Emily admits.

“Garcia?” JJ inquires, “What do you think?”

“I have to agree with Chocolate Thunder on this one, love,”

“Are you all taking his side?” JJ asks with indignation. “I’ll bet you $50 that it’s a girl!”

“Oh you’re on, sweetheart,” Morgan complies with a winning smile.

“I don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy,” says Reid, “but I do know that I wouldn’t bet against JJ.”

“Thanks, Spence,” JJ replies, patting him on the shoulder. “Emily, Rossi? You wanna get in on the action?”

“Oh I am so staying out of this,” Prentiss responds. “Count me out.”

“I’m in with Morgan for $50,” Rossi states.

“Alright, but you’re all gonna be sorry,” JJ says with a smirk.

Overhearing the lively discussion, you enter the room.

“Children, what’s going on here?” You interject, “Don’t make me break up a fight.”

“Y/N! Just the lady I wanted to see!” Exclaims JJ. “May I?” She asks, gesturing towards your growing baby bump.

“Sure, go ahead,” you reply. “Do I even want to know?”

“We’re taking bets on the sex of the baby,” she replies placing a gentle hand on your belly. “And I am so totally going to win!”

“You can’t possibly know that, JJ,” Morgan interrupts.

“Call me crazy if you want,” says JJ, “but a mother knows.”

“I suppose you’ll all find out soon enough,” Aaron cuts in, placing a strong arm around your back and pressing his lips to yours for a quick, tender kiss. “Shall we?”

With that, everyone makes their way to the backyard, where a large golden balloon awaits.

Picking it up from the ground, Aaron asks, “Everybody ready?”

He didn’t really have to ask. The answer was unanimous.

“YES!”

“Jack, would you like to do the honors?” you inquire, holding out a safety pin for him.

“Can I?” he asks hopefully.

“Of course you can buddy. Just be careful, okay?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Dad and I will count you in, okay? On three.”

Together, you and Aaron slowly count, “One, two, THREE!”

A loud pop from the balloon momentarily startles the crowd and then..... a cloud of pink confetti floats to the ground.

“YES!” JJ shouts in her excitement. “PAY UP, LOSERS! We got a baby shower to plan!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several weeks later found you strolling through the back door of Rossi’s home into the yard where you’d married the man of your dreams not so very long ago.

This time it’s decorated for a slightly different occasion. Pale pink lanterns and streamers adorn everything in sight. A picnic table covered with a pink flowered cloth looks like it might collapse at any moment beneath the weight of a mountain of gifts wrapped in pastel paper. Heart shaped balloons are tied to the corners of another table on top of which is a giant bowl of pink punch, more food than you thought possible, and a breathtaking cake, decorated with tiny pink roses.

A tap on your shoulder brings you back to reality and you turn to see three beautiful, smiling faces. Women that you consider to be not only friends, but family at this point.

“Penny, Emily, JJ,” you say as your eyes begin to well up with tears, “This is too much! You shouldn’t have gone to this much trouble.”

“Oh this is the least we could have done for you, doll face,” Garcia interjects. “Nothing but the finest for my very best friend.”

“Don’t worry about it, my clean sweep at the gender reveal paid for most of this,” JJ jokes.

“You look absolutely radiant,” Emily adds, pulling you in for a hug.

“Where’s the boss man?” Penelope asks. “He’s coming isn’t he?”

“Oh yes” you reply. “He was helping Jack out of the car. He told me to come on in. He’s probably inside hanging out with boys for a minute.”

At that moment, you feel a pair of familiar arms encircling you, one across your chest and one just underneath your baby bump. A soft kiss on the cheek and he turns you around to face him. The tender look in his usually stern eyes melts you as he smiles and says,

“There’s my girls.”

“I love you, Aaron.”

“I love you too, darling.”

“Alright love birds, it’s time to get this show on the road!” exclaims Morgan, coming through the door with both Henry and Jack in tow.

“Thanks for keeping the kids entertained, Derek,” you whisper. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Mama. I’ve got it all under control,” he reassures with a wink.

“Should we be worried?” Aaron jokes under his breath.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Garcia offers, trailing off behind them.

Rossi and Reid bring up the tail end of the group, along with Jessica, Jack’s aunt, who had been previously supervising the kids.

“How are the parents-to-be feeling?” Rossi inquires.

“Overwhelmed, and so grateful,” you reply. “I know JJ said she covered most of it with her winnings, but I think we all know you pitched in too. And you’re a fantastic sport for letting the girls decorate your whole house pink.”

“Anything for some of my favorite people,” he replies patting you both on the shoulder.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” Reid chimes in. “This baby’s really lucky to have such loving parents.”

“Reid, stop. You’re gonna make me cry,” you squeak out, pulling a tissue from your purse.

Just then, Jessica wraps an arm around both of you.

“Jess, you know you didn’t have to come,” Aaron says.

“Nonsense!” comes her reply. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

As you go to sit so you can open presents, Morgan pulls out the chair for you, then pulls one out for Garcia as they settle in to watch the kids.

Maybe you were mistaken, but you could have sworn you saw a flirty look pass between them. A mischievous grin crosses your face. Perhaps you should do a bit of your own matchmaking.

“Jack!” you call. “Don’t you wanna help Mama open some of her presents?”

“Yeah! Can Henry help too?”

“What do you think JJ?” you ask.

“As long as it’s okay with you,” she agrees.

The kids ran up to help with their very important present duty. Jack retrieving smaller presents and helping rip the paper. Henry mostly just playing with the shiny bows. Thus leaving Morgan and Garcia free of responsibility.

When the last present had been opened, and the last game played, Aaron made his speech.

“Y/N and I just wanted to thank you all so much for being here today. We love each and every one of you like family, and we are truly grateful for all your love and support. We are truly blessed to have such wonderful people in our lives. Thank you again.”

As everyone was leaving, Penelope pulled you to the side.

“Did you call the kids over for help specifically to leave Derek and I alone together?”

“Penny, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” came your reply. “I’m just getting too big to be bending over to grab the presents and I thought it would be fun for the kids.”

“If you say so,” she says with a skeptical look.

As she walks away, Aaron whispers in your ear, “You are so wrong for that, you know?” with a playful shove of your shoulder.

“Oh they’re perfect for each other and everyone knows it. Besides, she played matchmaker for us and look what happened,” you reply, rubbing your belly.

“Okay, okay!” he surrenders with a grin. “You’re right. You’re always right. You win.”

——————————————————————————

As the weeks crept by, your little family was not so patiently awaiting the arrival of its newest addition. Being pregnant and taking care of a 6 year old without your husband was extremely taxing, making the moments that you did have with him exceedingly special.

Moments like today. It was nothing exciting, just sitting on the couch, enjoying each other’s company, but sometimes that’s all you really need.

Seated across from each other, You can’t help but admire the sweet look on his face as he touches your belly.

“I still can’t believe we’re having a baby girl,” he mentions.

“Neither can I,” you agree. “She’s gonna be smart,” you state, resting your hand on top of Aaron’s. “A lawyer like her daddy.”

“She can be anything she wants,” he says, looking up with his smile revealing the stunning dimples that caught your eye on your very first date. “As long as she’s happy.”

“God I love you, Aaron.”

“I love you more, angel.”

But mom duty never stops.

“Oh!” you exclaim. “It’s almost time to pick up Jack from school and I haven’t even started dinner!”

“Don’t worry about it, babe,” Aaron says. “I’ll take care of everything, you just relax.”

“But I,”

“Ssshhhhh,” he interrupts. “No buts. I will pick up Jack, I will get dinner. You deserve a break.”

“Alright, if you insist.”

“I do.”

He leans in and gently brushes his lips against yours.

“I’ll be back soon.”

What felt like an eternity later, you hear the front door open and two distinct sets of footsteps.

“Mama!” Jack yelled, scrambling up into your lap for a hug. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, buddy,” you reassure, pulling him close to your chest.

“What’s for dinner, honey?” you ask?

A playful smirk forms on Aaron’s face, raising your suspicions.

“You’ll see. In the meantime, Jack how would you like to watch a movie with me and mom?”

You all settle on the sofa, Jack in Aaron’s lap and your head on your husband’s left shoulder. Just as you were drifting off to sleep near the end of the movie, a knock at the door startles you awake.

“Dinner’s here!” Aaron announces. “Come on buddy,” he encourages Jack. “Help me out.”

As you reach the table where the food is being laid out, tears begin to spring to your eyes.

“I got you fries and chocolate shake. And a cheeseburger. No mayo, extra pickles.”

“Babe,” you squeak out, “you remembered.”

“Of course I remembered. It’s all you talked about while I was away on my last case.”

You laugh and pull him close.

“I knew I married you for a reason.”

——————————————————————————

Around your 36 week mark, Aaron called from his hotel room to check on you.

“How are you, love?”

“Still pregnant,” you gripe.

“I know you’re exhausted, mama. I’ll be home tomorrow. Just remember the go bag for the hospital is packed and sitting right by the front door, just in case.”

“Yes, Aaron. You remind me every day. Honestly I think it’s bit overboard, I’m fine.”

“I just worry about you being alone while I’m gone is all. It never hurts to be prepared. Anyway, I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Love you too honey. Good night and be safe tomorrow.”

——————————————————————————

When Aaron arrived home the next night, he was greeted by the sight of you dozing on the couch.

Easing himself down on the edge, he swipes a lock of hair from your face. He softly kisses your forehead and watches as your eyes flutter open.

“Aaron?” you murmur. “You’re home.”

“I’m home,” he whispers. “How are my girls?”

“Better now that you’re home. I’ve had some pretty intense back pain, but otherwise fine.”

“Well sleeping on the couch probably isn’t helping,” he states matter of factly.

“Oh thank you doctor,” you reply sarcastically, giving his arm a playful slap. “I would never have known.”

“You’re welcome,” he says with a shit eating grin. “Let’s get some sleep.”And with that, he sweeps you off the couch, heading for the master bedroom.

——————————————————————————

You woke the next morning still in pain, but not wanting to disturb Aaron. You struggle to sit up, finally managing after a few tries. You pull back the sheets and immediately get a sense of panic and dread at the sight of blood on the hem of your nightgown and the sheets beneath you. As the tears begin to stream, you instinctively call out for him.

Waking up at the sound of his name he asks, “what’s wrong, baby?”

But he realizes the problem before you even get a chance to respond.

Amazingly he seems not to panic at all. The tears and hysterics don’t faze him at all. He simply grabs you out of the bed, carries your directly to the car, and buckles you in.

“Stay right here,” he instructs. “I’m getting Jack and we’re going to the hospital right now.”

What seems like an eternity later, but in reality was only a few minutes, Aaron emerges from the house with Jack and the go bag.

He peels out of the driveway and drives to the nearest hospital with no regard for the speed limit.

When you arrived to the emergency entrance, you look at him with a panic stricken face.

“I’m scared, Aaron.”

“Don’t worry darling,” he says soothingly. “I’m going to get you some help.”

The next thing you know several people are helping you out of the car and loading you onto a stretcher. As they wheel you inside he follows closely behind with Jack asleep in his arms.

“What going on?” you plead.

“I don’t know, love but they’re going to help,” he reassures.

Just then you overhear a member of the medical staff informing Aaron that he’s not allowed any farther.

“What do you mean he can’t come with me?” You wail.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but bleeding is very serious. Both you and the baby could be in danger. We need to get you treatment now and we can’t have any family in the room.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron says in a very calm and sure tone. “They’re going to take good care of you. Everything will be fine.”

“FINE? Nothing about this is fine!” you shout. “I can’t do this without you, Aaron.”

“Yes you can,” he replies, holding your hand. “You’re the strongest woman I know. You have to. Do it for her.” He says, placing his hand on your belly.

“We have to go now,” one of the nurses insist.

“Be strong for me okay?” He pleads, gaining a short tearful nod from you in response.

“I love you,” he calls out as they wheel you swiftly down the hall. Just before the stretcher is out of sight he hears your response.

“I love you more.”

——————————————————————————

Collapsing into a chair in the waiting area, mind racing with worry, Aaron does the only thing he can think of at the moment.

The phone rings, and then,

“Aaron! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon after a case,” Rossi says. “We don’t have plans today, do we?”

“No, Dave. It’s Y/N. We’re at the hospital.”

“Wow, I didn’t think she was due for a few more weeks.”

“She’s not,” Aaron explains, his voice beginning to break. “When we woke up, she was bleeding. From what I understand, it’s pretty serious. You’re the first person I thought to call.”

“Oh my God,” Rossi breathes. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Should I call the rest of the team?”

“Yeah, I think that would be best. I could really use some help with Jack. He’s still asleep for now, but,” Aaron pauses for a moment, choking back tears. “I don’t know what to tell him when he wakes up,” he finishes quietly.

“Just hold on, Aaron,” Rossi replies. “We’re coming.”

——————————————————————————

Within an hour, the whole BAU team was crowding the hospital waiting room. Hugs were exchanged and Aaron had handed a still sleeping Jack off to JJ.

Everyone waited in tense silence, not knowing quite what to say.

“I’m scared out my mind, Dave,” Aaron confines to him. “I can’t lose her. I’ve been through too much already. And Jack, God it would crush him if anything happened to her.”

“I think he’s waking up,” JJ whispers.

“Dad?” He asks in a daze as he wakes. “Miss JJ? Where are we?” He questions now aware of the unfamiliar surroundings.

Coming over to squat down in front of him, Aaron does his best to explain.

“Well buddy, this morning mom got sick, so we brought her to the hospital, and the doctors are taking good care of her.”

“Is she going to be okay?” he inquires. “And my baby sister?”

“I hope so, the doctors are working really hard to make mom better okay?”

“Daddy, we should say a prayer for Mama,” Jack responds. “And my baby sister too.”

“I think that’s a great idea, Jack,” Aaron responds, as he quickly turns away to wipe a tear.

The whole group gathered closely around Jack and Aaron. Everyone took turns saying prayer for the health and well being of Y/N and her unborn daughter.

Moments after the last amen was said; just when Aaron thought he would die if he waited a moment longer, a doctor came through the doors.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

Aaron stood, bracing himself for the news.

“Is it alright if I speak in front of the group?”

“Yes, they’re family. Please, just— do you have news about my wife?”

“Sir,” the doctor continues with a look of concern. “You all may want to sit down for this.”

——————————————————————————

Tag list: @ange-must-die @agenthotchner @moonstuffsteve @poetsacademia @hotchners-slut @arganfics @ladyreapermc @rousethemouse @less-intelligent-spencerreid @tgibstan @themanip @word-scribbless @quillvine @glizzieborden @miss-united-ace @samayoshito

[wanderinginksplot]

Wrecker x Homesick Reader (Part Two!)

A continuation of this ex-one-shot, but you can probably pick up everything you need to know from context.

Wrecker x f!reader: hint of romance toward the end

Word Count: 2,300 ish

Warnings: none

---

You stood outside of the infamous Havoc Marauder, staring up at the ship with nerves tingling in your stomach.

Okay, coming here had seemed like a fine idea when Wrecker suggested it. Last night, it had even seemed like it might be fun. Added to Wrecker's promise that Tech would amp up the power and reach of your comlink? You had agreed to be here without a second thought.

Now, this finally seemed like a bad idea. The Marauder was looking rough after Clone Force 99's latest crash-landing, you had no idea if Wrecker had spoken to Tech on your behalf, and you hadn't even seen Wrecker that day. Plus, stupid as it sounded even in your own thoughts, you had never actually walked up to a ship without being expected. Were you supposed to knock? Shout? Should you just wait and hope they saw you?

As you stood, undecided, you thought seriously about going back to your quarters. If you were having second thoughts about this, Wrecker probably was, too. It would probably be best for everyone if you just left…

But then hydraulics hissed and the doors opened and the stairs attached to the ship dropped down. Tech appeared in the doorway, peering at you.

"You are the one Wrecker invited here, correct?"

"Uh. Correct?" you answered doubtfully. "He told me you might be able to help me with my comlink."

"Of course I can help you," Tech replied, his casual confidence making you quirk an eyebrow. He lifted his head to glance at the sky for a moment. "You'll have to come onboard the ship, however. The light conditions out here are too intense for such detailed work."

"Yeah, sure," you agreed, following him inside.

The Havoc Marauder was a smaller ship than the ones you had gotten used to at your time at Spearpoint Outpost. Of course, that may have been because a sheet hanging from the ceiling separated the entrance and cockpit from the rest of the living area, but you understood and respected the need for privacy. Four men living in such close quarters probably tried to keep things as separated as possible.

With that in mind, you resisted the urge to peek behind the truly giant sheet to see the Bad Batch's bunk space. Instead, you followed Tech up to the front of the Marauder. To your surprise, Sergeant Hunter was also in the small area. Remembering his keen senses and reluctance to be too close to other people, you stopped immediately.

"Do you want me to wait outside?" you offered. "I don't mind."

"Nah, come on in," Hunter invited. "I'm just doing some maintenance checks. Go ahead and sit down, though. I don't want to risk us clashing heads if either of us moves the wrong way."

You watched the sergeant for a moment to see if he was joking. The two of you weren’t even close to the same height, so several things would need to go wrong before you worried about bumping heads. You thought you saw an amused glitter in his dark eyes, but you had already begun turning toward the co-pilot's seat.

Tech sat down in the other seat. "Don't panic," he said bracingly, and he had ripped the cover off of your comlink before you had time to ask what he meant. Despite the warning, you still flinched at the noise of your comlink being broken.

You watched him in silence for a few long minutes, engrossed in the minute details of his work.

"Wrecker mentioned that you need this range increase to speak with your friends," Tech said, his quiet voice making you jump in the silence of the ship.

"My family, actually," you corrected.

You realized that the quiet sounds of Hunter working in the cabin behind you had stopped. You glanced back in his direction and he began fiddling with some exposed wires again.

"Where are you from?" Tech asked. "I'm certain Wrecker mentioned it before, but I cannot remember a place."

Wrecker talked about you? Feeling unreasonably warmed by that, you answered, "Bespin. Cloud City."

"Supposed to be beautiful there," Hunter said behind you.

"It is," you agreed readily. "Especially the sunrises. Or the sunsets, really. There are always clouds, so on a good day, the sun reflects off the water until the air is filled with more rainbows than there are stars in the sky."

"Impossible," Tech started, but Hunter cut him off.

"You must miss it. Sounds like you left a lot behind to be here."

You shrugged. "Not as much as some. Still, this was the right thing to do. I don't regret my choices."

Tech worked in silence for a while after that, doing something complex to the electrical components of the comlink.

Eventually, he said, "I've heard Bespin has odd customs. Parents often let their children form romantic relationships at early ages and people are encouraged to remain with those partners."

You didn't answer that and Tech glanced up at you questioningly. His fingers didn't stop manipulating the micro-spanner. The comlink sparked loudly and you grimaced. You hadn't even known a comlink could do that.

"Don't you need to… you know, concentrate?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice polite. You couldn't really afford a new comlink right now, and even when you could, a new communicator would take forever to arrive somewhere as remote as Spearpoint.

Rather than look back at the comlink, Tech's eyes slid over to where Hunter stood behind you, silent once more. Before you could turn as well, Tech’s gaze was back on the small device.

Sudden realization flashed through your mind. Tech's questions, Hunter's halting work on the Marauder… They were testing you. This was an interview to see if you were good enough for Wrecker.

You had always been excellent at interviews.

You sat straighter in the chair, dropping the tension from your shoulders as you fixed Tech with a sincere smile.

"You're thinking of Bespin as it was a thousand years ago," you told Tech, satisfied when he looked up at you with surprise half-hidden behind his goggles. "Those traditions were from before we had stable hover-lifts to keep cities at even elevation levels. It would be too difficult to re-identify a city that had dropped, risen, or otherwise changed locations. Young adults were encouraged to find someone they considered a potential romantic partner and share a dwelling before they lost each other forever."

"I…" Tech blinked. "I was unaware."

"We have a lot of legends about it," you said kindly. "Some of them are very widespread, so it isn't surprising you would have found one. I can recommend a good holotext about how we got to a more uniform elevation level and the shift to a more standard form of courtship. If you're interested, of course."

"I am extremely interested," Tech assured. "Have courtship rituals on Bespin changed, then?"

You shrugged. "Probably as much as those of any society that has been inhabited as long as Bespin. I wouldn't know a lot, personally. My first relationship wasn't until I had gone to college on Alderaan, and it certainly wasn’t with anyone from Bespin.”

Tech hummed quietly at that, refocusing his attention on your comlink. You waited to see what his next question would be, but the only noise in the cockpit was the sound of approaching footsteps.

You turned to find Crosshair stepping through the doorway. You managed a smile - not that it was appreciated or returned by the scowling trooper - but started to get anxious again. Where is Wrecker? Surely he hadn’t decided that you were more trouble than you were worth. If he had, why would his brothers be interrogating you?

Tech cleared his throat. “Did you stay on Alderaan long-?”

“You’re the one who spends so much time with Wrecker,” Crosshair said, staring at you. You nodded rather than risk displaying your nervousness in your voice. Crosshair grimaced. “Why?”

“Why… what?” you asked, utterly confused by his question.

“Well, most people find him irritating,” Crosshair pointed out, folding his arms across his lean chest. “Don’t you?”

“Never,” you replied instantly, your voice a bit too passionate for such a small space. “Wrecker is sweet and funny and cares more about others than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s amazing. If some people think he’s irritating, that’s their loss.”

Crosshair inclined his head at you before turning back toward the large sheet separating the living quarters from the cockpit. “There you go; an honest opinion.”

You blushed scarlet as the sheet dropped to reveal Wrecker. Apparently, the biggest Bad Batcher had been holding it in place pressed against the ceiling. You were marveling at that for a few precious seconds, but Wrecker had already moved on.

Beaming at you, Crosshair, and anyone else who bothered to look in your direction, Wrecker cheered, “Great!”

“Subtle, Crosshair,” Hunter said lowly.

