#its been days i cant stop looking at this resisting the urge to draw him all happy and sillt the femons are LPUD

[strawberyz]

:(((

How did I ever forget that??

-Tim

[yinses]

B R A N D E D

| he would make sure that everyone knew who you belonged to |

tattoo artist! sukuna ryomen

rating: t

a/n: this is going to be a three part series. it got too long because i couldn’t shut up. thank you to @teoran for beta reading !! 

you should have never informed yuuji that you were thinking about getting a tattoo, because of course his first response would be hey, sukuna owns a shop. why don’t you stop there. as if you didn’t already known that. your other friend, unfortunately had not known how to be subtle about it.

its when you go to hand off your card that they gasp audibly, drawing the attention of both yourself and the woman behind the counter.

“you’re not going to ask for a discount? i mean you know the owner, right?”

she jumps back quick enough to dodge the errant elbow you throw her way.

you knew you would regret telling her.

the woman is undeterred as she take your card, looking bored with the news. “so you know sukuna, huh?” the way she said it implied that it wasn’t the first time it had been made known to her.

you had known the man long enough to know where her thoughts were going with that assumption. sukuna wasn’t only popular for his art. a shudder rolled through your body at the idea of being categorized as one of his flings.

it wasn’t as though you were intentionally shaming the women. but it was sukuna. the same guy who locked you and his younger brother out on the patio whenever he was meant to keep an eye on you. and then blamed you for hiding from him when the responsible adults got home.

in hindsight, maybe you should have chosen another location. but now your card has been charged.

you scribbled your signature on the receipt, “uh yeah, awhile now. im not requesting him or anything.”

“his appointment book is full anyway. he doesn’t take walk ins.” its not said snidely, just matter of fact. as if she was seasoned with dealing with these kind of customers.

the man of topic strides in then, carrying a few bags of take-out that he drops carelessly onto the counter. he doesn’t m look unlike any other day, a loose white sleeveless shirt with a low hanging v-neck that just invited attention to his skin. the swirls of black ink made permanent by his hand only. though that was the advantage of this field and owning your own business on top of it.

sukuna was prepared to ignore the clientele planted at front desk, until he did a double take. those vermilion eyes took you in, morphing from speculation, to shock, a pinch of awe, then back to postulation.

“what are you doing here?”

a small frown mars you face. you didn’t actually consider that perhaps sukuna wouldn’t want you here. it was one thing to know the guy, but whether you wanted to accept it or not, you weren’t just another customer. so you unsurely respond with, “getting a tattoo?”

the snort he gives isn't one of annoyance. in fact its almost comforting to see the minuscule curl of his lips until they start to part, “yeah, missing something aren’t you?”

you realize with a frown that he’s referring to his brother.

“i have other friends.”

that slow smile wides as he gives your friend a brief look of appreciation. suddenly all those years of witnessing him cart his flings around rise to the forefront of your mind.  really nothing rarely changed. “ i can see that.”

his gaze cuts back to you, “what are you getting? your boyfriends name?”

you cant tell if he’s teasing, fishing or a combination of them both.

he turns to lean over the counter, arms flexing at the action and pinches the fresh design still hot from the printer. you resist the urge to shuffle in place as he inspects the image with more interest than there were lines. it was hardly all that complex, just as you intended.

sukuna finally voices his opinion, to no surprise of your own. “yeah? kind of small isn’t it?”

“its my first sukuna,” you drawl.

you realize too late that the wording isnt best around him.

“no kidding.”

he tugs a styrofoam box free from the plastic bag before gesturing to you with a tilt of his head.

“alright, lets knock it out.”

you look to the woman expecting her to complain about his pending appointments but she only returns it with a pointed look. when it came down to it, what the boss wanted goes.

right then.

turning, you address your friend who seemed more invested in watching sukuna’s departure. “are you coming?”

her gaze snaps to you and she doesn’t even bother to pretend. she shrugs, “you may not be squeamish about needles but i am.” her hand waves vaguely towards the lounge area near the coffee station and stack of assorted snacks. “i’ll come running if you scream though,” she teases as you turn down the hall.

sukuna’s voice carries from the right in guidance where you find him setting his food off to the side. the room is neat. though you don’t know what you were expecting given the health expectations lining his work. then again, you’d spent the better part of the decade watching him cart week old pizza boxes out of his room so it was hardly a baseless assumption.

aside from the desk of tools and variety of inks the only other defining feature was the wall at the back. there was no rhyme or direction to the madness. the once white wall was littered with varying penmanships and messages. almost like an autograph book. some derogatory, others genuinely thankful for his work - you think you see a few numbers too.

the cushion of the seat protests under his weight as he rolls to the center of the room. he has the stencil of your chosen art held up in expectation.