Crosshair shrugged. “He wanted to know, and you and Tech were taking too long.”

“So,” Wrecker started, rubbing at the back of his neck as he moved to stand in front of you. Well, he was standing behind the copilot seat, really. The cockpit was crowded with you and every member of Clone Force 99 sharing the space. “I was thinking, maybe-”

“I am finished,” Tech announced, pushing past Wrecker to claim your full attention. He presented you with your comlink and, ignoring Wrecker’s huff of annoyance, proceeded to explain exactly what he had done to the device and how it should work.

You did your best to pay attention, but it was tricky with the other members of the Bad Batch standing in the background. Wrecker, understandably, looked frustrated. Crosshair was far too amused as someone watching one of his brothers accidentally torment another one. Hunter was the one really keeping an eye on the situation. When Tech had finally started to repeat an earlier point, Hunter interrupted.

“Tech, I need your help with one of the sensors in the rear deflector shield,” Hunter said, drawing Tech away slightly. “I’ve fixed the problem and reset the sensor, but it’s still registering as a bug in the system-”

As Hunter and Tech moved further away, Crosshair gave a sardonic salute and slouched off as well. You and Wrecker were alone for the first time, and he moved to sit down in the other pilot’s chair.

Sitting down, Wrecker seemed much less physically imposing. He was an undeniably large man, but at least you were almost the same height sitting down. Well, sort of the same height. Okay, not really the same height at all, but closer than when you were both standing.

Wrecker sat extremely upright in his chair as he started to speak. “Okay, now that they’re finally gone, I wanted to ask: would you maybe think about having dinner with me tonight? Here? I’ll get rid of the guys and we can have anything you want and I already cleaned just in case you said yes, but if you say yes, I’ll clean again just to make sure it’s really clean-”

“Wrecker!” you said laughingly, holding up your hands as if to stifle the stream of words. “I would be glad to have dinner with you. Thank you for asking me. It already looks clean in here, so please don’t feel like you need to go to any trouble.”

“That’s great!” Wrecker enthused after he had sat staring at you for a solid 20 seconds. He opened his arms. “Hug?”

“I’d love one, thanks,” you accepted gratefully, sliding forward until you left your chair.

Wrecker didn’t even give you a chance to stand all the way before he had wrapped you in another warm, squeezing embrace. You returned it as well as you could, but he pulled back sooner than he had the night before. You raised a curious eyebrow at him, but Wrecker gently disentangled himself from you and settled you back on your own seat.

“Actually, I have something else I need to say, and you need to be over there so you can be comfortable.” You raised both eyebrows at that, as well as at the sincere expression on Wrecker’s scarred face.

He avoided your eyes, but said it anyway: “I want to be more than friends. I… like you, but more than that. You know? Maybe you don’t. But I just wanted to make sure you knew that I would be happy to be your friend. If all you want is to be my friend, I think that’s great and I’m excited to be part of your new family here. Ugh, I’m messing this all up…”

You moved closer again, grabbing Wrecker’s hand as you did. “Wrecker, I’m glad you like me as more than a friend. It’s- That’s how I feel about you, too.”

“Really?” Wrecker breathed, definitely the quietest tone you had ever heard him use.

His eyes were lit up with hope and you smiled as you confirmed, “Really. But I haven’t dated a lot of people and I get the feeling it might be the same for you? So maybe we should take things slow.”

“That sounds amazing,” Wrecker agreed. “So should we reschedule dinner for another time?”

You smiled softly, hoping it didn’t come off condescending. “We don’t need to move that slowly, not if you’re comfortable with us having dinner together. I would like for us to be friends, too.”

“So it’s okay if I do this?” Wrecker asked, pulling your linked hands up to brush a kiss on the back of your hand.

It was such a simple, innocent gesture, but you had to fight a blush as you nodded. “It’s definitely okay if you do that.”

The pair of you grinned at each other like fools for an embarrassingly long time before you remembered a line you should draw. “Just please don’t leave me alone with your brothers again. They’re terrifying when they’re trying to look out for you.”

“I promise,” Wrecker said sincerely. “Though they like you, if that helps.”

“Thank goodness for that,” you murmured, glancing through the Marauder’s viewport to find Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair watching the two of you with knowing smirks.

---

A/N - All of the stuff about Bespin was invented by me. I know it's not correct, but it was fun to write and I have no regrets! Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out other works on my masterlist or make a request!

[loserchildhotpants]

Another destiel prompt from Twitter; say they’re dancing together, still trying to hide their feelings for each other, and because of that, avoiding eye-contract, the best the can, to ensure that the other character doesn’t notice how attracted they are to them (from this prompt list)

“Did you just turn her down?” Dean asks incredulously; Sam is busy sipping champagne next to him, but his eyebrows convey that he would also like clarification on whatever social interaction it is that Cas just had.

They’re all dressed to the nines, stuck at a posh wedding service until they solve this rogue Cupid case; it’s a low-risk case, but a case is a case, and they’ve got it well in hand.

Dean’s not been this dressed up since Bela stuffed him in a monkey suit, and he’d wager the same applies to Sam, but this is certainly the first either of them have ever seen Cas in anything other than his cubicle-life uniform.

Cas’ suit is sharp, pressed, striking, and he’s wearing a cerulean blue tie that has everyone meeting eyes with him coming up short. Predictably, he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, so he mostly apologizes awkwardly for those he seems to startle and thanks the handsy old ladies that liken him to long dead husbands.

With two flutes of bubbly meant for Dean and himself, Cas crossed the great hall, seemed to be stopped by a gorgeous young woman with dark hair, in a low-cut dress and a very promising smirk, but whatever exchange happened left her dejected.

“She asked me to dance,” Castiel tells Dean, passing him his flute, “I regretfully informed her that I don’t know how.”

“You can’t manage a simple little box-step for that hot piece? She was practically drooling, lookin’ at you!”

“We’re on a case,” he says, as though it’s a valid excuse.

“Nuh-unh,” Dean answers, shaking his head and putting his drink down on a nearby table, “That’s - that was a travesty, what I just witnessed. Babes are fuckin’ wasted on you, Cas.”

“She’s a fully grown woman, Dean,” Castiel corrects him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he brings his glass to his lips, “Besides, I’d only be wasting her time. I cannot dance, and I’d not be amenable to having relations with her, so it’s better I -”

“Not amenable?” Dean chokes out disbelievingly, “Who the fuck are you holdin’ out for?! Angelina Jolie?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“It’s a shame you don’t know how to dance, though,” Sam interjects, seeing by the vein throbbing in his forehead that Dean is about to start shouting about beautiful women and Cas’ ineptitudes, “I could teach you, if you want.”

Castiel slants his mouth at Sam, and Sam smiles gently back at him, “I know it doesn’t sound like fun, but, honestly? It’s a good skill to have, and worst case scenario is that you brighten someone’s evening.”

Appealing to his kind nature is the right call; Cas can’t argue that point, so he puts his champagne down and walks up to Sam.

“Very well. Where do we begin?”

“Oh - we’ll probably wanna go somewhere more private, so we can move a little more freely.”

At Sam’s behest, Dean and Cas follow him across the great hall, out onto a spacious balcony, out of the way of most everyone. Double glass doors lead out to it, and flowers line stone railing; no moon is visible from where they are in the mansion, but the sky is bright with stars, and that’s light enough.

While Sam does a fine job of teaching Castiel, and Castiel is a very quick study, they struggle with their height difference while Dean tells them about their height difference, unhelpfully and repeatedly.

Eventually, Sam turns to Dean, and says, “you should step in, man.”

“What? I’m not short,” Dean pouts grumpily.

“No, but you’re at least shorter than me - it’ll make leading a little easier for him.”

Rolling his eyes as though he’s actually put out, Dean peels himself from the French window he’d been leaning on, and takes Sam’s place.

Even and paced, Castiel and Dean take a few turns around the balcony, and Sam is impressed, informing Castiel that it took him a full week of practice to stop tripping over his own feet.

“To be fair, you were still growing into them at the time” Dean jokes.

In a rare moment of familial levity between them, Sam laughs, and Dean smiles at him - all of that makes Cas smile too, and then Sam’s phone rings.

“Oh - it’s Natalie,” Sam lets them know, “She wants eyes on the dance floor for a minute - I’ll take care of it - Cas, you’re doing great, don’t stop practicing!”

To both Dean and Cas’ surprise and humor, Sam appears genuinely bereft to leave the lesson. They both seem inclined to respect Sam’s wishes, though, so they take another turn.

“You gotta stop glancing down,” Dean commands.

Flashing his eyes back up at Dean, Cas mutters, “it’s reflexive. I apologize.”

“Nah, it’s fine, man. You’ve got it,” Dean assures him, “Now that you know how to, you gonna ask that girl to dance?”

“Perhaps,” Cas tries to shrug, determinedly keeping his eyes up, “I feel certain she has moved on in her pursuits, but if I pass her again, I will offer a dance.”

“You know how?”

“Now, yes.”

“No, I mean do you know how to ask a girl to dance?”

“Is there a particular ritual involved?”

Exhaling a laugh, Dean brings them to a stop, and explains, “okay - I’m gonna show you how it’s done, alright? Then I’ll lead.”

“Understood,” Cas tells him with serious conviction, studious and militant.

Dean steps back and away, and they wait for the band’s dreamy rendition of The Way You Look Tonight to end before proceeding.

As The Book of Love begins, the live orchestra swells from inside the hall, Dean bows just a little at the waist, with his right arm crossing his chest, but his head up, and he inquires politely, “Castiel, may I have this dance?”

Tilting his head curiously, Castiel needlessly replies, “yes, Dean, of course.”

Smiling his most winning smile, Dean straightens up, offers his hand, and nods approvingly when Castiel all but glides into step with him.

He keeps the tempo slow, but incorporates making circles, turning them ‘round and ‘round the stone and marble balcony, up and down it’s length; Cas follows him easily, trusting Dean’s direction, and always operating on a similar wavelength - Dean thinks that maybe they dance together well because they fight together well.

“This is nice, Dean,” Castiel remarks softly.

A dusting of rosiness rises up in Dean’s face; he pulls Cas a little closer to better obscure his face from scrutiny, clears his throat and makes some noncommittal noise that could be agreement or indifference.

“You’re the one who taught Sam to waltz,” Castiel surmises conversationally.

“Yeah,” Dean answers.

“How is it that you came to learn it?”

“Eh, you’d be surprised what you learn on the job,” Dean replies easily, pulling away enough to spin Cas, and then move close in again.

“... you just spun me.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Dean jokes, smirking proudly down at Cas; “Don’t worry, when you get to be a seasoned pro like me, you can snazzy up your waltz too. Maybe next you can learn to salsa or tango.”

In a moment of silence between them, Dean follows Cas’ eyes to their clasped hands; Dean’s not sure what Cas is seeing, but whatever it is, it’s making Dean nervous.

“See now what that lovely lady wanted? Feel bad yet?” Dean prompts.

Castiel’s electric eyes refocus on him, startling him with their intensity just as they had the wedding guests that were strangers to Cas, “I do understand now. However, perhaps it’s the soldier in me, but I find I much prefer following than leading.”

“Ah, that’s just ‘cause I’m a great lead,” Dean teases playfully.

“Yes, you are,” Castiel reinforces, eyes flickering between Dean’s, “You do know I would follow your lead anywhere, don’t you?”

“Christ, Cas,” Dean swears, trying to politely move his too-warm face out of view.

“Really, Dean,” Castiel adds, squeezing Dean’s hand where they’re clasped; when that doesn’t work immediately, he takes advantage of a circling turn to near their faces - their noses almost bump, and Dean has no choice but to look into Castiel’s eyes, “I want you to know. You do know, don’t you?”

Swallowing roughly, feeling possibly feverish, Dean down, then away, “... you gotta stop saying shit like that, Cas.”

“Why?” he wonders, “It’s only the truth.”

Clearing his throat again - a nervous tic he didn’t realize he had until right then - he mumbles back, “yeah, well… I talk big, but I’m flyin’ blind, so maybe don’t follow me everywhere.”

“I’m a soldier, Dean. A Commander, actually. When I delivered you to the convent where Sam and Ruby were against the wishes of Heaven, I chose you. I pledged my allegiance to an Earthly King over an absent God, and I knew what I was doing when I did,” their steps slow down as Dean takes that in, “All I knew was that… I had faith in you.”

At that, Dean stops moving altogether, his hand slides down from Cas’ shoulder blade to the cinch of his waist, and he allows their joined hands to wilt a bit lower, but he doesn’t let go.

It seems then that Cas is the one having trouble keeping Dean’s gaze.

He looks to some faraway place over Dean’s shoulder, and rasps, “I still do. So, yes, Dean. I will follow you everywhere you lead, for however long you allow me to. I don’t mind flying blind if I’m flying with you.”

“Cas…”

With difficulty, Castiel looks back into Dean’s eyes, and Dean feels his heart thud in his ears. He wonders to himself if Cas can hear it, or feel it, but all Cas does is stare intently back at him, maybe waiting for Dean to confirm or deny something.

“Guys!”

Dean practically jumps away from Cas, frightened as if he’s been caught doing something untoward, but Cas is unbothered.

“I think I found our guy,” Sam announces, none the wiser, “And I think he brought a friend.”

“Yeah,” Dean affirms gruffly, “Got it.”

Sam turns back around first, through the glass doors, back into the busy hall, and Dean starts after him, a hand already twitching toward his holster, sparing Cas a look from over his shoulder.

The Angel is standing there alone, unmistakably ethereal with a backdrop of twinkling stars and lazy fireflies illuminating him; he’s examining his hand as though Dean may have left a mark or a message on him somehow.

“You comin’, Swayze?”

Cas’ eyes snap to attention again, and his forehead wrinkles, “... I don’t understand that reference,” but he follows after Dean anyway.

He doesn’t seem to notice how Dean clenches and unclenches his corresponding hand, but Dean wouldn’t be able to explain it if he did.

[221bshrlocked]

Deepest of Desires

Y’all I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself but here we go. I’ve already talked about what some of Pedro’s Characters’ kinks would be but I need to compile them in one place...don’t ask me why. All suggestions for any characters are welcomed, I will happily add to the filth on this list.

Warnings: NSFW under cut

Words: 6K+

The Mandalorian - Breeding Kink. Period.

You somehow don’t notice it at first. He’s always careful not to make a mess of you because he thinks you deserve to be worshiped and not taken like a common whore. But then it gradually escalates and you’re not sure what caused this new change but you don’t mind it. Little do you know, Din noticed the little bump in your arm one night when he was kissing every inch of your skin. And something switches inside him and he becomes more needy and desperate whenever he fucks you. The first time he comes in you, you think it’s because he may have been distracted so you don’t think too much about it. The second time, you blame it on the kid cooing from the other room just as Din comes. It’s the third time that gives you an inclination as to what Din has been doing because not only does he cum in you, but he continues to fuck you and moves his hands down to feel your combined juices soaking your skin and the sheets. You feel overwhelmed by how much it turns him on but say nothing, choosing to bring it up another time. When it finally rolls around, and you’re in the middle of the most passionate, sweaty, crazed sex ever, you pull him down and mouth at his jaw, begging him to cum in you. Din freezes for a moment and you hope you haven’t said the wrong thing. Before you think twice of it, he’s hooking one leg up against his shoulder and railing into you, whispering his need to fill you up with his cum over and over again until you’re leaking with it. You could barely manage to respond, moaning when he tells you how often he thinks about breeding you, how much he wishes he could fuck a baby in you, and how hard he gets when he pictures you nursing his kid while taking care of the little womp rat. And you all but lose it when he cums in you and continues to fuck you, not caring about the filthy squelching sounds emitting from where you’re joined as he ensures you reach your pleasure. As soon as he tells you how he wishes he could fuck your tits when they’re full of milk and suck on them until you’re oversensitive and you’re soaking him, you’re coming on his cock and are reduced to a mess as he pushes his cum deep into your aching cunt to ensure that not a single drop is wasted. And it’s not until later that he suggests you take the implant out so he could see your belly growing with his child.

Agent Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels - Bondage, preferably with his lasso or whip.

Jack loves to play in the bedroom but he never brings it up with you, afraid that his tastes might be a little too much for someone as sweet and innocent as you. You’ve only known each other for a couple of months but he’s been smitten when you walked in and showed him who’s boss during one of the training sessions. And ever since then, he’s wanted nothing more than to tie you up to his bed and have his way with you all night long. But he’s reluctant because even if this dating thing is official, he’s still the senior agent and he should be taking care of you everywhere, including the bed. So mark him surprised when you literally crawl to him on your knees one day with his lasso hanging loosely around your neck and tell him to take you on the floor. Jack loses whatever self control he has left and instantly take hold of the lasso, pulling you towards the couch until you’re kneeling in between his spread thighs. He tightens it just a little as he nods to his belt, almost coming as soon as he feels your lips around his cock and your nails digging into his thighs. You beg him to take what he wants and he trusts that you’ll tell him to stop should you feel uncomfortable. And that’s how his little games with you start. You’re either following him around with the rope around your neck like a fucking collar or you’re bending over or getting on all fours as he expertly whips your backside without breaking skin. It makes him hard knowing how much you trust him and he finally has the courage to ask you if it was possible to tie you to his bed. You’re all giggles and smiles before you run up to his room and strip for him, barely letting a moment pass after he ties you before you’re begging him to fuck you dumb. He takes you in as many positions as possible all night long and you take everything he gives you like a little sweet girl. Whether your hands are tied or your legs are tied and spread out open for him, not a single complaint leaves your lips. And he keeps fucking you long after the two of you are sensitive because he can’t believe how lucky he got with you and how willing you are for him to take over.

Javier Peña - Degradation in the forms of Dirty Talk, Choking, and Spanking.

There is a lot of pent up frustration and aggression that Javi keeps bottled up throughout the day. And you realize this job is really getting to him when he stops visiting his friends after work. When you ask him why he doesn’t go to any of them anymore, his answer is surprising. It’s not because he doesn’t want to have sex anymore, no. It’s because he can’t get the same satisfaction out of a simple fuck. And when you press him further, he tells you that he would never want to mistreat one of them how he wants to because they’ve seen enough and they don’t deserve seeing this ugly side of him and they really don’t deserve getting called all sorts of names that fly through his lips in the moments of passion. So you strike a bargain with him. It’s much more difficult to convince him than you think it would be considering how much you know he enjoys this and you leave it on the table until one day, he knocks on your door and apologizes because he can’t take it anymore. There is an awkwardness to what the two of you do in the beginning and he does nothing of what you know he yearns to do. But slowly, his touches get rougher, his words get harsher, and before you know it, he’s no longer the private, somehow shy agent that you’ve worked with for a few years now. No. He’s a man who twists his hands into your hair and pulls you up to him when he needs to bite your neck. He slaps your ass until you’re a crying mess and then he calls you his ‘sweet fucking cockslut’ because you’re taking him so well. You occasionally find his hand around your throat as he rails into you against the wall or in the shower or even on the floor when he’s desperate, and you can tell that he enjoys this more than he’s letting on because the louder you whine for him, the harder his thrusts become and the tighter his grip around your neck is. He loves sees the bruises after and he especially enjoys it when you don’t bother to hide the handprints beneath a scarf. No, you wear it proudly so everyone knows not to fuck with you. And it takes you a while to notice that it’s the fastest way he could get you coming, something that he realizes much before you, hence the constant need to keep his fingers tight around your your lovely skin. But as rough as Javi gets, he also knows how to take care of you after. You smile when you hear gruff voice whispering how perfect you were for him and how he can’t believe you’re letting him do this and how lucky he is to have someone like you giving him this much pleasure and allowing him to use you as if you were nothing more than a harlot. He leaves you sore and bruised most of the time, and his words echo in your mind until you fall asleep and dream of him fucking you over and over again...

My cockslut...Little fucking whore...Letting me fuck you like a bitch in heat...This is my filthy cunt...You belong to me querida...Look how pathetic you are...You gone cockdumb now hermosa? I own you...My fuckdoll...My filthy girl...I’m gonna fill all your holes...Such a good girl for letting me fuck this ass...You’re mine my little whore...No one gets to fuck this except me...You’re nothing but a quick fuck that gets me off...So filthy...Worthless...Wet pussy...Scream my name...Or better yet, shut the fuck up so we don’t wake the neighbors...Fucking hell this cunt is so wet...knew it...Knew you were a whore.

Pero Tovar - Spitting Kink or anything with fluids really.

He’s still unsure of how he managed to have you lay in his arms night after night. He swears this is a dream because you’re an angel and he’s a monster. But you go to him night after night, begging him to have his way with you. Tovar loses his mind when you moan his name so innocently and he can’t bring himself to deny you anything when you’re asking him so sweetly and spread out for him. He does, however, grow quiet when he watches you one day as you get on your knees and suck on his cock until he cums down your throat. But that’s not what surprised him, no. It’s that you’re drooling and spitting and making a mess of yourself. And Tovar likes how you look when your chest is messy with your spit and his seed. This interest only gets worse when he fucks you so hard you squirt around him, and he wants to do that again. He wants to bring you this much pleasure again. So he fucks you hard and deep until you’re soaking the two of you and then he’s coming hard. And before he does anything, you’re leaning down and licking his cock, humming when you taste yourself on him. And that seems to be it for him because he grabs your chin and forces you to open your mouth, and before you can say anything, he’s spitting twice in on your tongue and shoving his fingers deep down your throat. He’s proud of your shocked expression and swears into the night when you get on all fours and start sucking him off again, this time knowing that he has his spit and yours on his cock. And that’s how it is for the two of you from now on. Him spitting down your throat to make sure your mouth is wet enough for his cock, or sometimes spitting on his hands and pushing them past your lips so he could keep you quiet. Occasionally, you’ll ask him to hand you a cup of water but instead, he drinks it and raises an eyebrow for you to open your mouth. You do so without hesitation every time and it almost always ends with the two of you fucking like animals on the floor or against the wall. And one hundred percent of the time, the two of you have to go wash because there is spit and cum and sweat and your juices drenching the two of you.

Oberyn Martell - Touch and anything that involves fruits and drinks.

It’s intimidating in the beginning. Actually, the act itself is not intimidating. He is intimidating. Prince Oberyn is anything but shy and it takes you a while to realize that you shouldn’t be shameful around him. As a matter of fact, you notice that he will reward you if you treat him as a lover and not as your Prince. He teases you the first few times, telling you that there was no way you were the same person he’s heard so many poems about. You grow bolder with him and beg him to lay down as you walk across the room and take hold of the basket of fruits. Oberyn raises an eyebrow at your actions but says nothing, spreading himself out and whispering a quick ‘careful’ when he sees you bring a knife out from between your thighs. He watches as you expertly cut the large orange, and hisses when you begin to squeeze it on his nipples, down his chest, and finally on his cock. The nectar is cold but his eyes never leave you as you lean down and lick him dry, his hands going instantly into your hair when you gag on his cock. He cums down your throat not too long after that and pulls you towards his lips, shoving his tongue into your mouth and moaning when he tastes himself and the orange juice. And it becomes a habit after that. Sometimes he’s drenching you with sour liquids and massaging them across your muscles and other times, you’re licking them off of his warrior body. It comes to a point where he no longer enjoys fucking you unless there’s some sticky juices slipping between the two of you. He doesn’t care what it is. All he cares for is touching every inch of your skin with whatever viscous material you chose this time and it’s his happy day when you bring in honey and drip it all over yourself and him. It’s the filthiest it’s ever gotten between the two of you and you notice how he can’t keep his hands to himself anymore. He’s torn between fucking you into the next kingdom and kissing and touching your sweet soft skin. But he’s an intelligent man and he finds a way to do all of that simultaneously, bringing you closer to your pleasure much faster than before. Who knew honey and fruits would make the Prince of Dorne this unhinged.

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales - Mile High Club. Enough said.

It’s something the two of you have briefly discussed but never actually had a chance to act upon. But then Pope approaches the two of you for a job that doesn’t sound too exciting even though it pays well. As soon as he mentions how they need Frankie to fly them to the drop point though, you’re both nodding furiously and telling him that you’re in, smiling to each other when he tells you he’ll send you the details before leaving. You’re not sure how it will work but you agree that you’d figure it out once you’re in the plane. It’s not until you’re in the air that you realize how quiet you have to be, with the guys sitting outside and talking through the plan. You’re thankful that Frankie manages to convince them that he needs you to co-pilot the aircraft with him since it’s been a while. Once you’re up in the air and it’s safe to put the plane on ‘auto-pilot’ you’re moving across the small space and kissing down Frankie’s neck. He’s still looking ahead to ensure that nothing surprising happens but it’s getting more difficult to pay attention when all he wants to do is commit every little nip and kiss and lick to memory. You’re shoving your hands down his pants immediately, knowing that one of the guys could come in any moment and you smile when Frankie moans and swears beneath his breath. You don’t tease him, kneeling down between his thighs and taking him in your mouth until his cock hits the back of your throat. He almost cums right then and there but tries his hardest to last a little longer, if only to enjoy this and feel the adrenaline kick in a little more. As soon as he looks down and watches spit corner at your lips, he’s groaning and moaning your name and you nip at the underside of his cock to shush him, telling him that you really didn’t want to give the other guys a show. He obeys your warning and tries to keep himself in check, torn between removing his hands from the controller to push you down on his cock further, and begging you to strip down and sit on his lap as he continues to pilot the plane. The former seems like a better option and he does tangle his fingers in your hair before pushing you down and savoring the sounds of your throat gagging on his cock. When he sees you touching yourself through your pants, he cums down your throat, so far down that you don’t even taste him when he finally pulls you off of him. You’re both panting and the windows have gotten a little fogged up and it smells like musk and sweat in here but you don’t find it in yourself to care as you stand up and wait for him to right himself before opening the door. You’re met with a couple of whistles and you can’t help but laugh at how flustered Frankie is when the guys continue to tease him. Oh well, it was worth it.

Comandante Veracruz - Exhibitionism.

It’s no secret that the Comandante loves to have his women screaming his name into the night. But when you’re assigned to him, he makes it his life’s mission to ensure that no man will come near you. He’s heard of how you like to play and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get you to start a little game with him. Not even a month in his camp and Veracruz has you writhing in his bed. He fucks you every chance he gets, and he tries to convince himself that it’s because he’s gotten bored with the other women. But he knows very well that it’s only because he’s gotten so fucking obsessed with you that he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t realize that you’ve stopped sleeping around as well and you don’t bother to mention it, mostly because you know it gives him a little edge when you fall into bed with him. He becomes a crazed man when you come to him in the night but then he sees you wrestling with one of his men and he loses his shit. He doesn’t care how pathetic it looks when he comes through the late night camp and drags you across so every one knows who you belong to. Your laughter only makes it worse and he isn’t able to make it into his tent, instead pushing you against one of the trees that’s too close to camp and ordering you to strip down. You do as you’re told and bite back from sobbing when he shoves his cock deep into your cunt. He doesn’t go slow, doesn’t wait for you to get used to him. He just fucks you and keeps fucking you until you’re screaming his name and telling everyone how well he fucks you. He’s whispering filthy things in your ears and you feel his cock grow impossibly harder when you tell him how good it feels and how much you love pleasuring him so everyone could know who makes him cum. It should be the other way around but he doesn’t care, continuing his assault and occasionally spanking your ass when you’re not loud enough for him. The camp grows quiet and he’s sure it’s because everyone can hear the two of you hate-fucking the shit out of each other. When he cums in your cunt, he doesn’t give you any reprieve, instead dragging you again the few steps into his tent and not bothering to tie it closed as he pushes you to your knees and forces you to gag on his cock. Anyone can walk and he’s sure that anyone can hear him calling you his filthy cocklut and you’re giving his ego a boost with all the noises you’re making and how much you’re begging him to take you out to the bonfire and fuck you in front of all those men so they know who owns this pussy. Perhaps one day he would do just that, but for now, he’s content with having you to himself. Well, except your screams that is.

Marcus Moreno - Age Play.

He’s not sure what to do anymore. All he knows is that he hears you telling Missy that she needs to get ready so ‘daddy’ isn’t late for work and he has to run to the bathroom before he embarrasses himself. After that little incident, he rarely leaves the two of you alone when he’s at home, always making sure that he’s around just to hear you say that godforsaken word again. He feels guilty for thinking of you that way and he tries to convince himself that he should stop because you’re his kid’s nanny and you probably already have someone closer to your age and it occurs to him that he is getting turned on because of the age gap and how sweet and innocent you look. He feels bad for avoiding you but he doesn’t know what else to do, afraid that he’d lose his control one day and pounce on you. But you’re cornering him one night and you’re asking if you’d done anything wrong and he says that everything’s fine and he’s just been tired but you don’t believe him. He’s about to tell you when Missy walks in crying and she’s telling you that she had nightmares and she wants to go Marcus but you kneel down and take her in your arms and tell her that daddy needs to rest too. Your eyes widen in horror at what you just said and you look up at Marcus only to find him clenching his jaw tightly and thank god the kid is already half asleep in your arms because as soon as your eyes trail down, you find a large tint in his pants and when you make eye contact again, you know. You know why he’s been avoiding you and you see him blushing because he knows that you know. Marcus thinks he’s screwed up and when you walk into his office after putting Missy to sleep again, he’s embarrassed and tripping over his words. But you’re not giving him a chance to say anything and you’re pushing on his chest until he’s sitting on the couch and you’re unbuckling his belt and it’s all happening so fast. Marcus feels his heart skip a beat when he sees you looking through your eyelashes and begging for him, for daddy, to cum down your throat. From then on, it’s hidden glances and soft touches and Marcus waits for you every night in his room, his eyes beaming with joy when you walk in and coo in his ears. He’s hard in an instant when he hears you call him ‘daddy’ and he switches between making love to you and fucking you into the next world every time he hears you whisper how much you enjoy it when he uses you and how much you love it when he calls you his ‘little girl,’ and how you’ve longed to hear him say that he owns your pussy because he’s your daddy and because no one else gets to fuck his sweet little angel. You tell him everything, of how long you’ve wanted him and how none of the boys at college can come close to the way he makes you feel and how much you wish you could stay in his bed forever because he makes you feel safe and he’s your daddy and he takes care of you. And it’s not long before Marcus realizes that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for Missy to have a little brother or sister.

Ezra - Cockwarming.

He’s shy when the two of you shift towards a more physical relationship, mostly because it’s been a while since he’d had anyone he could call his, especially someone as beautiful and kind as yourself. He’s not sure what he’s allowed to do at first but he quickly comes to the realization that you would let him do anything he wanted with you. He’s overwhelmed by your affections and how deep they run because they mirror his own. The idea comes to him one night when the two of you are back in his pod. Neither of you have the energy for anything but he really wants to feel you against him so he begs you to open up for him. You do, thinking he was going to take it slow and pleasure the both of you until you fall asleep in each other’s arms, but then he’s not moving at all, not one muscle, and you quickly realize that he just wants to be inside you and doesn’t care for moving or for doing anything. The thought makes you clench tightly around him and he hisses in your ears, begging you to relax so he doesn’t cum. Not yet. It slowly becomes a habit and more often than not, the two of you are relishing the feeling of being warm and in each other’s arms. His cock twitches inside you and makes your pussy soak him through, squeezing him tightly until he can’t take it anymore and he’s coming deep inside you. Neither of you move as he fills your cunt with his seed and he bucks his hips involuntarily before the two of you relax. You wake up in the middle of the night and he’s still inside you and you sigh when you feel him harden the more you flutter around him. It doesn’t take long for Ezra to pull you closer to him in his sleep and you shut your eyes to enjoy how full you feel before you let your mind relax until you’re softly snoring against him once more.

Maxwell Lord - Praise Kink.

You’re not sure if he’s being serious or not when he mentions it in passing, but you start to notice how he reacts to your words whenever the two of you are alone. He relaxes and leans into you the more you praise him and tell him how good he’s been for you and how lucky you are to have him. It gradually becomes a thing in bed as well except it’s his turn to whisper those sweet filthy words in your ears as he’s pulsating inside you and filling you up over and over again. You were never into this because of how embarrassing it sounds but you find yourself growing hotter and shaking with need the more he tells you that you’re his ‘good little sweetheart’ and that he doesn’t want anyone else but you because you’ve stuck with him through the tough times and now that he literally owns the world, he’ll bring you anything your heart desires. You’re telling him that he’s the only thing you desire because no one treats you so well or cares for you this much or thinks of you so often and Maxwell’s heart shatters because he’s never thought he could hear those words from anyone and he loses himself and takes you as many times during the night as he can because you’ve fallen into his lap and he can’t imagine a life without you and he grows harder in your cunt the more you tell him how good he makes you feel and how perfect he fits inside you and how full you are from his hard and fat cock and it brings him over the edge. So every time he bends you over his desk or pulls you to his lap, you’re both exchanging sweet words to each other because he’s never felt like he could bring the world to anyone but he can with you and you never thought you would every feel this satisfied by someone and you are.

Dave York - Con/Non-Con Play, and the knife/gun comes into play here. (this is dubious so please don’t read on if this makes you uncomfy)

You had some inclination as to what you were getting yourself into when you started working with Dave. He was your senior in the field and never once did you think of breaking his rules. But you do one day and his calm resolve shakes you to your core because his tone maybe patient but his eyes are swimming with anger and frustration. You listen to his orders and nod before going your separate ways. Something is off, however, when you go back to your hotel room and find it darker than you left it. You have about three seconds to react, but you’re three seconds too late and your training is about to kick in when the familiar musky cologne hits your nostrils. You know who it is immediately but his hold tightens around your throat and he’s biting into your neck to let you know who’s in control. You can feel him smile against your heated skin and you’re not sure what he wants but then his hand travels down and roughly grabs at your cunt through your jeans. You’re already a wet mess but Dave is full of surprises, and your eyes widen in horror when you feel a knife to your neck. He breaks for a single moment, asking you if this is what you want, and your brief nod makes him chuckle because he didn’t think he’d be able to get this far but you’re letting him take over. He pushes the knife harder against you and you’re whining and asking him to not hurt you. You took a wild guess at what he was silently asking from you and you’re right on the mark, no pun intended, when his grip tightens around you and he’s shoving you against the wall and ripping through your clothes. You’re begging him not to hurt you and it eggs him on. You don’t have time to think of a proper reaction as you feel the knife dig into your shoulder blades, bordering pain and pleasure. He’s telling you that he owns your body, your breaths, your noises, your arousal, and there’s nothing you could do about it. Because he can kill you with the simplest flick of his wrist. His cock twitches in his pants when you start crying and begging him to not take you but he’s already shoving his dick in your impossibly wet cunt and he can’t believe he found someone who’s tastes run as dark as his. You’re sobbing at how good it feels and how shameless he is with his touches and you’re losing yourself to the pleasure. But right before you fall over the edge, you hear the sound of a gun clicking back and your eyes instantly widen at the sudden shift in the air. You turn around just in time to see Dave hold the gun to your throat while the knife is between his teeth. He’s looking dangerously at you and you realize he must have really had it with you today because he’s pulling out all the stops with you. One glance and you know the safety is off and at the realization of how far he’s willing to take this, you’re coming hard on his cock, soaking him and the your clothes and the ground. He continues to fuck you through it, not caring about the mess the two of you are making. When you lean down and start begging him to not cum in you because it’s not safe, his pace picks up and he shoves the gun in your mouth. One look at how wrecked and sweaty he is and you’re clenching tightly around him. He growls his release when he sees mascara running down your cheeks and he shoves the gun deeper in your throat until you’re gagging on it. He stops and pulls out just to watch his cum rolling down your thighs and he can’t hold back from pushing the handle of his knife in your cunt so you wouldn’t lose any more of his cum. You’re panting and shaking against him and he brings you to your bed and strips you down until you’re naked beneath him. He takes his clothes off as well and pushes himself against your back, telling you to get some rest because he as nowhere near done with you yet, making sure his tone conveys that you may have little choice in what he has in mind for you.

Marcus Pike - Somnophilia.

His hours are hellish, he knows that, but that doesn’t stop Marcus from wanting to sink into your sweet, wet cunt as soon as he gets home. He’s happy that you text him and tell him that you’d wait up for him but when he walks into the bedroom and sees the television playing while you’re fast asleep, he can’t bring himself to wake you up. So he shuts off the television and walks into the bathroom, taking himself in his hand and pretending it was your nimble fingers bringing him pleasure. And before he knows it, he’s coming hard on and makes a mess of himself. Not thinking much of it, he throws his shirt in the laundry and cleans up before slipping between the sheets and bringing you closer to him. It takes him a few moments to allow his heart to rest because you’re so beautiful and warm against him and he feels his cock twitch at the thought of you bringing him pleasure even in your sleep but he brushes the thought aside just as quickly as it comes because he would never do that to you. It’s a surprise when you’re doing laundry the next day and see proof of what he’d done and you feel a little guilty but also, you’re not sure why he didn’t wake you up. So you make sure to wait up for him and confront him, guilt eating you alive when he tells you that he didn’t want to disrupt your sleep because it wasn’t that important. But then you’re asking him why he doesn’t just have you while you’re asleep and you think you’ve gone too far because of the look on his face. But Marcus gulps and asks if you’d really be okay with that or not because the thought of him fucking you in your sleep is making him hard and ready. You feel your panties dampen just from thinking about it and you’re pushing him down on the bed and fucking him and telling him he could do anything he wanted to do with you and you wouldn’t mind. He cums with your name on his lips and you fall asleep immediately. He doesn’t think he’ll want to do it this soon but when he comes home the next day and you’re asleep, he thinks about it but decides not to. But then he sees what you wore to bed and he swears you did this on purpose. Before he thinks about it, he’s pushing your thighs open and licking at your cunt like a starved man, groping and cupping your breasts through the flimsy material of the lingerie and you’re moaning in your sleep but you’re not awake yet. He takes his pants off immediately and feels you clench around him as soon as he sheathes himself inside you. He thinks he’s died and went to heaven because he’s barely touched you and you’ve cum around his cock and he’s fucking you slow and deep, and you’re moaning in your sleep. He’s sweating from how much he’s holding back and he cant’ take his eyes off of your heavy chest and how willing you are. You’re at his mercy and the thought almost brings him over the edge but he holds back and continues to thrust into you until he feels like he’s going to lose his soul. He’s coming in your cunt but he doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left in him and he goes to sleep without cleaning you up because he’s probably going to wake up in the middle of the night and fuck you again and he wants to push in you easily when he does and just use his cum as lube. And he does, two more times. And still refuses to clean you up because he really wants to watch you wake up in the morning and feel your mixed cum between your thighs and know that he used you for his own pleasure...

Max Phillips - Biting and Bloodplay (don’t read if this makes you uncomfy)

It’s a little jarring when you find out the truth about Max. You think it’s a dream at first because there’s no way vampires exist, it’s just not the world that you live in. You’re a bit afraid in the beginning because you know how he gets sometimes but he’s been nothing but patient with you thus far. When he invites you for dinner at his place one night, you can’t help but joke about being his meal and it’s awkward for a few moments but he laughs along and promises you he doesn’t bite...yet. One thing leads to another and the next thing you know, you’re staying over his place almost every night. Curiosity gets the best of you and you ask him what it feels like to sink his teeth into someone’s skin and he’s reluctant to respond because he doesn’t want to give himself away. He doesn’t want to tell you how he dreams of biting your neck and your thighs and anywhere he could reach almost every night. But he doesn’t have to because you're moving closer to him and you’re whispering reassurances in his ears and you’re telling him that you trust him and it’s all he needs to hear before the thread snaps. He’s on you like dew on leaves and you’re baring your neck for him and he nips at your jaw before moving to your neck and your shoulder, leaving love bites anywhere he could reach because he can finally mark you as his. He can feel blood rushing through your arteries and he looks at you with need, a silent question swimming in his eyes and you sink your nails into his shoulder when you nod and he immediately digs his sharp fangs into your skin. You’re so glad you started this conversation because it feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced. There’s pain shooting through your neck from how deep his fangs sank into your skin but there’s so much more pleasure coursing through your veins and there’s something erotic about hearing him sucking and slurping and gulping down your blood. He sits up for a second and you’re met with the scariest yet prettiest sight in the world and Max knows he should stop but he can’t and he turns your head to the other side and breaks the skin at the top of your breasts before he starts sucking again and it’s filthy but erotic all at once. He laps harshly at the puncture wounds before he wraps his lips around your nipples and bites a little harder than he intended. You have no time to react as he descends down your body and pushes your thighs open before he’s biting into the meat of your thighs and you’re shaking with need. As soon as he shoves two fingers into your cunt, you’re drenching his arms and coming violently around him, and Max forces himself to pull off of you just to watch you come undone at his touches. He leans down and licks across your cunt, his cock twitching in his pants when the taste of your arousal and your blood mix on his tongue and he realizes, then and there, that you’re it for him. He looks down at your blissed-out expression and he’s proud of how wrecked your look, even more so because he sees his marks everywhere on your skin, from your neck and shoulder to your breasts and your thighs. And fuck if this isn’t the prettiest sight in the whole wide world. And you’re all his.

[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 7. roof

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[warnings: violence mention, smoking, suicide mention]

"i love this feeling. this feeling of calm." — When you and Sal left the unoccupied classroom, the halls were already bustling again. It was easy to remain unseen, as the both of you gently shut the door behind you and slipped into the crowd.

You'd both missed the entirety of your first class.

The school's faculty was unreliable, though—maybe you'd get away with it.

You knew you looked like a hot mess, so you kept your head down as you walked alongside Sal through the halls. He was silent for the time being—but you knew he was there because he walked closely to you.

"Your lipgloss," you hear him say. You look away from the floor to meet his eyes, gazing up at him curiously. "It's messed up."

You nervously laugh. "I'm sure it is—that's what I get for wearing a colored one. I'm sure you're wearing some too, now."

He chuckles, silent for a moment. You bet he's licking his lips. "Yeah. Tastes nice."

Your face feels tingly all over. You raise your fingers to touch your lips, skim over the skin just around them—and sure enough, the sticky residue is all over. You'd kissed most of it off, but a good amount of it had just smeared.

"I'm gonna go freshen up," you say, gesturing toward the girls' bathroom. "I was just laying on a floor a few moments ago."

Sal follows your line of sight. "Okay. I'm gonna head toward my next class. Text me if anything happens."

You smile and wiggle your fingers in farewell as he turns and walks into the dense crowd of students. You breathe out a shaky sigh as a feeling of complete and utter disbelief washes over your body.

When you entered the bathroom, you avoided locking eyes with anyone else inside of it—instead, you made a beeline for a roll of paper towels, ripping off a sheet and crumbling it up in your palm. You moved toward the sink, turned it on, and passed it beneath the steady stream of cold water running from the faucet. You then raised it to your lips and wiped the stickiness off.

Once you'd done that, dried your lips, and thrown the paper towels away, you allowed yourself a moment to stare into the mirror.

It was kind of hard to look at yourself. Every time you made eye contact with your reflection, all you saw was the sight of a head with blue hair between your legs—and pale hands clad with silver rings holding your thighs open.

Your body began to feel fuzzy, so you whisked the thought away, fixed your hair, and continued to your next class.

When it was time to gather in the cafeteria, you ran into Ashley on your way toward it.

"Hey!" She called, approaching you from one side of the hallway. She tucked a wispy strand of hair behind her ear, blinking down at you with lash-fringed green eyes. "Let's walk together."

You had no problem with that. "Sure."

You absentmindedly watched her pull her sleeves down to make sweater paws as the two of you walked side by side.

Your lips felt dry. You wished you knew where your lipgloss had gone. It had been in your jacket pocket earlier—but had fallen out or gotten lost inside of it. You had no clue, but chalked it up as a mysterious disappearance and accepted the loss.