“where is this pretty little thing going?”

“oh my rib- here on the right.” you think nothing of bringing up the hem of your shirt to expose the skin just under the curve of your breast.

he almost looks impressed, though there is some doubt. he wheels closer and gives no warning as his hand palpates the area. “over the bone? that’s daring for your first tattoo, princess.”

the name was nothing new, an accompaniment to yuuji’s ‘brat’.

part of you actually grateful that its sukuna. the entire shop had good reviews but it was best known for his talent. besides, the charge was already sitting on your card.

“i can handle it.”

he’s still squinting at your side, fingers tickling at your skin.

“yeah?” he answers absently. nimble digits you didn't think had any taste for delicacy carefully peel the plastic from the stencil. he doesn’t second guess himself in the slightest before pressing it to your skin.

when he pulls away, the chair follows him as he collects a hand mirror from his desk to reflect the design back to you.

“double sure?” he’s still rallying your resolve, but there is a hint of warning to his voice as professionalism seeps in.

with a firm nod you seal the deal,” yeah.”

“aright, pin up your shirt out of the way. tuck it into your bra if you want.”

you were expecting this already, given the location you’d decided on. with sukuna that action comes effortlessly without thought. it was no different than the times he’d seen you in your bathing suit, your brain reasoned. at least you still had your pants this time.

sukuna rests back into a lean against his small desk. absently you note that his eyes haven't left you once since you’d entered the room.

“eager little thing aren't you?”

but its sukuna.

you shrug.“ i guess. kind of been saving up for this one.”

the noise he makes is non-committal as he nods to the angled chair.

without your shirt there was no barrier between yourself and the leather. you expected the cold chill but the lack of stickiness kind of surprised you. once again you were reminded of the indisputable list of reviews at your fingertips.

sukuna goes about collecting the materials to disinfect your skin, angling the bottle and cotton over the trash can to catch the excess drops. satisfied with the saturation, he slides back.

you try to absorb the brief shock you feel when he applies the alcohol to your skin. it was hardly a substitute for actual bracing to come but it was good practice. when you look up, you catch his gaze again.

he’d been more observant in these last few minutes than you could ever recall sukuna caring before. maybe it was the job. though the thought of him excelling at customer service has you fighting a snort.

“cold,” you supply and he gives another grunt.

he chucks the cotton ball into the trash with all the efficiency of a man who has made a sport out of it and probably keeps score.

deciding on a solid color eliminated the need for him to break away to change shades, eliminating any surplus time keeping you in this chair.

a gloved hand braces your side, pinching the skin, while the other holding the gun rests against your sternum. when the motor starts you take a careful breath in. sukuna’s eyes raise at the sound.

“not nervous?”

you blink, expecting him to just get to it.

“uh, not really? i’ve never really been afraid of needles.”

he pauses. just when you part your lips to ask what wrong the buzzing starts.

its impossible not to tense at the first bite of the needle. but you fight the urge to jerk. it stings. the vibration of the motor is uncomfortable against your ribcage but it's not unbearable. you certainly wouldn't cry.

sukuna seems to notice it as well.

“not going to lie thought you’d be more of a cry baby? weren't you the one sobbing after you stubbed your toe.”

you latch onto the idle chatter even if it's a jibe.

“i was eleven and i sprained that toe.”

he gives you a quick glance. “sure, princess. completely called for the waterworks.”

you snort. “yeah well it made me stronger. im barely affected today.”

your words are followed by a shift of his hand as it turns to follow a line, the movement pressing firmly against the underside of your breast. you're too attentive to the needle pinching at your skin to take notice.

but sukuna does, eyes narrowing without your awareness.