The both of you found Todd first, then Larry and Sal who were together.

A nervous feeling swirled in your gut. You knew Sal wouldn't, you trust him—but something inside of you feared that he'd told Larry what had happened. Which made no sense, on your part. Sal definitely wasn't the type to get up and tell someone directly after having a sexual encounter.

Your anxiety worsened for a different reason when you'd realized that Sal and Larry weren't interacting like you were used to. Larry's body language was stiff—and his features were drawn into a frustrated expression.

The whites of his eyes weren't red anymore, though, so you guessed his high wore off.

Sal didn't seem to be in the same bitter mood the other boy was, but you'd grown accustomed to reading his body language in a lot of different situations—and he didn't seem as chilled out as he normally would be.

Sal was a laidback person. Seeing him so tense was strange.

On the way into the cafeteria, you and Sal were momentarily separated from the rest of the gang after a group of students cut the two of you from the other three. Even though you had this moment of alone time, you didn't ask Sal about his and Larry's behavior. It wasn't your business.

You felt ringed fingers wrap around yours. Your heart jumps, and you seriously think Sal is going to walk you into this cafeteria by the hand—but instead, he raises your arm and places something in your palm.

You look down. It's that pink tube of cherry-flavored lipgloss.

You laugh and meet his eyes. "Where did you find it?"

"I- uh, went back into that classroom," he replies. "I left a ring in there."

The crowd is thinning out, and you watch your friends settle at a table. You redirect your attention back to Sal, inclining your head toward him. "Why did you take them off, anyway?"

He speaks to you closely, leaning toward the side of your face so he can speak lower. His hand ghosts your waist.

You've quickly begun to understand that a huge part of your.. involvement.. with Sal involved a good amount of touching. You weren't uncomfortable with touching him, and that gave him the confidence to not be scared of doing the same to you.

"I thought I'd be using my fingers," he answers, the tone in which he speaks a bit nervous, as you place the lipgloss tube in your jacket pocket. "But I got carried away, I guess."

Your heart pounds against your ribs, anxiousness rushing through your blood more so than your blood did. You want to reply, continue this conversation—but you know this interaction has been going on for too long and you can practically feel someone's eyes burning holes through your back.

You hadn't realized how close you were to him until you'd stepped back. "Come on, we should sit before-"

Before you can even finish, someone's rested their hand on your shoulder. You jerk, instinctively whirling towards the person and bumping back into Sal. You steady yourself quickly and look up to lock eyes with Travis.

"Holy shit," you breathe, genuinely startled. "What the hell?"

Sal hasn't said anything, yet. But you know he isn't very shy. He isn't really afraid of Travis.

"You're in my way," Travis sneers, not looking at you, but at Sal. "Move."

You look around you before meeting his dark eyes and giving him a deadpan expression. You weren't blocking anyone's way, as countless students were continuing to file around the both of you and head towards their tables. "There's more than enough room for you to walk around us." You reply even when he isn't speaking to you.

Travis's gaze locks with yours, pupils dilated. He looks back to Sal. "Your friend here really loves to involve herself in our business, doesn't she, Fisher?"

Your jaw clenches.

"You involved her whenever you touched her," Sal says lowly. His voice grows deeper as he speaks slower. "If you have something to say to me, talk to me."

Travis's face slowly grows red with rage. He jerks, his cross necklace glistens in the corner of your eye, and suddenly his fingers are gripping your arm. You barely have time to process before you're pulled just a bit and your blood goes cold.

It's not like he's yanked you hard enough to hit the ground—but you stumble, just a bit, and now you're closer to him. His initial grip didn't affect you, but the moment he'd tightened his fingers to pull, it hurt.

You hear the sound of someone abruptly standing off of their seat. You know it's Larry, you saw the mood he was in—and you pray something happens before he can make his way over here and beat Travis to a bloody pulp.

All because of you, everyone would be in trouble.

What happens is not what you expect.

Sal reaches forward, wraps his long fingers around Travis's skinny wrist, and hastily rips the other boy's hand off and away from you. Your mind goes blank and the feeling of your raging heartbeat dissipates when he laces his cool fingers through yours and tightens his grip around you.

He flicks his eyes over Travis' paling face, meets his wide eyes, and leads you off.

It doesn't take very long to reach the table. Just before you've parted through another small crowd of teens, Sal lets go of your hand. You have nothing to complain about—you knew it wouldn't last long.

You assume the number of people bustling through the cafeteria would have obstructed your friends' view a bit, so you doubt they saw the handholding. You knew that they'd seen the altercation, though—because you'd heard Larry jump from his chair.

As soon as you've finished easing into your seat, someone's speaking.

"So?" Larry starts, impatiently flexing his fingers atop the table. He looks you straight in the eyes and continues, "What'd Travis say? Why did he grab you? Do I need to-"

"He was just being Travis, Larry,"  Sal cut in, tone short. You witnessed each and every person at the table's eyes widen. Your heart jumps a bit, too—you've never heard him sound like that. "He'll probably try to find me after school later and beat the shit out of me. I'd let him, at this point."

"He's never done that before, though," Ashley points out warily. "This time won't be any different than any other time, right?"

"Not unless something else happened," Todd speaks up about the matter for the first time, swallowing a bite of his sandwich.

"But it was different," Sal breaks in again. "I touched him."

Larry's dark eyebrows jump. "Did you hit him?"

"No." You assert for Sal, nervously glancing his way. "Nothing like that."

Everyone at the table seemed like they wanted more information—shifting in their seats anxiously (save for Todd) and casting inquisitively wary glances toward Sal—but you guessed no one wanted to make Sal any more uncomfortable than he already seemed to be.

Eventually, Larry dissolved the intensity with a joke and eventually a conversation started back up. You put your input in occasionally, wanting to make an effort and be present.

That was a bit hard, though—considering Sal's current timidity. He hadn't spoken for the rest of lunch and barely acknowledged anyone on the way out of the cafeteria.

When your classes had finished for the day, it was time to attend detention.

That was uneventful as well. Sal was placed on the opposite side of the classroom, so even with the teacher who was nodding off and pounding rain concealing any noise you would have produced, you couldn't have genuinely spoken with him.

On the way home from school, the sound of squeaking wet grass and squelching mud beneath your feet grew very unbearable and you quickly broke the silence.

"I'm sorry, Sal, but-"

"You should just stay away from me."

Your heart jumps. It seems to leap from a cliff because it seems to settle in the pit of your stomach. "What?" Your eyes fly towards his prosthetic face, wishing you could search it for anything—but you can't. "Sal, what do you mean?"

"This'll just keep happening. I shouldn't have involved myself with someone like you in the first place."

"Someone like me?" You echo, feeling a bit faint. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Someone who deserves better than the likes of me," he says lowly. "You don't deserve to be grabbed and made fun of just for associating with someone, Y/N. I don't want that for you."

"I don't give a shit, Sal," you bite, tugging at your backpack straps roughly. "I think I can choose who I hang out with."

Sal's quiet after that. It's torture, listening to the breeze rustle the tree leaves and whistle past your ears for 5 whole minutes. Something that calmed you so greatly now made you feel like punching something. You just wish he'd speak.

He does after that thought. "I just want something good for you. I don't want someone else to be dragged into the mess that's my life. Within a few days, Larry's already gotten you fucking high as a kite, you've had to deal with Travis more than once.."

You wrinkle your nose. "I'm not an angel, Sal. I hadn't gotten high before I met you because I didn't have friends—I wasn't tainted because of you or Larry. And as for Travis, he's just a dick. We've all had to deal with someone like that in our lives."

You're both now stood on the pale concrete of the sidewalk. You watch Sal's blue hair blow a bit, the sky blue shade of the strands blending prettily against the multicolored sunset behind him.

"You don't know me," he tries.

"You don't know me," you reply.

The mask shifts and he looks down at his shoes. You follow his gaze, tracing the color of his cornflower blue sneakers.

"I think we shouldn't do this anymore," Sal mumbles quickly, and you wouldn't have picked it up if you hadn't been straining to hear him so much.

You swallow thickly. "Do what?"

He does the same, Adam's apple moving against his throat. "Whatever.. this is."

Your eyebrows pull down. "For 'my sake' or because you don't want to bother with me anymore?"

Sal doesn't reply, flexing his fingers and standing there helplessly. He avoids your eyes and chooses not to reply.

"You're not supposed to choose what's right for me," you chide. "You can't-"

His head jerks up, and he seems to snap. "I don't want this anymore. There, is that good enough?"

Your heartbeat stutters, and you feel the blood draining from your face. Initial confusion and shock are quickly replaced by vexation and frustration. You turn around and hastily walk away, away from Sal and leaving him behind you.

You walk, and walk, and walk. You continue even when the sun disappears behind the line of Nockfell's horizon and when the stars show themselves in the sky. The night is even colder than the day and continues to grow even more frigid as your legs carry you away.

Eventually, your feet are too numb to continue, and you settle on the sidewalk. You shiver, the night's breeze gusting into your face. You pull the denim jacket you wore closer to your chest.

You try not to think about it too hard, but the thoughts are intrusive. You've never felt stupider than you did at this moment.

He didn't want to deal with you anymore. You should have never involved yourself in Travis and Sal's business. You'd just made it all worse for him. He didn't want to have to protect you—who would?

It was over. Whatever it was—it was gone.

Eventually, you find yourself laying on your side. The concrete is cool against your cheek, and the wind is even cooler.

The cars stop coming. You don't know what time it is, and you don't want to check.

You stare out at the sideways road for a while, and eventually the numbing cold lulls you into a dreamless sleep.

You're not even fully awake when a blinding light is shining into your closed eyelids. You groan, pressing the palm heels of your hands into your eyes before blinking them open. In front of you, a vehicle has pulled to the side of the road, just up against the curb. The headlights are way too bright to tell the make or model, or even the color.

"Holy shit, that's Y/N!"

You pull your body into an upright position, wincing as your stiff joints protest your movements. You're barely on your feet before someone's firm hands are on your shoulders. You blink, your eyes trailing from a male's chest to his face.

It's Larry. And stood not far behind him are both Todd and Ashley.

Well, that's certainly a sight to see. Despite your disorientation and overall confusion, you still find it within yourself to feel embarrassed.

"Are you alright?" Todd asks, adjusting his glasses and stepping to Larry's right. "We were driving by and saw someone sleeping on the sidewalk, and turns out it was you."

Suddenly. Ashley is on Larry's left, her pretty features twisted into an expression of terror. "What are you doing out here? It's one in the morning."

You blink fast, absentmindedly raising your hands and placing them atop Larry's which are on your shoulders. He was the only thing steadying you right now. Your body felt weak and sore and your feet were stinging.

"I'm- I'm fine," you breathe. "I sat down and I fell asleep."

Everyone in front of you exchanges concerned glances before returning their attention to you.

"Y/N," Larry speaks first. "I'm sorry for letting you smoke so much. Maybe you're still high-"

"I'm not high," you scratch the back of your head. "That wore off a while ago. I just.. was walking.. for a while."

That was when you finally realized the proximity Larry's hands were to the bruises on your neck. Nonchalantly you slid his fingers off of your shoulders and pushed your hair to shadow the bruised flesh.

It was too dark to see much out here. You doubted they saw anything.

After answering the same question a few more times over ("You're sure you're okay?") you all climbed back into Ashley's vehicle, Todd in shotgun and Larry in the seat beside you, and began the drive to Addison Apartments.

Soon after the vehicle began to move the volume of the radio had been turned higher. The tranquil sound of an acoustic guitar soothed your aching skull as you watched the streetlights pass by. You leaned your head against the window, the cold glass pressing against your forehead spreading a chill down your face.

You breathed slowly. Every puff of hot air that escaped your lips blurs the glass before the frigidity of the window itself evaporated the fog. This sequence continues until you've arrived at Addison Apartments.

You hadn't even realized Todd had been dropped off already until you looked at him to say goodbye and he wasn't there.

Ashley bid both you and Larry goodbye and drove away. Silence hung between the both of you until you entered the bittersweet interior of Addison Apartments. But, for once—the atmosphere of the ground floor calmed you. The lights were dimmed, and a shaded lamp was the main light source of the lobby. The walls were cast over with a calming golden hue.

It reminded you of home—a home you'd never known.

"Weren't you with Sal?" That's the first thing Larry says to break the newfound silence. "You had detention together."

You hesitate. "Yeah. We went to detention—didn't see him afterward."

Larry searches your face with deep, cryptic eyes. "I'm seriously sorry about the weed," he states, the tone on his tongue sincere. "That was my bad—and I see that now. Sal told me how high you got, dude."

Your heart tumbles in fear. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing—just how you'd ran into each other and you were high."

"Was that the reason things were so tense between you before lunch?" This genuinely made you curious.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I think that's why he was kinda snappy. He's never really like that when it comes to Travis. Sal's a patient guy—he usually just avoids talking about anything at all after a confrontation with Travis."

You didn't want to talk about him or any of it anymore. You wanted to climb in bed and stare up at your ceiling and listen to the dead air and the static in your ears. "I just-" you swallow. "I... never mind. I'm gonna head up and get to bed."

Larry blinks down at you, his inquisitive eyes searching for something. "Alright. Get some shuteye, dude. Okay?"

"Okay," you murmur, nodding tiredly and retreating toward the elevator. Larry walks back outside—you assume to light a cigarette—and you step into the elevator. As soon as those doors close, the light inside shuts off.

You're too tired to jump in surprise or feel fear. Instead, you wait it out and walk to your apartment once you're free.

Once you've unlocked the door and stepped lightly to your room, you fish your flip phone from the depths of the pocket in your denim jacket and open it up.

Sal :) Missed Call (3)

Sal :) just let me know you got home safe

Sal :) i'm on the roof if something's wrong

That message was sent 11 minutes ago.

Maybe he'd still be there.

But why would you want to go after what he'd said to you? Why would you want to see him so soon?

How would he have even got to the roof, anyway?

Despite yourself, and all of your better judgment, you go towards your window and slide it open from the bottom. Sure enough, the stairs of the fire escape sit just below the sill. You swing a leg over it, then the other, and pull yourself onto the metal steps. They rattle a bit, but they're steady.

You pull the majority window closed (leaving just a bit of space so you can get it back open) and head up the steps of the fire escape.

It doesn't take long to reach the top. Whenever you step on the roof, despite the fact your feet are planted on something firm, you sway dizzily.

Maybe you had a fear of heights.

There he is. He's sat on the edge, legs hanging over. His back is to you, but you can make out the fact that he's holding a cigarette by the way smoke trails from in front of him into the sky.

You walk forward, making slow movements. You then step beside him and lower yourself to where you're sitting on the edge with him.

And as you stared out into the night, felt the breeze grow warm, almost like it had done so for you—all that you felt was inner peace. Your feet swung back and forth, nothing below to catch them but a free fall and the concrete.

You looked out at the sleeping town and the golden streetlights that lit it.

"Do you ever think about it?" Sal murmurs, his voice is a bit clearer than it was normally because of the way his prosthetic was halfway unbuckled. You heard the crackle of a cigarette and then smelt smoke.

"Think about what?"

"Jumping," he replies. "What if we jumped together?"

Your chest tightens painfully. "Sal-"

"Think about it," he says. "No one would know what went through our minds when we jumped—they'd never stop talking about it. Nothing ever happens here. Something like that.. you'd feel important."

"You wouldn't feel anything," your voice shook despite your best efforts. "You'd be gone for everyone. All of the people who love you now would only lose you."

Sal stays silent, taking a drag from the cigarette and inhaling.

"I know how it feels to want to be missed. To want to feel appreciated." Your hand grows closer to his. "I know that's how you feel. The difference between us, though—you're loved, you're probably even missed when you skip a day of school," you smiled softly. "I'm not. I know what being unloved looks like, Sal. You're not that."

You turn your head to meet his gaze. Moonlight shines against the white of his prosthetic face. He blinks those blue eyes slowly, tiredly. Instead of saying anything, he closes the distance between your hands and locks your smallest finger with his.

"I didn't mean what I said," he whispers, smoke falling out of the mask. "It's sick but I told you that because I care."

Your shallow breaths are barely audible to yourself beneath your racing heart.

"I want to take it at a pace with you, Y/N," he continues. "I don't want to fuck it all up. I wish I could just get up and leave you here so you wouldn't have to deal with me but I can't do it."

You hesitated. "Why not?"

"I don't know."

"I don't want this to be over," you breathe. "I know you don't want me to involve myself with you because you're scared of what will happen. But this involves me, too. This is about both of us. Let me decide for myself."

Maybe he was right. Maybe you shouldn't be doing this—involving yourself with the mess that is Sal Fisher. There's too much you don't know about who he is.

But you wanted to try.

"We can take it slow," you assured. "I understand you're scared but there's nothing to be afraid of."

Your hand inches over his, interlacing your fingers, your palm on the back of his hand. You squeeze them in comfort, not searching for any reciprocation, but it's given anyways.

Nothing is said after that. You sit with him until you're drifting into sleep while sitting upright. You know you can't leave him here—so you wait until he's ready to go home.

You can wait.

[reinersbb]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 [𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 / 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔] Chapter Three- Spin The Bottle

Chapter Three of Forget

This chapter contains 18+ material [smut]

Familiar intense light brown eyes bored into you, taking in your appearance, "we seriously need to stop running into each other like this, coffee girl."

The same man from yesterday stood before you, holding onto you, only now he looked different, polished even. A stark contrast between now and the day previous. His ash-brown hair was effortlessly tamed, almost like the locks of hair had been combed through by his fingers, but his bangs still spilled over his forehead. And in replacement of the heather grey tracksuit, he was clad in a black button-up shirt with the top few-or-so buttons undone, white bottoms that were missing a belt, and black shoes. Everything combined perfectly to create a monochromatic outfit.

Any other time you would've taken into account how favorable the man was, but now definitely was not one of those times.

Maybe this was some sick joke, no, maybe this callous world wanted to torment you and make you suffer for some unknown reason. Wasn't being broken up with enough suffering as is?

'No, because this world is just that cruel.'

No words could describe the immense embarrassment you currently felt as your skin began to prickle with a wave of heat that began to arise within your entire body. Both of his hands casually released from your waist when he pulled away from you by taking a step away, but still lingering in your personal bubble. The scent of musky sheer cashmere was prominent as your bodies stood parallel with one another.

You stilled momentarily, backtracking his greeting.

'Coffee girl.'

Out of bitterness, you rolled your eyes out of annoyance from the nickname he'd pinned to you, "coffee girl? Seriously?"

"Well," he started with a head tilt, and continued by crossing his arms around his chest, "to be fair, you left without saying your name, coffee girl."

"I'll have you know it was a pumpkin spice latte if we're speaking technicalities," you said matter-of-factly as if it would make any difference.

A cheeky smirk began to pull at his lips as his shoulders lowered, dipping down slightly to lean into you, "okay, latte girl, what's your name then?"

You shielded your annoyance by pressing the mouth of your wine cooler against your lips, taking a swift sip of the cold mixed berry flavored liquid. At this point, you were fuming at the fact he'd hardly said anything but still managed to press all of your buttons by one single comment.

He continued to stand there, awaiting an answer from you. Preferably your name.

"Okay," you began to speak, causing his body to perk up, "my name is (Y/N)."

He stood up straight to bask in the new information, which only made you yet again realize how tall the man really was. You shifted uncomfortably in your strappy heels, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

"(Y/N)," your name rolled off of his tongue delicately, and it seemed there was a hint of contemplation on his face, "it's nice to meet you, (Y/N)."

"Likewise, uh..." you paused for a beat, scanning his face with uncertainty since you didn't know his name, "what's your name?"

"My name-"

Just as he opened his mouth to relay his answer, he was cut off by a man who'd just paraded into the kitchen.

"Jean!"

The man turned his head, forwarding his attention to the man you hadn't seen before until now.

Jean?

You stared at him as he wasn't paying any attention to you. Quickly, you scanned him up and down once or twice, noticing now that he was wearing black stud earrings that were almost hidden by his hair.

"What is it?" There was an obvious switch in his tone of voice, now he sounded annoyed.

"We're all waiting for you downstairs," the man who you suspected was his friend pointed towards the exit of the kitchen.

"I'm coming, give me a second to grab a beer," he grumbled under his breath.

Jean turned to look away from his friend, his light brown orbs catching onto yours for a split second as he bent down to a cooler and began digging around in the ice.

"Who's your friend?" The man with brunette hair thrown together into a messy bun asked.

He lifted a curious brow, his green eyes were glazed over and glossy as he stared at you with slight interest. Maybe you liked the attention, especially since now you were single. In the back of your mind, you remembered how Historia and Ymir were stressing to have fun and let loose tonight, did that entail hooking up with some stranger that appeared to be some type of fuckboy?

You surely wouldn't hold yourself against it.

"Don't give this drunk bastard any of your attention, (Y/N)," Jean exhaled, beer bottle in hand.

In response his friend flipped him off, "fuck you, Jean, I'm not even that drunk."

"Whatever, Eren, you can go ahead and head down to the basement, I'll just be one more second here," Jean said, motioning to you slightly with his beer bottle.

With that, Eren shoved his hands into his sweat pockets and trudged out of the kitchen, checking out another girl's ass as he exited the kitchen.

Jean turned to look at you, his gaze dropping to your lips and back up to your eyes to hold eye contact, "do you want to come with us downstairs?"

Slight excitement filled your chest at the mention of joining them downstairs. But immediately after you drowned in a puddle of disappointment, remembering that you were waiting around for either one of your friends to show up. Preferably both.

"I'm waiting for my friends right now, sorry," you apologized, but the temptation didn't cease to exist.

"Ah, maybe we'll bump into each other again some other time," he flicked a shred of ice off of the bottle of beer, "see you around."

You stared at the exit longingly after Jean left the area. Maybe you should've gone with him, but you knew it would've been wrong to leave without letting either of your friends know of your whereabouts.