“yeah, i can see that.”

rather than closing your eyes to block out the pain, you find a more comforting distraction in tracing the lines of his tattoos with your gaze. you can hardly make out the first tattoo he’d gotten at the age of seventeen after forging his parents signature. 

the abstract design had now branched out, interlocking with new styles to map out the formation of a sleeve. it was almost like his own branded language. a dialect of bold shapes and bands. you’d never thought to actually ask what his tattoos meant. nor did you expect an honest answer.  

sukuna works rather quickly and efficiently while your mind wandered. even if he hadn’t squeezed you in during his lunch break this felt like the usual pace for him. he looked so in the zone as he followed the pre-made lines to perfection.

you weren’t the model customer, still having your brief moments of weakness but he rolled with the interruptions better than you expected. sukuna was brash growing up and didn’t tolerate nonsensical people. you’d had your fair share of opportunities to be chewed out by him.

and earned a reasonable amount of them, though your returning attitude said otherwise.

but this sukuna was softer, if you could put it like that. he knew the right time to give you breaks but didn’t let your nerves settle too much. when he wasn’t adding a layer to permanency to your skin, an errant finger would smooth over the swelling flesh.

more than once you heard him throw out a quiet good girl. that you knew was meant to be encouraging but it came with additional implications that tickled your skin.

he tells you that you should be grateful that the artwork doesn’t need any shading. that it was never a good fit for beginners.

your chest expands the furthest it had in the last half hour when he finally rolls back.

“alright, princess, go ahead and take a look.”

you take the offered mirror again and angle it to take in the fresh piece. the reflection you get back is- amazing. you’d been so concentrated?? on micromanaging the pain that you failed to take in the little details he’d added along with the original design.

as if reading your thoughts, he snorts. “it's not my art if i don't leave my mark. you can tell me it looks good you know.”

if you didn't know any better, you’d say he was authentic in his attempt to bait your approval.

and you had no reason not to provide.

your legs are a little shaky but you manage to balance yourself before brining the eldest itadori into a hug. sukuna goes stiff for a moment before returning the embrace and doesn’t resist when you press your face into his shoulder. there’s an awkward pat before they release each other from the hold.

sukuna .. before he’s shrugging you off.

“god, what a noob. at least let me cover it up. you’re going to irritate the skin.”

when he turns back to rummage through his desk you note the hint of a flush creeping up his nape. you know better than to mention it, instead just smiling at his back.

there is a scowl on his face as he applies the cotton square to your skin and tapes it in place.

“please do not itch this shit. i don’t care if you feel like your skin is going to fall off.”

he presses a small tube of antibiotic into your hand.

“and apply this daily. you don't need it drying out. “

you’re grateful for the little slip of printed instructions that follow. you were able to remember the sensible directions but it couldn't hurt to have additional guidance when you started to question the progress.

“oh and no sex.”

that was definitely not on the list.

sukuna raises a brow in all seriousness. “what? if you get your blood pumping too much.”

you call him on his bullshit,” this small? hardly. “

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “alright, try it yourself if you want. i charge for touch ups though.”

the two of you size each other up. just like old times.

with a sigh you relent, “fine, no sex.”

“good, see me in two weeks.”

his words stop you short. it wasn’t as if you needed anything added and he wasn’t a physician checking on your progress. if anything, you would only revisit your artist if there was a problem.

“what for?”

the dawning grin would follow you for the next fourteen days.

“to make sure you didn’t have sex.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Id bet money that yandere!bakugou watches his darling sleep. He just HAS to. He cant help himself.

You bet your ass he does. And, if I’m any good at this whole writing thing, he does so with as much repressed paranoia as possible. It’d be the closest thing he has to an actual hobby, honestly, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. That’d just be out of character.

Title: Loving Observation.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Slight Codependence, and Mentions of Somnophilia. 

~

It wasn’t like Katsuki liked watching you sleep.

That was much was common sense. Of course he didn’t like it, of course he didn’t enjoy it, who would? He’d heard stories of guys getting off on the vulnerability, the helplessness, the secrecy, but vulnerability and helplessness and weakness weren’t the kinds of things Katsuki was interested in. Staying up all night was boring. He was always exhausted the next day, always irritated, and he always told himself he wouldn’t do it again the next night, that’d he’d sleep by your side and resist the urge to perch himself at the foot of your bed and stare you down with all the intensity of a bird of prey. But, it was the next night, and here he was, standing guard with all the loyalty of a well-trained pet.