A perfectly good party, and here you were waiting around in the kitchen, appearing to be some type of outcast. You felt inclined to venture off from the kitchen and search for your friends yourself but decided to stay in the place where Historia saw you last.

With what felt like a few minutes later, and you were already on your second wine cooler, a familiar face finally greeted you. And you felt like you could cry out of joy.

"Historia! Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," you dropped the now empty bottle of your second wine cooler into the garbage bin. "Did you ever find Ymir?" You couldn't help but notice that the blonde was alone.

"Yes! Funny story, she's downstairs with a few of our mutuals, let's go," Historia tugged on your arm eagerly. "I think you'll like them."

Your chest sank. Downstairs? How this all felt too convenient for you.

*********

With each step you took down the stairs you carefully watched your footing, making sure you didn't misstep since you were wearing heels. Because a trip to the ER would be such a mood killer.

The edge of your fingers ran along with the wooden frame of a pool table that you passed as both of you adventured to a separated area with the most commotion. There were barely any people on the lower floor as if it'd been off-limits and reserved for select individuals. This was a thought that came to mind as you followed behind Historia into the room where all of the chatter was being generated.

Sitting on the collection of l-shaped sofas, chatting amongst one another were a handful of people. No less than ten people give or take.

The air was smoky from a joint that'd been passed around, and steadily thumping in the background was the sound of a familiar song blasting away from upstairs. Out of all of the faces, you spotted Ymir's first.

"Historia, you retrieved (Y/N)! Get over here, we're about to start the game," Ymir waved both of you over.

"What game?" You asked, standing just outside the sectionals, avoiding all eye contact from everyone sitting in the dysfunctional circle.

"Spin the bottle," a guy with short silver hair interrupted, a bottle of fireball sloshing in his hand, "you do know how to play, right?"

"Yeah of course I do..." your eyes darted towards Ymir and Historia, and before you could respond, the man with silver hair continued speaking, grabbing your wrist in response.

"Bet! Sit with me," he sat down next to a girl with brunette hair and you sat between him and Historia. "What'd you say your name was again?"

"Connie, maybe if you weren't tipsy you'd be able to remember that their name is (Y/N)," the Brunette sitting beside him snorted a remark.

Connie whipped his head over his left shoulder towards the brunette, "mind your own business, Sasha."

Your eyes bounced around at the odd-shaped circle, momentarily landing on Jean who was sitting directly across from you. This was the first time you'd looked at him directly since entering the basement.

"There's one issue though, I don't know everyone's names," you gestured to everyone around the circle.

"I'll introduce you to everyone, (Y/N)," Historia spoke out, turning your attention to her.

The blonde quickly went around the circle, introducing you to everyone so you'd be up to speed. You could only hope that you wouldn't accidentally mess up anyone's name. You tried pinning each name to a slight detail about each person so you wouldn't forget.

"Everyone on the floor," Eren said, and by the single command, everyone got to the ground to sit together in a more functional circle.

Historia glanced up at you as you remained sitting on the couch, unsure if you truly wanted to participate. You made eye contact with her, and after staring at those pleading blue eyes of hers, found your way onto the floor yourself.

"We do things a little differently, you have the option to opt-out of a kiss by simply taking a shot," Eren said, his green eyes darting up at you after placing an empty bottle on the floor in the center of everyone.

"Got it."

As the game commenced, you were simply enjoying the observation of all of the combinations of kisses so far, and all of those who took a shot instead until eventually, it was your turn to spin the bottle.

Sitting up on your knees, you reached for the bottle, delicately placing your fingers on the glass. After giving the bottle a swift spin, you sat back watching with anticipation until the momentum began to die down and the bottle stopped completely.

The neck of the bottle aimed slightly off-center with Eren.

A twinge in your heart was evident for some unknown reason as you readied yourself for the kiss. Placing your hands on the floor, the two of you reached for one another until your lips met his chapped ones.

'One. Two. Three.'

You counted in your head until the kiss was over with. Sure, Eren was attractive enough, but kissing him surely didn't do anything for you. There was nothing else beneficial to the kiss beside the swapping of spit and the aftertaste of bitter booze from his lips. But, the kiss was still fun nonetheless, you guessed.

The turns continued around the circle counterclockwise, everything running smoothly like clockwork as you silently observed everything. That was until Jean reached for the bottle at the center of the circle once it was his turn.

"Go ahead with it, Jean boy," Eren nudged Jean with his elbow.

"Shut the hell up," Jean said, in an attempt to brush Eren off by giving the bottle a good spin.

Jean had already been kissed once so far, and that was when Connie's spin landed on him. Though Jean encouraged Connie to just take a shot, Connie refused, which resulted in a sloppy kiss between the two.

Your teeth sank into the inside of your lip, watching intently as the bottle spins rapidly in wild circles. Anticipation steadily digging away at your insides as the neck of the bottle begins to gradually come to a halt.

'On me?'

You surely were seeing things correctly, the neck of the bottle was pointing directly at you. There was no contemplation at all from Jean whether he skip the kiss and take a shot instead as he pushed himself up from his spot without hesitation.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as Jean crawled across the circle towards you, his light hazel eyes staring through you. There was hardly any time to acknowledge the fluttering sensation in your chest as he closed in.

"Hi," Jean greeted, "are you ready?"

With a head nod of confirmation, Jean slowly bobbed his head down, lips hovering over yours as you sat up straight to meet with him. The familiar scent of musky sheer cashmere, of him, infiltrate your nostrils as your lips finally connect.

A tingling sensation rippled across your body from the initial contact. Chills ran across your skin when Jean collected the side of your face into his hand, bringing you in closer towards him to deepen the kiss. There was a pull between both of you like you had to be closer to one another. Fighting the urge to run your hand through his ash brown hair, you twisted your palms together, keeping your hands to yourself as he held you in his hand, tongues overlapping in a passionate kiss.

His facial hair slightly tickled your skin, but you didn't care. All you cared about was how exciting the kiss was, what it was doing to you on the inside, how eye-opening it was.

The two of you didn't bother to pull away from the lip lock until the sound of a few wolf whistles from the others around the circle interrupted the moment.

You were the first to pull away from the kiss, brushing a thumb over your tingly kiss swollen lips.

After months of dating, Floch never kissed you like that, for that you were certain.

Breathless, the kiss left your head airy and your lungs empty, you were quietly fighting for air in your seat. A wave of heat circled through your body, emitting from your core.

Jean found his way back to his spot, turning to look at Eren who whispered something in his ear before Eren proceeded with his turn. Jean slumped against the couch behind him, allowing a heavy exhale to seep from his lips while his chest dropped and his hands lay flat in his lap as his hazel eyes stared at you lazily. A swift breath caught in the back of your throat as you maintained eye contact with him. A light shade of pink dusted a cast over his milky skin.

A few rounds and more mindless kisses later, none of them came anywhere close to Jeans. You were slightly hoping that you'd be kissed again like that for another time during the game, but it didn't happen.

***************

The wooden frame of the pool table from earlier pressed into your backside as you intently scrolled through Instagram with the last bit of battery percentage you had remaining. Floch's Instagram page. Entirely a bad idea to be stalking him like you were right now, but you reasoned with yourself that you just wanted to scroll through his pictures and see if he deleted all of the posts that had you in them as you'd down with yours respectively.

You knew it was a bad idea, but still, that didn't stop you. A pop-up warning you of your battery at ten percent should've been your final warning to stop stalking, but again, you didn't listen to reason.

"Hey, (Y/N)," a familiar voice cooed after the clicking of a door, causing a swarm of emotions to twist inside of you, "I didn't think you'd be back down here."

Turning your head to look at the stairs only to see Jean walking down them, you gave him a slight smile. After the basement cleared out after the rounds of spin the bottle was over with, you knew there'd be hard to no people left in the basement. So, when you wanted a little alone time to yourself, you knew the basement was the best option for you to stalk your ex.

"I didn't think you'd be back down here either," you admitted, lowering your phone slightly to look at him.

"My phone is missing, I think I accidentally left it down here earlier," his hair flopped on his forehead as he cleared the last two steps with a small jump to the floor, "what're you doing down here, playing pool by yourself?"

He teased, heading towards the area where all of you were collected earlier to play spin the bottle. You watched him from far away silently as he diligently searched for his phone. The temptation to help him search arose within you, but as soon as you were about to speak up, you paused, watching as he collected the device into his hand.

"Found it," he checked his cell before shoving it into his back pocket.

You shot him a faint congratulatory smile but stayed quiet.

Instead of heading back upstairs like you thought he would, he gravitated back towards you instead. Standing beside you, your eyes darted away from him as you noticed he was examining you.

"Are you okay, (Y/N)?"

Though you'd just been stalking your ex, it's not like you wanted to rant about him. To a stranger at that.

With a sigh, you shook your head, "kind of? I don't know," you tucked your phone away into your purse with a shrug.

"Not having any fun at the party or something?" His elbow bumped into your left arm with a slight playful nudge.

"It's not that," truly it wasn't that you weren't having fun, because you were.

The kiss you shared with Jean was the biggest thrill you'd had all night, scratch that, the biggest thrill you'd had all week. Almost something worthy enough to dream about. Because It's not like every day you share a mind-blowing kiss with a person you hardly knew.

"I came here to this party to get my mind off of a breakup, but being the loser I am, I'm standing here at a party dwelling over him," you cringed internally after the realization of how you'd just overshared a bit too much.

'Way to go.'

"Well, let's get your mind off of him," Jean took a step off to the side and collected two cue sticks, handing you one, "here."

"But, I don't know how to play pool," you replied, nervously accepting the cue stick.

The only time you played pool was the one time on your phone when you played against Ymir. You lost horribly as the board had been swept clean before you ever got a second turn. The terrible defeat resulted in you deleting the app for good. You haven't played any form of pool since.

"I can teach you as we go along," he offered, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

Jean began to rack all of the balls into the triangle holder, and you watched him mid-process. Noticing how his pants hugged at his hips and how his hair fell over his forehead effortlessly as he reached over the table. Which only reminded you of the incident from yesterday.

"Jean," you spoke, leaning against the cue stick.

Jean lifted his head to look up at you, his eyebrows lifted with a curious expression on his face, "yeah?"

"I just wanted to say sorry again for what happened yesterday, I was in a rush to get back to my dorm and..."

'And that's when Floch broke up with me.'

"Seriously don't sweat it, (Y/N)," he said, making you visibly relax. "It's not often I have a pretty girl run into me," his intense light brown eyes shot you a wink.

All extremities began to tingle as your skin felt ablaze. You turned your head, facing away from Jean to look at the other end of the pool table as your heart fastened in your chest.

"Okay, we're ready to go," Jean eventually spoke again, lifting the holder up and away from the formation of balls. "Would you like to be the one to break the set?"

"Uh... I guess I could give it a try," you said more as a question than a defined answer.

Immediately Jean situated the white cue ball on the opposite end of the table at your response. The cue stick fumbled in your hands after swapping places with Jean. Which he took a step back, observing you fully.

The inside of your lip fell under attack once you sunk your teeth into its sensitive flesh, trying your best to position the stick accordingly. The butt of the stick was held wrapped in your hand tightly as your other hand struggled to find a comfortable position to hold the tip of the stick. You eyed the cue ball down, remembering back to the one time you played pool digitally against Ymir.

This was definitely nothing like the phone game.

'How the hell do you hold this thing?'

Much to Jeans' amusement, he takes a step closer towards you until you can feel his body heat radiating from behind you.

"Try loosening your grip at the butt of the stick, and for your other hand," he chuckled as he viewed your fingers tangled around the thinner end of the stick, "hold the stick using your thumb and index finger, or your middle finger too for more support."

His instructions rambled through your head, resulting in you lowering the pool stick out of confusion. Turning your head to look at him, he took another step towards you.

"Can I..." Jean closed in on you, his waist brushing against you as he guides your hands over the stick with his, "here."

Sure it was a compromising situation from the outside looking in, but you knew it wasn't anything like that, what Jean was doing was just teaching you how to properly handle the cue stick. So why did your heartbeat fasten all of a sudden?

With Jean standing close behind you, you could drink in his musky scent. He was speaking, guiding your hands with his simultaneously, but you didn't hear anything clearly, only focusing on his hands felt on yours.

Jean guided your body gently into a proper stance, helping you aim down the stick. Through your peripheral vision, you noticed his eyes flicker back and forth from you to the task at hand through his ash-colored hair.

You still weren't entirely sure of what it was he was saying. Only when the balls somehow snapped and tumbled across the green-carpeted surface did you snap back to reality. With one look over your shoulder, Jean's eyes were immediately locked down on yours as he stood dangerously close behind you.

"Good job, I think you pocketed in a solid," his hazel orbs were speckled with a fire of emotion.

The proximity of his closeness was currently causing your heart to run laps through your chest. His body heat made your insides feel like putty.

"Thanks, Jean," your words fell from your lips weakly.

When his hazel eyes lowered to your lips, a sharp breath sucked through your mouth, noticing how his large hands were still lingering near your body. There was a shift in the air around both of you, naturally, the pool stick released from your grasp to roll out onto the table. His hands ventured along your body, hooking at your waist gently. He held onto you as you now faced him completely, your backside pressed against the pool table.

Jean lowered his head down, inching closer to your face, his breath fanning your neck, sending another chill up your spine. The bass from the music upstairs thumping in your ears rampantly, or was it your heart?

The pads of his fingers began toying with the small of your back as he held onto you. Your hands were pressed against his chest, feeling the sleek material of his black button-up shirt that covered his toned torso.

Like two forces being pulled together, Jean carefully placed his lips onto yours. In response, your hands trailed up his chest until they were wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss. His soft lips against yours turned feverish like there was a dire need for more. Without breaking the intense lip lock, he swiftly lifted you by hooking his hands under your thighs and set you onto the edge of the pool table.

'Forget about Floch.'

A shiver tickled your spine as Jean broke away from the kiss to plant a trail of kisses on the crook of your neck, nibbling and sucking on your soft skin ever so slightly. A delicate moan escaped from your mouth from all the times Jean's lips kissed on your sweet spot.

"Jean," you breathed out with a pant, "what if someone walks in?"

Though you were trying to focus on having a good time, worrisome thoughts that someone could wander into the basement at any given moment and see both of you hooking up built a barrier in between you and having fun.

Jean pulled away to look at you through hooded lids, "let's hope they don't then for our sake," with one hand, he collects your chin, rubbing his thumb across your kiss swollen lips.

Sure, the thrill of messing around and the chance of getting caught excited you to a certain extent.

Your breath caught in the back of your throat as you stared at the man straddling you. His hips rocking between your legs in a tantalizing motion as he stared down at you beneath him through hooded lids.

Jean's free hand kneaded your thigh like dough, the crook of his thumb tucked at the band of your lace underwear, pulling them down your legs with ease. Discarding the sheer material after it'd been removed from your legs.

Down on his knees before you, Jean carefully led a trail of sweet open mouth kisses from your knee up from the inside of your thigh. His fingertips pushing the material of your dress upward along the way.

"Is this okay?" The heat of his words fans your exposed sex, causing your back to arch out of excitement.

"Mm..." you nod your head, incapable of forming a proper reply.

Your eyes flutter shut once his mouth closes in around your clit, his tongue dancing around in smooth motions against the bud that makes your core tighten. Naturally, you lay back against the pool table, managing to avoid any miscellaneous pool balls on the surface.

Both of his hands grip onto your hips from underneath your dress, moving around in tender circles to caress your body before he swipes his tongue between your soaking wet folds, gathering a taste of you. Another lick from his tongue starting from your core up to your clit has you panting lightly, practically begging for more.

His tongue centers on your clit once again, drinking you in as his tongue flicks rapidly against the bud, berating the nerves as you grind against his face. A thin layer of your slick coats the inside of your thighs as one of his fingers gently plunge into you. Without any hesitation, another one of his digits sinks into you, causing more friction.

His long fingers slide in and out of you, hitting your core in just the right way at perfect momentum. Pushing inside your spongy center at greater force while pulling out swiftly to repeat the process over and over again.

Your fingers tangle through his soft hair in intricate knots while holding onto him the only way you could.

"Jea... Jean," you breathed out a moan.

Hitting your core repeatedly as his tongue strokes and flicks in just the right spots, you finally began to feel your nerves bundle up in your core. It wouldn't be much longer at the pace he was going until he had you at your release.

"Don't stop, Jean," you groaned, almost begging him, "please."

That triggered Jean to grab ahold firmly onto your hip with his left hand, nails digging into your flesh as he fastened his pace both with his tongue and fingers. His fingers sloshed in and out, holding you against his face as your body couldn't take the pleasure anymore.

Eventually, you began to unravel, coming undone as you moaned out his name breathlessly, clenching around his fingers as the pent up nerves rippled through you. Jean planted sweet supple kisses against your clit, sucking slightly as his fingers slowed inside of you at a tantalizing pace while you rode out on your wave of release for as long as you could.

Just as you thought you'd found your end, Jean lifted his face away and replaced his mouth with his thumb. The ball of his thumb kneaded away in rough circles around your sensitive clit as his fingers inside of you picked up in speed. You squirmed under the immense pleasure that was almost unbearable as he milked you to the last drop until the same pent up nerves in your core began to build again. You fell at his mercy, slashing around, moaning outcries of bliss as you ruptured again for a second time, palpitating around the width of his large fingers.

Your heartbeat was ringing in your ears as your weight relaxed against the table. Your legs had gone completely numb.

Wobbly breaths exhaled from your lips as Jean carefully retracted his hand. Your eyelashes flutter open from the absence of his fingers, only to watch him push one finger after the next into his mouth, sucking your coat of slick off of his digits. Jean nudged his thumb across the corner of his mouth, wiping the excess fluid away.

Before anyone had the chance to walk through the door, you struggled to stand up straight after sliding off of the side of the pool table. At the same time Jean stood up from his crouched position, your bodies practically pressed together. You couldn't help but notice the prominent bulge in his pants as he'd been lingering against you.

Tugging your dress down to adjust yourself, you patted the material to eliminate any wrinkles after sliding on your underwear. Jean stopped to brush his knuckles against your cheek, you couldn't help but think how pleasing it felt to have his cool skin against your burning cheek. His hand folded, his palm cupping against your face as he dipped down to plant a dainty kiss on your lips. Your breathing was still unsteady as you paused to return the kiss.

His bangs tumbled over his forehead while his thumb smoothly raked over your bottom lip after your lips finally disconnected from one another. Ash brown locks dangled in your field of vision, clouding the definition of his face.

Jean tilted his chin, lifting his head slightly to the point where you could finally see the features of his face clearly. The corners of his lips were pinned up into a diminutive smile and a light shade of pink dusted his skin. You couldn't help but smile in response.

Was this your way of getting over a breakup? Hooking up with someone you hardly knew? You couldn't care enough to dwell over the thought.

Just as you were about to say something, the prominent buzz of waves of vibration emitting from your purse caused you to forget the words you had forming in your head. With eyes wide open, you broke out of the trance, searching for your bag that had fallen from your arm.

You mouthed an apology to Jean while struggling to answer your phone.

"Historia-"

"(Y/N), where are you? I've been looking for you because Ymir's drunk and I need help carrying her back to the dorm," Historia spoke over the sound of music in the background. You happened to catch the sound of Ymir groaning some nonsense as well.

"I'll meet you outside near the front door," you managed to say before all sound on the opposite end of the call ceased.

You pulled your phone away from your ear, noticing a completely black screen. Your phone finally died on you.

You were just lucky you'd happen to hear and speak with Historia before your phone went dead. Or what if she didn't manage to hear you?

"Shit."

A sudden urgency burned through you. You needed to go upstairs and meet with Ymir and Historia immediately.

"I have to go, Historia and Ymir are waiting for me upstairs," you managed to say before putting your phone away.

In return Jean took a step away from you, allowing you the space to break free from the pool table. Leaving no time to talk, you formed a beeline straight for the stairs. Jean clasped a hand around your wrist, stopping you mid-step on the second step of the staircase.

Turning around, you looked down at him as he stared up at you.

"So much for that game of pool, (Y/N)," he teased, the smallest playful smirk on his lips. "I'd like to believe you would've won."

A faint heartfelt laugh fell from your lips after hearing his comment, "bye, Jean," you said, and Jean freed your wrist from his grasp.

The tug at your heart was evident as you trailed up the stairs, leaving Jean in the dust behind you. You didn't want to leave the party just yet, you didn't want to leave Jean. Definitely not after having such a mind-blowing hookup. But, by putting your wants aside on the back burner, you knew you had to leave and help Historia out.

[stories-about-cheating-women]

Casper the cum-filled ghost

It is Friday night and josh is getting ready for the Halloween party at his girlfriend’s sorority house. Josh always disliked the large parties Sara’s sorority threw; they are full of drunk dudes trying to prove their manliness and fuck anything that moves. It doesn’t help that Sara’s sorority sisters are some of the most.. slutty girls on campus, for lack of a more polite term. Josh always hated how guys would lump Sara into the group of sorority sluts just by the letters on her little jacket. And guys were always staring at her as she bounces around campus in her sorority mandated short skirts. Josh couldn’t blame them, though. Sara was blessed with a body of a fertility goddess: long legs, thick thighs, a full bubble butt, slim waist, large boobs, and wavy red hair.

As Josh stared at himself in the mirror, he can’t help but worry about tonight. His costume is a baggy ghost costume that Sara sewed for him out of a white bed sheet. Josh mumbles to himself “ugh I look like Casper the socially awkward ghost.” Sara quickly walks up behind him and gives him a firm hug around the waist. “Don’t worry about tonight, babe! Your costume looks super cute, and we will look so adorable with our scooby-doo theme. I make a very sexy Velma, If I do say so myself.” Sara was right, she looks amazingly sexy, as usual. Josh looks her up and down and says “ I Don’t know, Sara, are you sure Velma would show that much… everything? Those guys are gonna see you as a piece of meat to sink their teeth into as soon as possible!”