Momentarily, he wondered if he’d start growing feathers, if he kept this up.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep, either. He was sure he’d be able to, and if not, Katsuki was always the type to make the best of his insomnia, he’d never liked the idea of wasting so many precious, undisturbed hours on a staring contest with the ceiling. No, if he hadn’t been able to sleep, he’d be researching the villain he’d have to track down in the morning, or meal-planning, or doing anything besides fisting at the sheets and watching you - tired, beautiful, narcoleptic you - drool onto your pillow and kick your comforter into the space he should be occupying, a habit he knew you’d never fight off. He could sleep, it’d be easy to, but he couldn’t let himself sleep. He couldn’t take that risk. He couldn’t be so careless. He couldn’t do something that dangerous and wake up to a corpse, as his reward. He couldn’t let you down like that.

So, he dug his nails into his hand, letting soothing, awakening pain run from the heel of his palm into his wrist until it infected the tips of his fingers and made the rest of the world a little more vivid. Until it made him a little more aware.

You must’ve been used to falling asleep without him, by now. There was always an effort, an extra cup of coffee or a slurred declaration that you weren’t going to bed until he found the time to carry you there, but you’d worked late, tonight, and you’d been ready to collapse the moment you dragged yourself into his apartment. He’d blamed himself for that, too - if he was really as good of a boyfriend as you thought he was, he wouldn’t let you work yourself to the point of exhaustion. But, he’d been called out for an emergency, and by the time he got home, you were already out, undressed and unconscious under the assumption that he’d join you whenever he was ready to, and you’d be able to make it up to him in the morning with a kiss and an apology for wearing yourself out. 

He wanted that. You couldn’t imagine how badly he wanted that. It was the kind of domestic, private bliss he’d come to crave, since you two first moved in together, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to indulge in it. Holding you was just too tempting, too innocent. A million things could go wrong as soon as wrapped his arms around you. He could roll over and break your arm, he could hold you too tightly and suffocate you, he could do something wrong and hurt you, because punishing the people that loved him seemed to be the only thing he was good at doing. Because he would hurt you, if he let himself.

Because something else would hurt you, eventually, and he’d be the one to blame.

So wrapped up in his own thoughts, he almost didn’t notice when you rolled over, a small groan forcing itself through your parted lips as you settled onto your back, your hands drifting from your pillow to your sides, and then to your chest, another sound of discomfort drawing his attention to your current position. The air fled from his lungs only to hitch in his throat, and for a moment, he watched as you went still. Mentally, he went through your schedule, through the hours of the day, through every risk you’d taken and ever hazard he’d forced you into. Your job was draining, but it wasn’t dangerous, he’d made sure of that. You took the safest route home he’d been able to find, and he’d been slipping supplements into your food for weeks, a habit you wouldn’t approve of, but one he took to keep you healthy, to keep you safe. Still, there was too much that wasn’t accounted for. There was too much he didn’t know. There were too many things he hadn’t seen because you were so independent and because he was a failure of a guardian and because you must hate him--

Your expression contorted from neutrality to pained discomfort, and Katsuki stopped thinking.

In an instant, he was on top of you, straddling your stomach as he took you by the shoulders, wrenching you upward with all the frantic desperation of a soldier under fire. There was no blood, no injury, but an invisible threat was so, so much worse than a wound he could see and evaluate and fix on his own. Your eyes flew open, your hands finding his in less than a second, but your scream was swallowed down as your shock turned to confusion and that confusion faded into bleary, startled concern. You didn’t try to push him away, didn’t writhe or struggle out of his grip, only scanning over his wide-eyed, panicked expression as you collapsed back onto the mattress, adrenaline dissolving into little more than an unpleasant fatigue. That was good, that was great. You were fine, you were alright, you were perfect. He was just being paranoid, you were…

You were glaring at him.

Fuck, right. He probably deserved that.

“What is it?” You spoke slowly, your voice weighed down by sleep. Already, you were settling back down, and a second later, Katsuki followed your lead, falling to your side and keeping to himself until he felt a tap to his forearm, a signal that you weren’t that mad at him. Hesitantly, he uncurled himself, letting you burrow into his chest, your arm soon draped over his waist and your head resting on his bicep. You didn’t seem to care that he didn’t return the gesture. “Better think of something good, ‘suki. If the building’s not on fire, someone’s gonna sleep on the couch.”

He chuckled, dryly, more at the idea of him sleeping at all than to indulge your idle threat. “I thought... I mean, you looked like you were in pain,” He admitted, knowing you wouldn’t remember this conversation clearly enough to recognize the implications. “I was worried. You know how I get, about you.”

“I know how you get about everything.” There was a sigh, this time, a slight lean in his direction. Without a second thought, he plucked the comforter from where it draped over the side of the bed, laying it over your tense form despite your earlier attempts to free yourself from its plush entrapment. Immediately, you relaxed against him, thanking Katsuki with a small smile and a soft kiss to his collarbone. “This is the third time I’ve ‘been in pain’ this week. I know you’re just being protective, and I know you’re trying to help, but--” Despite the darkened bedroom, you averted your gaze. As you went on, your tone became a little more lucid, a little more genuine. His heart twisted in his chest, and Katsuki wondered if it’d be less painful to make you think he hadn’t cared at all. “The way you’ve been acting is really starting to bother me. You’re not getting any rest, and you’ve been so erratic, lately. It’s hard not to feel like this is....” You paused, biting the inside of your cheek. “Like this is bad for us.” 

It was futile to deny it. Assuring you was probably just as useless, but it felt like the right thing to do. “I know, baby. But I’m trying to--”

“Promise me.” You were clinging to him, now, your words muffled by his skin. “You have to promise me this is going to end. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to...”

You didn’t have to finish. Katsuki knew what you were going to say, and he knew it was as terrifying for you as it was for him. He didn’t want to leave you. He didn’t want you to leave him, even if he knew it was for his own good. He wanted things to be better, but he couldn’t stop, not if he wanted you to be protected, not if he wanted you to be safe. He wouldn’t be able to stop worrying, not unless he found a way to make sure he didn’t have anything to worry about.

It was an awful thought. An awful thing to even consider doing to another person. It was awful, and yet, he found himself pulling you closer, his body going slack as he finally let himself relax. It’d be awful, but it’d be safe, too. And it wasn’t like you were giving him much of a choice.

Giving you up wasn’t an option. You’d suffer, but you’d be secured and bound and safe, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t take care of you. He was a good boyfriend, or, he was really trying to be one, at least, and doing something so extreme, something so permant, would only prove he was more devoted, more capable, more loving. Even if he doubted you’d see it that way. 

From his experience, people usually didn’t react well to waking up in handcuffs. 

Not at first, at least. 

“I promise.”

[carry-the-sky]

your tongue told me every lie

back on my brio bullshit! this is an old fic that i decided to clean up a bit, and then *ahem* add an e rating to. it’s set in some vague s2 timeline, because i miss s2. :/

inspired by this fantastic piece of art by @lindigo 🔥🔥🔥 also on ao3!!

many thanks to my dear friend @kastlecastles for looking this over. <3

.

The day after the cops almost find Boomer’s body, Annie suggests they take the night off, just the three of them. No work, no family—

“And no extracurricular friends,” Annie emphasizes, side-eyeing Beth as she says it, which Beth does not appreciate. She’s about to say as much, but then Ruby is emerging from the closet, holding a dress Beth has no memory of buying. It’s sleek and cherry-red, and she feels exposed just looking at it. 

“No—” she starts to protest, but Ruby holds up a hand.

“You’re wearing it,” she says, fixing Beth with a stare that chases her rebuttal back down her throat. “Don’t get me wrong, you rock a pantsuit better than Hillary—”

“Way better than Hillary,” Annie interjects, then shrugs when Beth glares at her.

“—but we’re going glam, tonight,” Ruby finishes. She hangs the dress on the door. “You’re wearing it.”

And that’s the end of that.

.

She brings the dress to work. It hangs on the back of the door to Dean’s office—her office, now, her door—and Beth feels a small thrill every time she sees it, anticipation and nerves all blended up in the pit of her stomach.