Sara puts on a pouty face and stares into Josh’s eyes as she runs her finger up and down his chest “But babyyy- all the other girls are wearing sexy costumes. I don’t want to be the only prude there! They will bully me for weeks!” Her hand starts to work its way down Josh’s torso and into his pants. “I may even be inclined to give you a special gift, if you are a good boy tonight. hehe” Her hand grasps his soft dick and starts to slowly move back and forward. Josh begins to moan and says “Babe, that’s no fair! You know I can’t say no to you like this.” Sara looks up at him and coyly says “Then don’t.”

The party

As Josh and Sara walk down from Sara’s room, the music grown louder and louder. There are already a handful of guys from the frats hanging out and drinking with Sara’s sorority sister. The guys are dressed in all sorts of half assed costumes such as lumberjack with no shirt on, fireman with no shirt on, and professor with a cutoff tee-shirt. This is exactly what Josh was trying to avoid. Of course, the girls are eating the costumes up. Its just because they have muscles, Josh thinks to himself. Soon Sara notices a guy she has class with and runs over to talk to him. She turns her head to Josh as she is walking away and says “Hey babe, I know that guy from statistics, I’m gonna go say hi! Why don’t you mingle with the other guys?”

Josh watches with an uneasy feeling in his stomach as Sara salters over to some guy and grabs his arm as she starts to laugh. The guy is wearing a similar costume to Josh. A ghost costume, with the arms cut off, of course. Josh walks over to the other guys and grabs a beer. “Hey man. Is that your girl?” one of the bros asks. “Yea that’s Sara. My girlfriend.” The group whistles and nods in approval. “I didn’t know the girls in this sorority were allowed to have boyfriends haha. With all the party responsibilities and all that.” Josh does not like the sound of that. He knew the sorority had a bad reputation for having lose women, but not that everyone in the frats knew too. Josh swallows hard and replies “Oh yea. Well Sara isn’t like the other girls. She just likes to have fun and hang out with her friends.” The guy motions over to Sara and says “Oh like she is having fun with that guy right now? Haha good luck, bro. Steve is a player if I’ve ever seen one.” Josh’s stomach drops even further as he looks over to see Sara on some dude’s shoulders being spun around in circles… Her skirt is WAY too short for that.

As Josh begins to walk over to Sara to ask her what she is doing, Amanda, Sara’s friend, stops him. “Hey Josh, can you help us move some boxes? They are really heavy and we need a big strong guy to handle them! Pleassseeee.” Josh tries to object, but Amanda is already pulling him into the basement stairway. As he looks back he can see the group of guys he was standing with try and get a good look up Sara’s skirt, but they can’t look long as the guy begins to walk off with her towards the kegs. Fuck. “Hey Amanda, who is that guy Sara is with now?” Amanda looks back at him and smiles “Ow that is Steve! He is so cool. He helps us around the house when anything breaks. He is such a manly man. hehe he also helps a few of the girls out in another way, if you know what I mean.” She says slyly. Josh is confused “You mean like… tutoring services?” Amanda looks at him blankly “No silly. Now take these boxes of beer upstairs for me please! Thanks, hun!” and she scampers up the stairs. Josh sighs.

As Sara sees Amanda lead Josh down the stairs, she quickly turns to Steve and says “Alright baby, its time you show me what my friends have been talking about for the last month! I’m very… curious. Hehe” As Sara moves Steve into the kitchen, away from the crowd, she glances down eagerly to his crotch. Steve looks her up and down and then says “hmm well it won’t be much to look at until its hard so… I don’t know what to do about that.” Sara looks him in the eyes and slowly smiles. She moves over to the counter and pretends to reach for something in a shelf high up. Clearly, she cannot reach, so she looks back at Steve and says “A little help please.” Here words dripping in sensuality. As Steve comes up behind Sara, she pushes her ass into his crotch and begins gyrating her hips back and forward. She can feel a large mass begin to press into her firm ass. After a minute of this, Sara hears a familiar voice out in the living room. It is Josh asking where to put the boxes from downstairs. Sara then hears Amanda tell him to bring them into the kitchen.

Josh walks into the kitchen carrying a large box of beer and sets it on the floor with a large grunt. Steve speaks up “Hey buddy, those look a little heavy for you. Do you need a hand with that?” Josh looks up and sees Sara and Steve standing together by the counter. “Umm no they aren’t too heavy for me, but thanks. What are you guys doing?” Sara says “Oh we were just.. looking for cups for the guests. But they were too high up, so I had to get Steve to reach for me.” Josh looks at Steve suspiciously but eventually states that he needs to get the rest of the heavy beers from the basement and walks out.

As soon as Josh leaves, Sara looks at Steve and asks “So, is it ready for me to have a look now?” Steve chuckles and reaches down to his pants, under the cloth of the ghost costume, and zips open his pants. He then grabs the base of his dick and pulls the fabric on the costume taunt. Sara’s mouth drops open. Steve has what looks like a giant, extra thick dildo hidden under his costume. Sara gasps “O.M.G… that can not be real!” Steve seems to like her reaction “Oh its real alright. Just ask Amanda.” Sara growls “there is no way that dumb bimbo is gonna keep this all to herself.” And, with that, she drops to her knees and craws under the ghost costume. As Sara looks up, she is met with the biggest dick she has seen in her life, even watching porn. Suddenly Steve hears a “Holy fucking shit” come from under his costume, and he can’t help but smile.

Soon Steve feels a warm hand grasp the base of his thick cock, followed by a pair of moist lips at the tip. Steve moans and says “Careful babe, it’s been a day or two since I drained these balls. Go easy on me.” Sara notices that each of his balls are big enough to fill her hands. What Sara heard was ‘please suck my soul out of my cock’ and that is exactly what she does. She grasps the monster cock with both hands, and there is still enough room for two more hands to fit. Sara begins to slowly force the bulbous head into her tiny mouth. After a few effortful grunts, the large head squeezes past her plump lips and POPs into her mouth. Steve shutters as he can feel Sara’s moans on his cock head. Slowly, more and more cock is forced into Sara’s tiny mouth and suddenly they can both feel the monster bump into the back of Sara’s tight throat. Sara is trying her best to fit Steve’s big cock into her throat, but she is out of practice due to Josh’s below average dick never making it this far. She gags and slobbers on Steve’s member, but to no avail.

As Josh begins to enter the kitchen with his second case of beer, he is relieved to see Steve standing alone. “Hey man. Did you see where Sara ran off to? I have a few more cases to bring up, but then I want to hang out with her some.” Steve looks at Josh for a second before answering. “Hmm yea.. last I saw her was a minute or two ago. I’ll tell her you are looking for her though.” Josh looks around and then replies “Ok. Thanks man. Hey, can you get me a cup from the cabinet too? I think I need some beer after all this heavy lifting.” And he slaps the case of beer he just brought up. Steve begins to lean to the cabinet, but then he realizes he cannot get close enough with his dick and Sara in the way. Steve decides the only way to keep things inconspicuous is to slowly lean into the cabinet, pushing Sara into the base of the cabinet. Once she is pressed up against the drawers, Steve can almost reach the cups, but he is still about a half a foot away.

Josh takes this opportunity to point out that Steve is being weird “Umm why are you moving so slow? Is this some sort of joke? Whatever, I can just get the cup myself.” Steve replies “No! No, I’m sorry I was just thinking about something else. Here I’ll get it.” And with that he leans forward and forces the remaining half a foot of cock into Sara’s throat, directly in front of her unsuspecting boyfriend. Underneath the ghost costume, Sara has tears running down the side of her face as she fights back the urge to gag and cough. Her nails are digging into Steve’s thighs as she squeezes them for all she is worth. Finally, Steve has the cup in his hand and leans back to give it to Josh “Here you go. Sorry I got distracted there for a second.” Josh takes the cup and says “No problem. Thanks.” And he walks out of the kitchen.

Once Sara hears Josh leave, she begins to have an unbelievably strong orgasm. She starts to shake and moan, and Steve feels all of this through his rock-hard cock. Sara’s orgasm pushes Steve over the edge. His bulging sack pulls up against his cock and Sara feels the monster in her throat begin to swell even larger. The first shot of cum forces its way up through the cock, and Sara can feel her tongue be forced down by the expanding cum vein. Soon She feels a warm sensation filling her throat. This happens two more time before Sara notices the warm feeling is filling her stomach now too. She begins to pull back, but Steve notices and places his hands firmly against the back of her head. “You aren’t getting off that easy, slut. I told you I was backed up!” and with that Steve forces Sara’s chin up against his pulsing balls and continues to fill her with his cum. All Sara can do is count the pulses of cum being unloaded into her stomach. Five, six, seven, … ten, eleven, twelve, … and they finally begin to tamper off around twenty.

Steve lets out a heavy sigh as he feels his balls relax and his cock begins to soften. He releases Sara’s head and she slowly falls backwards, the monster cock sliding out of her mouth like a sick version of the never-ending handkerchiefs magic trick. Once a foot of cock is outside Sara’s mouth, another POP is heard as the fat cockhead is forced from her mouth. Sara collapses on the floor in a quivering pile. She is still cumming. Once she regains her senses, she reaches down to her once tight and toned tummy to find a bulging cum filled belly. Steve puts his cock back into his pants and sighs “Oh Sara… what am I goanna do with you now? I can’t leave you here for Josh to find.” Steve reaches down and picks her up over his shoulder, like earlier, and he begins to carry her up to her room. Steve cant help but notice the stream of girl cum running down Sara’s legs.. he may need to address that shortly.

[the-darklings]

“ you’re my person. you’ll always be the one i go to. ” Jean + Clara/V 🥺

prompt: “you’re my person. you’ll always be the one i go to.”

pairing: jean x v (coa verse)

wc: 2.3k+ (aka I don't have an off button when it's them regardless of setting/verse)

notes: so while I'm obsessed with jeara in npfh verse, something about exploring them in coa where jean is almost a rogue figure in v's life and is near entirely removed from the overall dramas of her life is just so... (makes a vague, distressed sound). guess i'm just a sucker for "no matter what, life keeps drawing us back together" energy, also I just love their antagonistic, sexually charged banter : )

It’s the soft cocking of a gun behind you that alerts you to someone’s presence at your back.

It’s a split second, a whirlwind of gripping your own weapon, but it’s all too slow. Far too slow, John and Cassian and the Elder would have reprimanded you. Disappointing after years of work and training you’ve done. Sloppy at best, life-threatening at worst.

For priding yourself on speed as your greatest physical weapon, you simply react too slow. It’s not because your instincts are dull anymore — no, if anything, after the dessert you’re an even sharper version of yourself.

But there’s is a singular hole in your instinctive wall. One person who — unfailingly, and irritatingly — seems to slip behind every single one of your guards. More of a snake than you are. More deadly, more deceptively charming and coy.

"Well, well — look who the cat dragged in."

Jean’s voice is still silk. With the gentle roll of his accent, the ice in his eyes shifts and morphs — cracking at the sight of you; always, a match and a fuse — when you level your pistol on his face. Unflinching. A slight, indulgent twitch of his mouth greets your clinical action. He appears so infuriatingly unconcerned to have a fully loaded weapon trailed on him you have to bite back a snarl. Arrogant bastard.

But you’ve seen what his mouth is capable of. He would no doubt make an innuendo if you brought up the said mouth but he’s stopped entire gunfights with his wit and tongue alone in the past. Has stood beside you plenty of times, trying to weasel you both out of serious trouble.

You have a habit of running into each other every time the other needs backup the most. Neither of you would ever admit to needing one another but you’ve served each other’s self-interests plenty of times.

"What are you doing here?" you demand.

The Frenchman doesn’t move, dragging his stare over your body with curious, probing intensity. It’s near lazy, bordering on sexual perusal and instinctively your skin warms under the examination. Prick.

"Lovely to see you too, chérie,” he greets, his voice honey yet always just tantalisingly teasing the idea of more. He’s learned to present himself as the devil’s biggest temptation long ago; a temptation very few resist. His arm finally lowers with those words, followed by a click of safety coming back on but you’re not so quick to follow his lead. “You look positively alive," he adds, a touch sardonic.

Your lips twitch. "Sorry to disappoint."

Last time he saw a mess, not an assassin.

His broad frame is clad in a stitch-to-stitch perfect tailored suit. Dark and sleek. Not dark enough to be outright black but an odd, shimmering material that indeed reminds you of a devil in disguise. Prowling around and passing around favours and information but at a price — always a price, and never one you want to pay in the long run.

"Hm, yes,” he hums thoughtfully, a melody of rumbling deepness that is his voice settling in your gut as he draws closer. Strolling forward without a care in the world, as if you don’t have your pistol still raised. Still aimed at him. Your finger on the trigger. As if there isn’t a pinch to your features; a warning, venomous gleam in your eyes. “While you disappearing is no novelty. You disappearing for seven months to a point even I can't locate you certainly is."

With the sheer vastness of his web of information, you can only imagine how profoundly irritating he found it. Jean doesn’t like losing. Doesn’t like not being in control, in the know. Never has. Others dance to his tune. Losing is a language he doesn’t speak. If there is no way to get his way, he makes one. He cares little for the collateral damage left behind. His ruthlessness alone has always put you at odds though he’s always been quick to point out how hypocritical you are for your wry comments. How every enemy of yours has oftentimes been left spluttering on their own blood, robbed of life or a future.

You burn everything, chérie, he told you once, years ago now, to destroy so thoroughly is a curious talent for one so invested in life and greenery to have.

"I'm touched by the concern," you say eventually, your expression still sour and your mouth curved downwards.

Jean’s face creases at that, an eyebrow quirking, and lips stretching further back. That stupid little dimple in his left cheek appears again, and it’s a rare sight — one to always makes you wonder if this is genuine amusement or just another mask he wears.

"Actually I needed you to kill someone for me, vipère,” he rebukes, dismissive of your notations of sentimentality. A small sound whistles past his teeth, his eyes narrowing down on you when he halts in front of you, his chest bumping into the muzzle of the gun. The pearly white of his dress shirt cuts for a bleak contrast to your sleek, black pistol. “Your sneaky ways have proven to be... most useful."

His voice lowers, dripping towards a lulling, beguiling thing. He slants his head lower, near blending into the shadows of the room where you were searching for more information about your current mark just moments prior.

"Yeah, right," you huff, unimpressed.

"Does it surprise you?” he wonders curiously, his cologne tickling your nose when he slants even closer, still towering over you. And you know his cologne — so damn well, you know it in your marrow — know how it smells when it’s faded and muted. When you nudge your nose against the juncture of his throat, burying yourself in him. Greedy or not, you always stole his warmth. And for some reason he always permitted it. Perhaps he found some begrudging amusement in moments of lingering contact and intimacy between you. For a man who might as well be carved from ice, he knows exactly how to make you burn. “The idea that I think you're my person? A trustworthy contact? You'll always be the one I go to."

Your arm lowers at long last, making you peer up at him from under your lashes. Consider him. Jean’s mouth rests slightly agape, his breaths slowing, slowing, slowing — matching yours, you realise suddenly, ignoring the pinprick of desire at the base of your neck. His proximity chips at your guard and you lean closer too. Alone in this dark room, alone in this world, two solitary figures occasionally passing by each other. In these rare instances of proximity, it’s easy to forget your loneliness. Easy to pretend you’re one and the same.

Your fingers slither up his chest and towards his neck. To kiss him you would have to stretch your limbs and muscles. This you know intimately. If only because you know exactly how his body fits against yours. And what an odd thought it is — to know that where there is fear and unease with others, there’s only need to be closer with him. Every cell in your body seems to hum at the mental image; eager to agree, eager to indulge. The idea of sampling more of him, tangling yourself further in the spider’s web is too tempting. Too enticing. Jean inclines into you. Your escape, hideaway, so dissimilar to how the dessert felt. Like a gilded cage. A makebelieve. With him though it feels…

Your breaths mingle, intertwining, neither of you breaking the eye contact first. He doesn’t allow you a single inhale without devouring every micro quiver of your lips.

"Nice try,” you exhale knowingly before your mouths can touch, leaning back with a saccharine grin. Your fingertips tease over the heated skin of his neck despite the broken spell. It thrills you, the tension of strong tendons you feel there, pulled tauter by your prodding. “Now why are you really here?"

For a single instance, you think Jean will continue his pretence, his unending fictitious act. Mock you further with yet another agreeable mask he shows everyone else. But a flicker, and then his charm melts into something more cunning, crueller, yet somehow — impossibly — even hungrier and darker than before. He’s still too close, too physically there; next to you, in you, like a splinter you can’t get out. Or want to.

Unravelling of a facade packaged in a span of a second, a heartbeat.

"I need him alive, V."

His voice drips from honey to dark velvet. Teasing, seductive promise. Jean’s fingers drag against the curve of your jaw as he speaks, his touch inveigling but you’ve danced this dance before. He should know better than to expect easy prey by now.

"And I need him dead,” you snip back, cupping his cheek in return, scraping your fingers against the dark stubble against his jaw with an innocent tilt of your head. Sometimes you hate it — the way he’s able to rip out something darker in you, more chillingly untamed. Jean is a paradox, a tempest blowing against the ruleset. So often being beside him makes you recklessly want to do the same. “So if you're after something, I suggest you work quicker, Jean."

There’s a split second in which you think he might flip on you the way he’s done on so many others. A warm, inviting smile — all charisma and magnetism, toothy and wide — seconds before he plants a bullet in your body. You’ve seen him do it so many times in the past your head spins. In part from wondering if he will give you one last kiss before he pulls the trigger, or if he really believes you will not take him down with you if he attempts it.

"If I get the information I need by sunrise, have dinner with me tomorrow."

His thumb nudges against the curve of your bottom lip. Rough yet gentle, sensuous yet treacherous. He’s so used to getting his way you want to refuse him out of principle alone if nothing else. It’s rather enjoyable — in a dark, cruel way — to deny him, to see how many masks he can flip through until only his own face remains. You've yet to see such a day.

"There's a distinct lack of a question mark in that statement," you note coolly.

The tension between you sits like a physical weight. Overbearing and thick; you glimpse all the things he’s doing to you inside his mind already. His fingers digging into your hips, hoisting you into his strong arms. A hiss of searing breath against your ear, teeth against your neck, animalistic, skin against skin. Sweat and filth and passion. You’ve healed during your stay at the dessert. He can see it in you. A part of you has transformed, shed your old, torn skin — he’s certainly coaxed and encouraged this change in you prior. It had become a particular interest of his once John departed.

Bury your past, vipère, it doesn’t serve you anymore.

Glaciers of his gaze thaw and spark into a sapphire flame the longer you gaze at one another, hungry and wanting. Jean’s angular, virile features tighten with restraint but he doesn’t crack, a faint grin still lingering in place.

"I'm not going to grovel at your feet, vipère,” he says, his words ringing deeper and sultry, near gravelly. A knife’s edge, really, razor-sharp against your fragile pulse. His fingers trace the contours of your parted mouth, and you sense his breath when he nudges close. The scent of tobacco and red wine still lingers on his own lips muddying your honed senses. “It's not in my nature to do so. If I want something, I go for it."

And for some reason it’s him — him you lean into, him you don’t shun or snarl at when he touches you. So intimately. Painting you with his hands anew — bloody hands of a murderous man, a liar and a cheat.

Your lashes flutter. "And here I thought you liked games."

"Only the ones I win,” he breathes hotly, his teeth gleaming, a wolf’s jaws open for devouring. His large palm slips to cup your face, bracing against your cheek, steadying you. Your mouths are almost touching, almost kissing, almost biting. “And you... are... most certainly a game I'm happy to play every time, ma vipère.”

The last part — wanton and just a touch possessive, throaty with a heavier accent — scrapes against the shell of your ear. Hot, wet exhales of oxygen skitter against the curve of your neck and it leaves you shuddering against him. Jean grins into your skin at the small victory, his mouth flitting over your beating pulse in reward. Once, twice. He’s not touching you further, and you grind your jaw to prevent yourself from touching him in return.

Always the game of who will give in first.

When he realises you’re not about to hand him his victory as he no doubt hoped you would, he pulls back, a flash of teeth visible in the darkness. Lights from the street outside illuminate his handsome features when he moves back. His eyes drink in your form, from head to toe, his thumb swiping over his own mouth slowly. It coils your stomach when you realise it’s the same hand he touched your mouth with.

An indirect kiss to taste you. Despite your controlled expression, you feel that distant kiss as if he were smearing your mouth with his until your edges blurred with his.

“Dinner will be at 8 pm sharp. Don't be late,” he instructs, low and smooth, his voice still scratchy with hunger. He pivots to go but pauses midturn, glancing at you over his shoulder while his hand slips into his slacks. “Oh, and do wear red. You always look so fetching in that colour. And it looks ever-so pretty on my bedroom floor."

[internalsealpanic]

Camp Crystal What?

summary: Camp Crystal Lake is a fine and dandy place to spend your summer, said no one ever. You are inclined to agree with that and so are Damian and Jon. 

a/n: I am back from retirement with a REEEEEEAAAAALLLLY long crack fic. (This is long as shit by my standards. Leave me alone.) This  was co written and edited by my wife @littleredwing89. She was also the biggest enabler for this. I tried to give reader some executive dysfuction but I don’t think it worked out well. We’ll see. This is my first super sons fic please feel free to roast it. 

warnings: This really self indulgent and really long. You would think I would have more gore in a slasher film based fic. No. Apparently not. 

masterlist

Jon cackles, his chin lifting only slightly from its perch on your shoulder just enough for you to fully hear the petty sound. You tilt your switch, sticking out your tongue in a vain attempt to avoid Damian’s blue shell. You cry out, throwing your arms up in exasperation as the shell hits you just as you were about to cross the finish line. Your outstretched prosthetic arm nearly hitting Jon in the process, not that you felt too bad about that considering…

 “Yeah! Got ‘em, Dami!” Jon says, high fiving a smug-looking Damian beside you.  You glare at Jon, who was still leaning against you like you weren’t about to bite his head off. “Whose side are you on?”