It’s not that she‘s ashamed of her body, or the way she looks. She knows her curves are sexy. She’s just not sure anyone else does.

(Beth absolutely does not think about Rio. She doesn’t think about his hungry eyes raking up the entire length of her body, or the way his tongue sometimes darts between his teeth when he’s looking at her. She doesn’t think about that night at the bar, how firm his hand was when he grasped her thigh, palmed the curve of her breast—)

Beth keeps her door wide open the rest of the day.

.

She’s utterly exhausted by closing time, but it’s a good feeling. I can do this, she thinks as she packs up, doing one last circuit around the sales floor. I can do this well.

She hasn’t forgotten about the dress, but that light and airy anticipation from earlier has evaporated, leaving her stomach heavy with dread. For a moment, Beth considers telling Annie and Ruby that she forgot it, or that it didn’t fit—but that somehow feels worse than just putting the stupid thing on, so she begrudgingly yanks it off the hanger and goes to the dealership’s bathroom to change.

The sharp fluorescent lights do nothing to lift her mood, and she scrunches her nose at her reflection. The dress itself isn’t bad, it’s just—not her.

She laughs aloud. None of this—robbing a bank, laundering money for a street criminal, sleeping with said criminal, assuming management over her husband’s car dealership—none of this is her, is it? She’s not so sure, anymore.

Be a boss bitch.

Beth sizes up her reflection in the mirror, the sleek dress with its sweetheart neckline.

Yeah. She can do that.

Beth almost doesn’t see him. She’s shoving her work clothes unceremoniously into her bag when movement flashes in her periphery, and she yelps—

“So I guess y’all don’t do casual Fridays,” Rio says, a smile spreading wide across his face as he eyes the dress, her red pumps.

Beth blows out a shaky breath. “You scared the shit out of me. Don’t you ever, I don’t know, use a cell phone?”

“Nah, I’m old-fashioned.” He’s sitting at her desk, a smirk still playing at his lips, and Beth is torn between wanting to slap him or do something else to wipe that expression off his face.

“What do you want?” she says. “We’re closing soon, which for most people would mean come back tomorrow—”

Rio quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not most people.”

“Look,” Beth snaps, “as much fun as your drive-by visits are, I don’t have time for this tonight.”

“What, you got a hot date, or somethin’?”

Beth scoffs. “Maybe I do, yeah.”

Rio just looks at her for a second, his eyes hazy even in the glow of early-evening light filtering in through her office windows. Beth doesn’t like the way it’s stirring something up in her gut, warm and slow like sun-warmed honey.

“What,” she sighs, “do you want?”

Rio shifts in his chair, legs spreading slightly. “Just wanted to see how my business is doin’.”

“Excuse me, your business?”

“Sixty-percent, yeah? Last time I checked, that’s more than half. Which means it’s more mine than yours, sweetheart.”

Anger sparks in her chest, hot and fast. Her cheeks are warm with it. “Get out,” she demands. “Now.”

Rio leans forward. “You gonna make me?”

She’s not sure how it happened, but she’s standing almost directly in front of him. From this angle, she can see the shadow that the collar of his shirt casts across his throat.

From this angle, he has to look up at her.

“You don’t scare me,” she says, her voice a low scrape of sound.

He wants to touch her—she can feel the want radiating off him, can see the lines of his tendons as he clenches his fingers against his knees. But he doesn’t move. When it comes to—this, whatever the hell it is, he’s always let her take the lead.

She should leave, now. She should—

She can’t explain what makes her reach out, what makes her brush the tips of her fingers against his arm. His skin is smoother than she expects, the muscles of his forearm taut beneath her hand.

“Right,” he says, voice hoarse. His eyes are fixed on her. “Right, ‘cause you’re the boss, now.”

And then he’s got a hand on her, his palm curved around the meat of her thigh. His fingers skate upwards, teasing around the dress’s hem. Beth feels each point of contact like a laser, every one of her nerve endings attuned to where he’s touching her.

“Annie and Ruby are waiting for me,” she breathes.

Rio’s eyes are wildfire. “So let ‘em wait.” 

His hand skims higher, and Beth spasms when the pad of his thumb slips beneath her panties. He huffs a laugh, looking so goddamn pleased with himself. “You like that, ma?”

Beth narrows her eyes, but it’s useless—her legs are quivering beneath his hands, and she knows he can feel it. “You are such an asshole,” she hisses. 

“ ‘S one school of thought,” he murmurs, the words slow and husky. His eyes don’t leave her face as his fingers graze her inner thigh, and her breath catches in her throat. She still hasn’t closed up shop, and yeah, it’s the end of the day, but someone could still walk in, someone could see—

It’s dangerous, what she’s doing. It’s bad. 

Pleasure sparks between her legs, and Beth has to resist the urge to clamp her thighs together. Her nails dig into his arm, and something bright flashes behind his eyes, something predatory. He’s looking at her like he wants to open her up, see what comes spilling out. See exactly what she’s made of.

You’re the boss, now. 

She draws herself up slightly, chin jutting out. “You gonna take all day down there?” she says, proud that her voice stays steady. “Like I said, I have somewhere to be.” 

Rio makes a noise in his throat, rumbling low like thunder, and she knows she has him. Satisfaction unfurls in her chest—and then he’s sliding a finger into her, and all coherent thought is driven from her head, lost to the rush of her pulse in her ears, the delicious stretch as he eases his way in.

It’s muscle memory that has her grasping at his shoulder, her pelvis canting into his palm to chase the friction. Rio pushes deeper, and she has to bite her lip to keep quiet. She slants her neck up toward the ceiling, her eyes shuttering.

“Like it when you boss me around,” he’s saying, dragging his finger out before pumping into her again. Beth can’t help it this time—she shudders, a soft whimper breaking past her lips. Slowly, Rio slips his finger out again, teasing lazy circles around her entrance. Beth’s hand jumps to his wrist, tugging emphatically. “Yeah,” Rio laughs, “yeah, just like that.”

“Didn’t—tell you to stop,” Beth gasps.

“Loud ‘n clear, darlin’,” Rio says, adding another finger as he plunges between the slick of her folds. Beth’s nails bite the skin on the underside of his wrist, and her stomach squirms pleasantly at his sharp intake of breath. She would die before admitting it, but the way he makes her feel, strong as steel, the exact fucking opposite of the good little porcelain doll she’s been her entire life—it’s intoxicating. She wants to drown in it, in him.

Rio crooks his fingers, hitting an angle that makes her writhe. His thumb knuckles softly against her clit, and Beth can feel the tension coiling in her belly already, everything shrinking at the edges. His breath is coming faster now, jagged like the edge of a knife, and she could come just like this, but it’s not enough. Her entire body draws taut like a bowstring at the memory of his cock inside of her, filling her up—

Beth rocks forward, rucking her dress up around her thighs as she brackets her knees around him. He tilts his pelvis to meet her, pulling his fingers out, and the sound of protest she starts to make sticks in her throat as the movement grinds her against the hard ridge of his erection. Her blood sings, hazy-hot desire jolting up the column of her spine.

Beth’s hand darts to his pants, grasping at the zipper. Rio laughs softly, both palms sliding around her ass. “I know you’re in a hurry, but damn, baby.” He squeezes, the pads of his fingers kneading into her. “I ain’t a piece of meat.”

“Shut up,” she grits between her teeth.

Rio tsks, head tilting to one side. “Manners, Elizabeth.” His hands splay, fingers caging her hips. His face is inches from hers, so close that she sees the spaces between his lashes, feels his breath when he exhales. He dips his head, mouth ghosting her clavicle. “What would those PTA bitches say,” he murmurs, each word like a brand against her skin. “Huh? You think you’re just like ‘em, but here you are, down in the shit. Rollin’ around in it.” His lips drift higher, to the hollow of her throat. “Think you’re so much better than ‘em, than me. But you ain’t.”

Anger and arousal flush through her in equal parts. He’s always known how to say to rile her up, burrow under her skin like a splinter. She can’t dislodge him, no matter how hard she tries. And the thing is, he’s not wrong. Down in the muck and the shadows, she knows who she is.

He’s shining a light on all her dirty laundry, but Beth isn’t here for that. She doesn’t owe him anything, much less the truth.

So she does the only thing that will shut him up—hooks a hand under