 “Justice!” This draws a snort out of both Tim and Jason who were both sitting in the back. 

 “No, you’re not!”

 “Yes, I am!”

 “He is, (l/n). You needed to be cut down to size," Damian declares, subtly brandishing his screen showing Rozalina doing a little victory lap in her kart as her little star guy floated around her. You pout at him, puffing your cheeks like an unruly chipmunk as you cross your arms over your chest. This only serves to make Damian all the smugger and Jon all the more gleeful at your loss. 

 You turn the full force of your ire on Jon who was smiling innocently at you, big blue eyes sparkling reminding you of your husky, Yoohoo. You’re about to say something scathing but stop instead deciding to stew in your loss and sulk as you hand Jon your Switch. You’d think he would be more prepared since he was the one who insisted on coming with you to this camp. Now that you think about it, why were they here? All you remember is telling Jon that you couldn’t go visit him over the summer because your parents were sticking you in a summer camp while they go abroad for something and the next thing you know is that you’re in an SUV with Jon, Damian, Damian’s older brother’s, and their friend(?). Whatever she was to them Damiam never adequately explained like everything else. Though you suspect she was Dick’s wife judging from how little they cared whether the other invaded their space. The lack of a wedding ring made you unsure. 

 You let out a little huff, melting into your oversized Gotham U hoodie, letting Jon lean on you despite your sour mood and touch aversion. You lean against him in return and watch as Yoshi zips past Rosalina in mild petty satisfaction. 

You all file out of the car, drowsy and irritable. You muss Jon’s bed head into an even more tangled mess. Neither of you tells Damian about the streak of drool on his face. Tim shuffles the three of you towards the convenience store while Jason politely explains to the mechanic that he’s wrong, Dick orders lunch at the diner and makes a call back to Gotham presumably to make sure Wayne industries isn’t burning down. 

Over your shoulder, you can see Jason’s form working hard not to look threatening. It’s not working or maybe the mechanic was shaking because Faust isn’t even trying to hide the irritation wicking off of her. 

 “He wha-” Tim pinches the bridge of his nose muttering something about Mr.Wayne. He looks pained. Tim hands you a wad of one-dollar bills as his voice takes Timothy Wayne's public speaker pitch. All of the Wayne’s seem to have three voices. Their Wayne voice, their vigilante voice, and their normal voice. Mr. Wayne has the most distinct voice. Dick’s was honestly really hard to distinguish.  

 You count the wad of cash in your hand as Jon grabs a basket from the pile. You note, with amusement, that at least five of the bills had variations of ‘don’t buy cereal’ written on them in distinct handwriting. 

 “Kent, are you planning to put the entire store in the basket?”

 “Nah, just the good stuff.”

 You marvel at the amount of food Jon managed stockpile in your basket while you were distracted. 

 “Uh, Jon, we don’t need that much.” Plus, I don’t think we can eat all of that. 

 “They’re right,” Damian chides, making Jon pout. 

 After a healthy amount of debate, two almost food fights, a near fistfight, and your attempt at puppy dog eyes, you finally narrow the snacks down and even have enough money left for slushies. You shrug at her, adding more blue than necessary. There weren’t rules against this. Plus, it was tastier this way. 

 “Dami,  what flavor do you want?” Jon shouts from the slushie machine.  Beside him, you swirl a mix of red, green, pink, and blue slushies. The lady at the counter was wrinkling her nose at you the way Dami is wrinkling his nose at Jon.

 Jon’s big cup of neon blue smoothie dropped to the floor in a loud clatter. 

 “You’re all doomed! He’s coming. He’s coming! That place is cursed!” The scraggly man screams as he shakes Jon. Damian’s lip tries not to curl in amusement as you both watch the scene unfold. Out of context, this was horrifying. In context, it was hilarious especially considering how badly Jon is acting. The clerk at the counter looks appropriately horrified. You look at Jon, feeling a twinge of worry. He’s not in danger. You know that but you can’t help it.

 Your concoction flies into the man’s face in no time flat and Jon scrambles to your side as soon as the man drops him. You step in front of him bracing for further confrontation but the man simply walks off muttering about something you couldn’t hear over the beating of your heart. 

“Exactly, why am I in the back?” Jason whines, unfolding and refolding himself, not quite sure where to place what limb in the cramped back row of the SUV. You let out a giggle which earns you a rather harsh glare from an already irate Jason. Damian glares back at him for you, in an oddly protective gesture, and you can’t help but feel strangely smug about it. 

 They glower at each other for a few minutes. Jason, probably knowing this was a stalemate, turns his attention towards the front of the vehicle, sharp green eyes narrowing at the rearview mirror. “Shouldn’t Faust’s short ass be in the back with Timbo and the Three Tiny Terrors?” 

 You hear an amused huff from the front along with the loud crinkling and shuffling of the map. Faust glances over her shoulder, the bright mischief in her eyes contrasting with the rich brown of her skin. You wonder if everyone in Damian and Jon’s lives were all this pretty. An almost smile quirks on the edges of her lips as she says “You didn’t call shotgun~”

 Jason hisses something colorful behind you. Tim, beside him, is chuckling either from Jason’s misery or, based on the defeated cry coming from Jon, having just nailed Yoshi with lightning. Could be both. It was likely. 

 Jason, looking positively annoyed, unfolds himself and violently settles his feet on Tim’s lap. Tim yelps then says something close to a swear word. Jason grins lazily looking more like a cat as he leans back. This time Jon cries out in joy, the victory music blaring from your switch. Again, Tim hisses something edging towards a curse word. Jon wriggles out of his seat and fist bumps Jason who returns the gesture enthusiastically. In the reflection on the windshield, you can clearly see the amusement in Dick’s smile. Even to your right, Damian seems amused if not outright gleeful at seeing Tim’s misery.  You couldn’t quite tell. You weren’t a master of reading Waynes yet. You would turn to Jon but he wasn't fluent either. Faust told you that it would take a while which just meant that you would never master it. Reading people was hard enough as it was. There was always something difficult about interpreting social signals. It was so easy to get them wrong and when you add in the complication of being a vigilante you just found yourself frustrated. You slump into the seat feeling the frustration writhing under your skin. Jon noticing your frustration eases up and gives you a little more space. 

 "So, what's with the map?" Tim asks, throwing Jason's feet back at him and handing you his switch. Faust wrinkles her nose at the offending piece of paper. "Well, Dicktopus here insisted on the authentic road trip atmosphere complete with bad cell signal, a map, and oh right, getting lost." Dick gives her a look which Faust just shrugs it off. 

 "Like what? The Goofy movie?" Tim asks incredulously, his brows wrinkling in the rearview mirror as he gives Dick a withering look. 

 Faust snorts in confirmation. Jon’s face crumples in confusion. You make a small hiccupping noise mimicking the noise that passes for Goofy's laugh and you see as the bleary memory clicks into place. "You mean the old movie we watched last night?"

 "It's old but gold," Dick defends fervently, earning him an indulgent smile from Faust and a withering look from Damian. Damian shrinks into his seat unwilling to expend too much effort defending his mentor's taste in movies despite him enjoying the movie. You did too but you wanted to see how this would play out. Behind you, Jason shifts, a shark-like grin plastered across his face. " Just because that's the movie you modeled your life after, Big Bird, doesn't mean it's good."

 Dick makes this affronted noise that makes him sound a little like he's squawking. "It's a good movie and you know it!" Dick says earnestly, scowling at a still cocky Jason through the reflection in the windshield. You see Damian, Jason, Faust, and Tim's eyes meet in the rearview mirror, all shining conspiratorially. You and Jon give each other a look, each looking like you're bracing for disaster. 

 "Dunno, Dick, I think the second one was soooo much better," Tim pipes up finally. It sounds like the spark lighting a trail of gunpowder towards a powder keg. 

 "I have to agree with Drake," Damian says honestly sounding pained. 

 Faust rewards him with a conspiratorial smile which makes Damian ease a little. The gesture from what you understood roughly translated to 'it was for the greater good.' "So much for your taste in movies, Dickens," Faust teases, poking a finger at Dick’s shoulder. 

 "You're one to talk!" Dick says, rolling his eyes childishly. 

 Faust twists her body to look at all 5 of you, winking at you and Jon as if she was about to perform a magic trick, which wasn't off the table since she could actually pull weapons from her tattooed skin. "You guys loved Lake Placid, right?" 

 Playing along, you each gave varying sounds of agreement til Dick finally threw his hands up in exasperation. "HEATHENS!" Faust looks pleased as punch at this reaction. You giggle as Dick groans into the steering wheel as you slow to a stop in front of a cross-section. 

 "Traitors all of you," Dick says, resting his arm on the back of his seat and giving all of you a halfhearted scowl. He kind of looked like Yoohoo when you refused to give him treats. 

 You all bask in Dick’s misery. You even catch Jon giggling at Dick’s frown despite himself. The rest were completely unrepentant. They don't even bother to hide the self-satisfied smiles on their faces, least of all Damian who vehemently protested to being subjected to such drivel. This is, of course, ignoring the fact that he had watched the movie with the same rapt attention as you and Jon. You all enjoyed the movie just as much as Dick did but it was much funnier to gang up on him. 

 Dick continues to argue his point as all of you offer, frankly, bogus arguments that you say with as much conviction as Dick levels against you. The banter continues in a rather jaunty rhythm until a fallen tree forces the car into a rather abrupt stop. 

 "Shit!" Jason hisses at full volume as his knees hit the back of Damian’s seat which draws out a soft 'oof' from Damian which quickly reshapes into a snarl. Tim and Damian give Jason a look of mock sympathy. Jason raises his middle finger in a vaguely familiar gesture. 

 "Jason!" Dick says, cutting off your train of thought much to your frustration. You contemplate hissing some colorful words yourself. 

 Jason grunts, probably rubbing his shins. "They've heard, said, and done worse." You hear Jon protest beside you but it's quickly cut off by a 'not you' from somewhere. 

 Then it hits you. "Oh yeah! Dami did that hand thingy when he drop-kicked someone during lunch," you admit conversationally. 

 "Dami!" 

 Damian gives you an absolutely betrayed look. You shrug at him not entirely sure what was wrong. You shrink a little and Damian pulls back a little but still glares. 

 "Didn't you hear him say the F-word?" Jon adds. You blink at him, running through your memory like a film reel and turning up nothing. "Some of us don't have super hearing," you supply with no real anger behind it. 

 "Ope, sorry, (y/n)." You shrug at him congenially as he smiles sheepishly at you. No harm no foul. 

 "Kent!"

 "Oh- Uh, sorry, Dami." 

 Damian doesn't look appeased at all by this. 

 “Ok, so we’re just gonna skip over the fact that he drop-kicked someone?” Tim asks, raising a brow and you find yourself thinking, “Well, yeah. He’s Robin. That’s kinda his thing.”

 Jason snorts beside him, seemingly less irritable now that Dick’s attention was directed elsewhere. “He didn’t get caught soooo..”

 “Jason!”

 “Jason, we’re not supposed to be obvious about being terrible influences.” Faust jokes, now redirecting Dick’s ire to her. You can’t tell if that was intentional or not but either way she seems to be enjoying how Dick’s expression makes him look like a carp gasping for air.

 “Why did you tell them?” Damian hisses, albeit softer than he normally does. You frown at him confused. You thought it was spectacular and you really don’t know what was wrong. You really wish they’d explain it. Maybe you should speak up but would that be rude? You stare at Damian trying your hardest to convey your confusion but you’re having trouble shaping your face into the correct one. You try to keep in mind the face Jon makes when Damian tried to explain quantum physics to both of you. 

 Turning away from her argument with Dick, Faust looks at you pityingly before speaking and putting her hand up to Dick’s face lightly pushing him back. “Relax, Baby Vamp, I would’ve gotten it out of them sooner or later,” Faust says, looking at you with the same stern look Mr. Pennyworth gives you when you try to steal cookies. It kind of reminds you of the Penance Stare from Ghost Riders but with less flaming skulls and more implied disappointment. 

 “Tim was the one who ate the last few pieces of the brownies Mr. Pennyworth made for Jason.” The words flow out of you like water from a cataract. Faust waves her hand theatrically as if she had just demonstrated a magic trick. Again, you’re pretty sure this was one. You wince fully expecting Tim to have the same caustic reaction as Damian. But when you turn to look at him to apologize, Tim already had his hands up in front of him defensively. On the other side, not far enough away for Tim’s liking, Jason looks livid, steam coming out of his ears. 

 “Those were mine, asshole!”

 “You eat them every time you’re at the Manor!”

 “When I’m at the Manor! Which is what? Once every three months?”

 “Two,” Tim deadpans, holding up two fingers. 

 That was the wrong thing to say, you realize. From the way they’re staring at each other, you’re a little afraid they’d come to blows as Jason surges forward. 

 “Tim, Jay, I will turn this car around if you two don’t stop.”

 “Please, continue.” Dick shoots Damian a ‘you are not helping’ glare but Damian simply answers with a warning one. They all look ready for a brawl and all you want to do is curl up into your oversized hoodie. You play with the frayed edges of your hoodie hoping you’re radiating your discomfort.

 And like an angel of mercy, Faust clears her throat. “(Y/n), Jon, help me clear the road.” The statement leaves no room for argument and you and Jon breathe a collective sigh of relief. 

Jon lifts the tree with ease. It was an oddly healthy tree, freshly cut. Something about it made your stomach turn. “Jon could have done it alone. Why bring me?” You ask, distracting yourself from the strange feeling by fiddling with the joints of your metal hand which only made you more conscious of how pointless it was to bring you along. Faust glances towards the car. The boys are still bickering. She then glances down at you with a wry smile. “Waynes bickering is really funny from a distance.” Your eyes glance at the light scar on her running down her clavicle, disappearing into the line of her shirt.  You doubt it’s from any of them. You really doubt it. The Wayne kids were chaotic, especially the girls, but they’re never- Well, they can be hurtful but not that way. Not that you’ve seen anyway.   You shake your head and glance at the car and watch them argue. Their gestures are animated and loud enough that you could almost hear the bickering going on. This liveliness settles your stomach. 

 You spend a few minutes out there waiting for them to settle down. It was long enough for you and Jon to start debating the existence of Gummy Bear shaped aliens and for Faust to weigh in with her humble opinion. Dick honks at the three of you to tell you it was, relatively, safe to come back. Tim, Damian, and Jason were all sulking in their respective corners while Dick gives you and Jon an apologetic look. Jon simply shrugs as if to say it was normal for brothers to argue but you found it hard to picture Conner ever being that mean to Jon or vice versa for that matter. Faust rolls her eyes at the sulking birds, a fond smile quirking on her lips.  Dick gives her a look that was usually followed by the words ‘I miss not being the adult’ which she graciously answers with a smile that plainly says ‘me too.’

 In the corner of your eye, you see something- a shadow- move in the woods as you drive off, Dick’s story about space aliens falling away into the background. You turn to Jon who looks at you confused and a little concerned. It was clear he didn’t see it, whatever it was. You turn to Damian but see he’s still stewing. You blin and the shadow is gone. A sticky feeling of dread settles in your stomach. 

 There's pressure in the car. 

The camp is, well, loud. 

 Louder than you were expecting and full of rowdier children than promised. You wince slightly, ears ringing. You and Damian sigh already knowing that you were both going to be absolutely exhausted by the end of this. You turn to Jon, shoulder slumping, only to find him beaming as he watched the other kids run around. There were alot of days you envied Jon and this was one of them. Damian looks at Jon with utter disbelief. You shrug at him as he wrinkles his nose at both Jon and the hooligans running around. Your lip quirks into a scraggly smile fully understanding.

 “This is going to be repulsive,” Damian hisses.  

 “Lighten up, Dami.”

 “Nah, he’s gotta practice being dark and brooding, so when he gets to be the big bad bat he can do the whole brooding thing all-natural,” you joke, using your finger to mimic the ears of Batman’s cowl. 

 “Please, say that louder. I don’t think the supervillains heard you,” says Damian sarcastically, nose upturned.  

 Jon grins at you in a challenge. You raise a brow, crossing your arms. Your brain cell takes a vacation. 

 “HE’S GOTTA-” Damian clamps a hand on your mouth. You glare at him. His eye flicks to Jon who is sucking in a breath. Damian is throwing his other hand over Jon’s mouth when one of the counselors waves you over. All three of you blanch at the color of the shirt. 

 You all stand in an odd misshapen circle. Damian looks incredulously at the tacky camp T-shirt he’s been forced into while Jon does not contain his laughter. You joke about how a bowtie would definitely class it up which earns you a rude gesture that just makes you laugh harder. 

 “Alright kiddos, it’s time to introduce ourselves!”

 Damian froze under the weight of their collective gazes, the hint of a smile on his face fading. Sometimes being around you and Jon made him forget. Well, not really forget. It was just easier not to think about it when you two were around. Damian feels himself shifting, realigning himself to 5’ 2” of cold arrogance.

 It should have scared you just how easily the warm fondness on his face smoothed out giving way to this cold calculating face. It did on some level; on some level, the efficiency of Damian’s face muscles scared you. Sometimes you had to wonder if it was just him or if his brothers had the same knee-jerk reaction. 

 You roll your eyes as if nothing worrying had happened and bump your shoulder against his. A smile twitches on his lip and the ramrod shape of his spine curves a bit.  Jon snickers, not trying too hard to hide it, which earns him the full force of Damian’s ire but you and Jon know all too well that Damian’s just being prickly.  You step forward, shoulders broadening, nudging a glaring Damian behind you redirecting everyone’s stares towards you. It’s uncomfortable but you don’t mind. Damian huff behind you but doesn’t protest any more than that. You smile amicably or as amicably as you can. You need to remember the correct shape.  

Introductions go off without a hitch. 

 Jon, like always, has no trouble stirring the crowd. 

  You make an impression when your introduction careens into a tangent about angelfish.

 Behind you, Damian scoffs and  crosses his arms over his chest. Contrary to popular belief, Damian did have a tendency to be nervous, especially around new people. This is compounded by the fact that Damian wasn’t really versed in dealing with people his own age which just put him on edge. 

 Thankfully, all three of you get sorted into the same cabin. The cabin is chaotic in a familiar, childish sort of way with pillows flying everywhere and kids jumping up and down their bed. Jon immediately jumps into the fray. Damian follows soon after Jon hits him with a pillow square in the face. 

 “Woman up and face me, Kent!”

 You look up to the sky and smile in amusement.  This is going to be an interesting summer.

The room is solid. 

 Your eyes incandescent in the darkness. The air crackles in anticipation of the storm.  

 A silver streak of lightning tears down through the heavens and crashes down into the lake. 

 A strange dislocation in the universe has emerged.

 Your eyes shut. 

 Your ears pop. 

 You do not hear as something mangled rises from the water. 

You wanted to say this was a horrible idea. Though, you’re not sure how to phrase that without implying they’re idiots. You’ve been hanging out with Damian too much. He’s starting to rub off on you and you’re mildly concerned. 

 You’d told them that the whole fight was your fault. Ok, not entirely. You simply told the kid off when he was making fun of Jon and you were not gonna stand for that. The kid shoved you, Damian 'accidentally' broke his nose, and the next thing you know is that you’ve been shoved into a random group of campers.It’s been a week but you still weren’t familiar with a lot of the people in the camp. The man with kind eyes said this would be good for you.  You really would have preferred staying at the campgrounds, cleaning and doing whatever with the people in your cabin. 

 “Alright, kiddos, you guys can go swim while me and Jos go check something out in the woods.”

 “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t!”

 You sniff and bite your tongue, playing with the hem of your shirt. 

 "You sure they're gonna be ok?"

 "What you think they're gonna disappear like Cat?"

 Your ears perk up at this. 

 "Well, I mean-"

 "She probably just ran off with one of the town boys." 

 This was probably the best time to bring up child endangerment protocols or the fact that you’re not even dressed for swimming. By the time you string the correct combination of words,  they’re gone. You sigh and huddle yourself into a tree. It’s not like you’re dressed to swim anyway even if you wanted to. 

 You hug your knees as you flatten yourself against the tree, making sure your prosthetic limb is tucked beneath your normal one. You watch the others as they horse around looking like they’re really enjoying themselves. They probably didn’t realize you were there or did they even notice you join the group. Doesn’t matter really. Right now you would prefer to sit under the tree than risking your arm. Mr. Fox had explained that since it was still a prototype it was delicate. 

 “HEY!”

 You jump. Your skin feeling very confined. You turn to the voice. Jesse, you think. 

 “Sorry. Could you- can you say that again?”

 She rolls her eyes at you and you suddenly doubt the politeness of your speech but no you were pretty sure that was the correct way to say it. 

 “I said ‘can your arm go in the water?’.”

 Oh.

 “No?” You were half sure it couldn’t. You haven’t really tested it since it was easier to bathe without it. She gives you a skeptical look and yanks your arm towards her. You yelp. “Hey! What are you-” Your throat tightens when you find yourself at the dock. It’s shaky. The slightest shifting made it move. 

 You turn your heel mumbling an apology but your arm is yanked back. The grip is stronger now. You look back and see two people holding on to it. “Let go!” you say, trying to wrench yourself free. “It’s- it’s not a toy,” you add but they don’t budge.

 “You’re being a baby!”

 “C’mon (y/n)!”

 “Let’s see how well robots can swim!”

 You scream as they throw you into the water. 

 You thrash your limbs around, grasping for something, anything but all you can feel is the viscous emptiness deforming and reforming with every splash. 

 You cry out. 

 The water muffles your screams along with the distant sound of laughter and heckling. 

 Your mouth is filling with water.

 Your lungs. Your lungs are burning. 

 Your chest aches. 

 You can’t breathe. 

 Help!

 Help!

 Please!

 Someone!

 It hurts. 

 Your vision is pulsing. The edges are going dark. 

 Your limbs are going numb and falling to pieces. 

 The world is sinking. 

It’s so dark. 

 It’s too cold. 

 Why are you alone?

 Where are they?

 You don’t want to die like this. 

 .

.

.

.

.

.

You feel a large hand fish you out by the scruff of your shirt. It tosses you onto the shore; the force as you hit the ground knocks the air (water?) out of your lungs. You heave, gasping like a fish. A large silhouette hangs over you, cold dread licks up your spine but you note a lack of panic. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. 

 Your vision comes back in pieces and by the time the world puzzles back together, you’re alone. You’re alone and shivering like a wet rat. You look around, brushing wet hair out of your eyes and you realize you’re not entirely sure of the way back. You curl in on yourself. It does nothing to warm you but you were desperate to feel whole and safe and ok. 

 You aren’t entirely sure how long it is before Jon and Damian find you or just how they managed it but you’re thankful when someone drapes a heavy towel over your head, muffling the scattered sounds around you. Shakily, you pull the towel over your face. It hides the tears well enough. Your loose hanging limbs tighten around you. You want to shrink, small enough to smooth over the trembling in your body. You know they’ve saved people from drowning before. They’ve saved people from far worse. Heck, they’ve been through far worse. You desperately don’t want them to think of you as weak, as less but here you were trembling. You’re unable to steady your own breathing. Frustration rises in the back of your throat. It is a welcome change from the nonstop medley of panic that’s been shoved on you. 

 A hand settles itself on your head, the movement stiff, light, and controlled. The pressure increases a touch when you don’t protest. Damian radiates awkwardness as he attempts to ruffle your still-damp hair. You smile up at him through damp hair. Damian simply grunts as he continues to avoid eye contact by staring out at the empty lake. 

 Jon plops down next to you kicking his feet out in front of him. He gives your space but he’s just close enough for you to lean against if you wanted to. On his shoulder was your ratty oversized hoodie. You tug at his sleeve to ask for it. He hands it to you. You slip it on, not caring that you were still soggy. The familiar, loose weight of fabric against your skin made you feel whole and safe and marginally ok. 

 Jon presses a hand onto your back mimicking the experimental way Damian had patted your damp hair. He listens to the steadying rhythm of your heart, his own easing back into a calmer rhythm. Damian raises a brow at him and he gives him a thumbs up. Damian’s shoulders loosen and Jon can’t help the snort that comes out of him. You look at him startled and Damian gives him the ol’ Damian glare which makes him laugh out loud. Your eyes flicker to Damian and then roll your eyes, crow's feet wrinkling in the corners of your eyes. You twist your mouth into a weird squiggly line in an attempt to smother a laugh in fear of incurring Damian’s wrath. Jon highly doubts you’d be able to. Damian was, in fact, a big old softie. Sure, he acts grumpy all the time but spending so much time with both Dick and Faust has made him pretty mushy by bat standards but Jon wouldn’t dare say that out loud, at least, not when Damian looked this close to throwing him into the water. 

 You spend a long time soaking up the quiet before heading back. Jon slings an arm around you but pulls it back when he hears your heart stutter. You pinch and tug at his sleeve and mumble an apology.  You see Damian shoot Jon his version of the Pennyworth look. 

 “Sorry, (y/n).”

 “‘S ok,” you rasp quietly. 

 You three walk along the shore towards the cap. You feel too tired to even blanch at the odd feeling of wet socks as you pad along the path. You walk in silence which is interrupted by a bird call here and there with either you or Jon occasionally asking Damian to translate. He does but for some reason some odd reason, they keep calling you idiot or imbeciles. You watch Damian’s eyes flick here and there. You know he feels it too. The odd feeling of being watched. The rustle of leaves echoes eerily in the stillness. 

 The counselors, mercifully, let you skip out on the rest of the afternoon’s activities. You curl up in your cabin, warm and very comfortable in the pool of fabric created by one of Mr. Kent’s hoodies which Jon ‘accidentally’ packed. You rolled your eyes at him but accepted it gratefully. You make a mental note to thank him with the mill house cookies you ‘accidentally’ bought at one of the rest stops. 

 You flip through the yellowing pages of the book in your hand. You aren’t quite sure how to describe how inappropriate it is to give a drowning victim a book on the complete works of H.P. Lovecraft. Then again, it was better than reading Moby Dick. Plus, you’re enjoying yourself trying to find a man who is about as stealthy as a Green Lantern. You’ll have to ask Damian or Jon. Damian’s more likely to have met a Green Lantern but he’s also more likely to give you a boring and entirely inaccurate answer. 

 You go back to the fish people. Do Atlanteans walk like that? Maybe.  It feels odd somehow moving around without your prosthetic limb. Lighter but infinitely more unstable.  

 “Do you think they’ll find Cat?”

 Your ears perk up. Your eyes flick to the window and you see two counselors leaning against another cabin. You shuffle awkwardly somehow moving the mass of cloth quietly. You squish against the wall making sure they can’t see you. 

 “Cat just ran off. You know how she is.”

 “That’s what Raz said.”

 “Yeah, where is he?”

 “Who knows he’s probably just fucking around in the woods. Doing Bear Grylls shit or something.”

 “Hope he comes back soon.”

 “Do you really wanna deal with that horny jackass?”

 “No but he’s the only decent cook. Do you really wanna taste what awful concoction Ratty has for us?”

 Your stomach curdles remembering Ratty’s terrible improvisation of Doro Wat. Ratty said it was their grandmother’s recipe but you doubted it. Unlike the one Jason made for you one time, it was bland. It wasn’t even close to spicy. The vegetables were overcooked while the chicken was somehow undercooked. In short, you had nearly died twice since you got here. 

 “Nope. I’d rather starve. Isn’t their cooking like a human rights violation?”

 Starvation would be a kinder death. 

 “Yeah. Anyway, I tried asking Jos. Apparently, Raz and a bunch of the other Lil shits have been fucking around in town.”

 “Is that where Jackie disappeared to?”

 “Probably.”

 Ok, so the counselors have been dropping like flies and you have yet to notice. You should probably tell Damian and Jon. Something about this seems wrong. 

“Are you ever gonna stop glaring at them?” you ask, plopping on to the log letting your empty sleeve hang loosely off to your side. 

 “Depends, have they apologized?”

 “Ye-”

 “Sincerely?”

 “Well-”

 “Then no.”

 “Ok, but does Jon have to pout at them?”

 “I’m not pouting!”

 “Wait… That’s your glare?”

 “Yeah?” Jons says furrowing his brow. 

 “Batcow’s given me better glares!”

 “Again, (l/n) is right.”

 “Thank you!”

 “Dami, who’s side are you on?”

 Damian’s lips curl into a cat-like smile, the kind you saw on Selina. “Justice.”

 Jon throws his hands up defeated. You give Damian a low five as he settles beside you. Jon takes the seat on your other side still pouting. 

 "Do you kids know the rules to surviving a horror movie?" 

 The chattering dies down and you all fall silent, turning your full attention to the counselor. Your counselor lets out an absolutely delighted squeal, clapping their hands. You don’t miss the absolute dread on your other counselor’s face. 

 “Ok so, rule 1: Be a virgin-”

 “Ratty!” Dawes, the counselor with dread on her face, squeaks elbowing Ratty, Ratchet. “Couldn’t you have worded it differently or you know, not at all?!” Ratty, the horror enthusiast counselor, rubs their arm and sticks their tongue out at Dawes who looks like she’s going to age ten years during this conversation. 

 If you thought Dawes was pale before, she nearly turns transparent with the next few words that leave your mouth. “What’s a virgin?” you blurt out. You desperately want to curl in on yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t know. It was just your mouth runs faster than your mind.  The kids around you snicker and one of the boys behind you claps you on the shoulder, laughing loudly. You lean on Damian, hiding behind him slightly. Damian shifts so he’s shielding you more.

 Dawes sputters out her answer.  It’s hard to understand. You watch the others searching for clues for an appropriate reaction. 

 “It’s a person who’s never had intercourse,” Damian deadpans and you nod quietly. 

 Dawes’ face lights up like a Christmas tree while Ratty’s twists into pure joy. Damian rolls his eyes as the other kids laugh even louder. It takes a moment but your cheeks heat up realizing the gap in your reaction must have given them the wrong idea. You pinch the bridge of your nose and you sigh. You see Jon snort at you and you stick your tongue out at him. 

 “See, Dawes, they know.”

 “What about keeping them innocent?!” 

  “I’m not getting paid to do that,” Dawes drags her hand over her face as Ratty shrugs,” ’sides, this is life skills.” Dawes slaps Ratty on the shoulder again making them whine at the impact.  “Ok. Ok. Fine. Fine. Jeez, you hit like a son of a- Oh wait, have any of you heard about Camp Blood?”

 This gets you all to quiet down. 

 “Camp Blood? Isn’t that like a video game?”  

 “It’s like a local ghost story isn’t it?”

 “Wasn’t that the one with the fish-”

 “It’s not the fish people.”

 “Let me tell the story!”

 “Ratty, you never tell the story well. You keep making weird voices and you can’t even keep a straight face.”

 “SLANDER,” Ratty shouts, throwing up their hands. 

 “Pffft, you also gonna tell us you can cook a 5-star meal?”

 “Ok. Ok. Fine. I’ll just tell it to them straight.”

 “What? As straight as Dawes?”

 “Pffft, we’d go in circles.”

 “Hey!”

 “It’s true!”

 “You don’t have to say it.”

 “What’s the thing about Camp Blood?” Jon pipes, putting a hand over Damian’s mouth probably sensing the sharp remark he’s about to say. Damian licks his hand and Jon pulls away waving his hand like he’s been burned.  You snort then blanch when Jon rubs the spit on to your hoodie. 

 “Gather round children-”

 “Ratty, they’re in a circle get on with it.”

 “I AM TRYING TO SET THE MOOD.”

 “Jesus, ok. So, a looong time ago there was this kid named Jason Voorhes. When two counselors were fu- OW! Jeez, Dawes- Ow! Ok, fine. While two counselors were distracted, he drowned-”

 “Sounds familiar,” snipes Damian. An apologetic look crosses Dawes’ face, a confused one on Ratty’s, and sheepish one on Jos’. You squeeze his and Jon’s shoulders. 

 Ratty shakes their head. “Anyway, they never find the body so his mom comes back and hacks the new counselors into pieces as some soft of demented justice for her kid.”

 “That’s a bit of an overreaction,” Jos laughs awkwardly. The glares on them do not waver. You elbow Damian and kick Jon’s foot. Damian ignores you while Jon gives you a look of mock hurt.  You roll your eyes at him and attempt to elbow Damian a second time. Again, nothing.

 “The thing is one of the counselors actually manages to decapitate Mrs. Voorhees. She disappeared two months after though. Legend has it that Jason still roams the grounds of Camp Blood seeking revenge for his mother.”

 The air is humming, thick with the roll of thunder and  the premonition of a storm. 

 There is a dislocation in the universe. 

 Your ears pop. 

 You look at Jon who looks vaguely like his mother when she’s sniffed out a story. You look at Damian who is already sussing out every detail of the story. Your eyes meet and you all nod. 

“It has to be someone using the urban legend as some sort of cover. Or! Or maybe they’re using the urban legend to mythologize their killings,” you say, through a mouth full of contraband chocolate chip cookies. 

 Damian snatches the package from you taking a piece.“(l/n), that’s ridiculous-”

 “Yeah, we don’t even know if they’re dead yet,” Jon protests, snatching the bag from a scowling Damian. 

 “What are the odds they’re still alive?” 

 You all fall silent. “We assume they’re still alive until we see proof of the contrary,” Damian says firmly. You and Jon nod. The movement feels heavy.  

 “But what if the Jason ghost is a real thing?”

 “Possible.”

 “(l/n), don’t indulge him.”

 “Jon is literally part alien,” you protest

 “Jason has come back from the dead and Faust literally has moving tattoos,” Jon adds.

 “YOUR DAD IS LITERALLY BEST FRIENDS WITH A 5000-YEAR-OLD AMAZONIAN AND A DUDE WHO CAN LIFT BUILDINGS.”

 “Ok, fine but we should eliminate the more mundane explanations first,” Damian concedes accepting another cookie. 

 “I think we have. It’s too rapid and obvious to be a human trafficking operation.”

 “We should find the counselors first.”

 “Yeah, that’s a start.”

 “Where should we start?”

 “Abandoned cabins would be a good start,” you suggest trying not to perk up. 

 Damian glares at you and you wither. “(l/n), you’re not coming with us.”

 “You say this like (y/n)’s gonna listen,” Jon laughs. 

 “ET has a point,” you say, grinning and opening another packet. You offer Jon the first cookie as thanks. 

 “Can’t I at least be a cool alien?”

 “Nope.”

 “Will you two focus?”

 “Yeah. No.”

 Damian pinches his nose. You completely understand why people think Damian makes a convincing fifty year old. “(l/n)...”

 “Ok, fiiiine. I’ll stay out of it.”

 “Don’t even think about sneaking out.”

 You frown and nod. 

 You tiptoe through the brush, one metallic arm wrapped around you, the other hanging limply to your side flashlight clasped tight in your metallic hand.  Camp Blood isn’t too far. You silently survey a few cabins finding nothing particularly interesting aside from cobwebs and potentially dead animals. The air is musty and decayed. You sniff and rub your nose as you walk through the camp guided only by strips of moonlight. If you were to run into a murderer now, you would only have your flashlight to defend you. You didn’t like those odds. 

 You’re a deer in headlights. 

 Dry mouth. 

 Skin going cold. 

 A scream burbling in the back of your throat. 

 The lumbering figure is coming closer. 

 You know he can see you. 

 Your feet are fused to the ground. 

 The light of the machete winking at you from a distance. 

 The world turns into a blur when your back hits the rotting wood of the abandoned cabin. 

 “What did I say about sneaking out?” Damian hisses, arm pressed on your neck. You blink. A flood of relief crowds your chest. 

 You sling your arms around him and he stiffens. You explain away the surprised little yelp as something animal and not something from your friend. “I didn’t sneak out. I went to the bathroom then I wandered off,” you mumble. 

 “How exactly is that different?” 

 “Less tiptoeing.” 

 "Funny."

 "It is."

 "Have you seen Kent?"

 "Sadly no."

 "Shit- Don't tell Grayson."

 "The fact that you swore or the fact that you somehow lost Superman's kid" 

 He glares at you and you can't help but shrug. 

 "Both." 

 "Fair," you say, pausing for half a breath.���Did you find the hostages?”

 Damian’s face falls then hardens then you know better than to ask him.  

 “We should find Jon,” Damian says finally. You flick your eyes and shake your head pushing down the urge to make fun of his slip. You’ll tell Jon later. 

 You two walk together, shoes in hand. It was easier. Maybe after this, you’ll ask Tim to teach you how to sneak around. 

 The sound of crashing wood fills the still night air. You and Damian freeze. 

 “JON.” Damian is the first to launch himself towards a cabin. You shamble behind him, plodding through the muddy earth as fat droplets of rain splashing down.   You would have blanched at the squishing but all you could think about was Jon.  

“Jon!”

 “Dami! (y/n)!”

 “Are you ok?”

 “I’m in a hole. What do you think?”

 You look him over as best you can in the dark. Damian seems to be having a better time. “You’re not in pain, so yeah.”

 Jon huffs, shifting around in the pile of clothes. His nose wrinkles.“This jumper smells like something died in it," he says holding up a particularly old looking sweater. It's blotchy with various stains around the neck. 

 “Check for a pulse!” you shout, earning a sharp jab to the rib from Damian. You glare and rub your chest.

“Guys, I don’t wanna alarm you but I’m pretty sure there’s a decapitated head down here”

 “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Damian asks incredulously. Your skin drains of all color and warmth. 

 “Do you want the good news or bad news?”

 “That’s not-”

 “Where in that pile of bloody clothes did you get good news?”

 “Good news is he’s not here,” Jon says, eyes sweeping around.”Bad news, he’s actually real.”

 “Stop messing around and get out of there, Kent!”

 “Jon, come on! Fly or something!”

 “My powers are going-” Jon jumps. But only manage to just fall back down. “I can’t fly.”

 Damian groans. He pinches his nose and goes off to look for something to pull Jon up with.

 “Why do you think your powers aren’t working?”

 Jon shrugs. “Magic?” This place is cursed. 

 “We are dealing with a ghost,” you shrug back. You all freeze. The sound of distant footsteps making your heart race.

 “Dami!” you hiss, over your shoulder. 

 “I can’t find anything!”   

 “Wait,” you say, unfastening your arm and reaching down to Jon. Damian grabs hold of it with both hands and you two start pulling Jon up. 

 The footsteps are getting louder, closer. 

 "Hurry!" you hiss quietly. 

 Your hearts are racing. 

 You pull, Jon getting closer. 

 He’s almost in arm’s reach. 

 The man is getting closer. 

 You can hear his breathing. 

 You pull Jon up, feet kicking. You wrestle him into a hug with one arm, making a little happy squeal into his hair low enough that only they can hear. Damian nudges you with your arm. 

 “Well that was scary,” Jon whispers into your shoulder. Damian smacks him upside the head. You laugh but cut yourself off when you see Damian stiffen. “RUN!”

 You all scramble up and begin to dash away. You look back over your shoulder, machete winking at you, hockey mask visible in the dim light. 

 You stumble, feet getting tangled in roots. You yelp,  bracing for impact and possibly dying.  You feel arms scoop you up. You squeak. “No one gets left behind, soldier,” Jon says grinning. 

 “How are you still a goof when we’re about to die?” you laugh incredulously. 

 “He clearly gets it from his father.”

 “ Pfffft, probably or maybe it's an alien thing.”

 “Are you really gonna make fun of me, right now?” Jon protests, shouting over the rain. 

 “You two! This way!” Damian points to a small hole in the hillside.

 “I’m too tall for that!” Damian glares.

 You snort. “Just duck.” Jon scowls at you then sighed. 

 You all slide into a small crevice and hunched together. 

 “What’s the plan?”

 “Jon, are your powers working?”

 “Kind of?”

 “Ok, that’s one thing we have going for us,” Damian hands you a phone. "You call while we distract him." 

 "Why do you have to distract him?" 

 "Ask him yourself, (l/n)."

 Your eyes sweep up to the tall figure. Your mouth goes completely dry. 

 "Fuck." 

 Jason brings his machete down in a swift arc light. You grab Damian by the scruff of his shirt. The machete embeds itself into the wall, getting caught in the process. Your moment of relief doesn’t last long when Jason lunges for you.  You scream as he catches your arm. With a soft click it detaches and you scramble away and out the hole into the pouring rain. He’s hot on your heels. You hear a loud thud. You look over your shoulder. Jon’s resting against the wall, head slumped. You see him throw Damian to the ground. You call 9-11 as you hurl your shoe at him. The dial tone is ringing. When you look up again, Jason is heading towards you. You stumble barefoot trying to get away. Predictably, you fall, foot catching on another tangle of roots.  

  “Hello? Hello? Is anyone out there?”

 “Please help,” you whisper as Jason raises your arm to the sky. Your life flashes through like a film reel. Your breath is caught. Lightning flashes. 

 You watch the lightning cut through the heavens. The silver streak of light connecting might your arm and by extension Jason.  The arm explodes. Shrapnel flies everywhere. Jason bursts into flames. The smell of burning flesh cutting through the air. You watch in open-mouthed horror as another bolt of lightning hits. He falls body fried to a crisp. You wretch the smell still strong. 

 "Kid! Kid! Are you ok?" 

 "No…" you gasp, bile lining the back of your throat, "please,hurry. We're at Camp Blood." 

You’re cold and wet and forced to huddle into one blanket since the officer who responded only had one on hand.  Damian is talking on the phone. It’s hard to make out amidst the pouring rain, so you settle in letting Jon rest his head on your shoulder as he drifts to sleep. The officer said the rest of the force is coming to collect the bodies. The camp is most likely gonna be shut down for the summer. You weren’t keen on spending the entire summer with your cousins. 

 “I’ve informed father that you’re staying with us for the rest of the summer.”

 “Informed?” you laugh, relieved, ”good luck telling Jon that.”

 You both eye him. Jon snores into your ear and you can’t help but smile. “He’ll be fine.”

   Bonus

 The map in Jon’s hands crinkles loudly as he shuffles through it trying to find the correct route. You know the route. You memorized it before you even set off. You did it instead of studying for finals. It was certainly more entertaining than studying for a US history final when you already knew it was just gonna be about the American Revolution, World War II, and probably the Vietnam war. You hold back the snicker threatening to spill from your lips when, with each crinkle of the Dollar Store map, Damian’s brow twitched. Yes, this was the purpose of the map. It was most certainly doing its job well. 

 “You think they’ll still have the same dumb camp activities?”

 “You say this like you weren’t squealing to try all of them.”

 “Was not!”

 “Dunno,  Jon,  Dami has a pretty good memory.”

 Your car rolls to a stop in front of a cross-section. You drum your fingers against the steering wheel before you let curiosity override your self-preservation. 

 “How did you convince Dami to come along?”

 Jon tilts his head at you in question. “I didn’t,” he says slowly, “I thought you did.”

 Your passenger goes deadly silent. You both twist your bodies to look at him. Jon gives him a knowing smile while you give him a reassuring one that says ‘it’s ok you can tell us’. Damian avoids all eye contact like the plague, glaring at the window like there’s a particularly interesting speck of dust on it.  

 His eyes narrow. And you have the odd urge to follow his gaze. 

 The trees shift. 

 The pressure in the car builds. 

 Jon’s laughter stalls. 

 A shape flickers in the distance. 

 Your ears pop. 

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

a/n: THANKS FOR READING! Yes, reader has a prosthetic limb because I was reading 3 birds. Also, this can be treated as pre-slash. Epilogue is up for interpretation. Probably. Also fun fact, Faust is the basis for merc reader. I could not resist putting her in. 

Tag list:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical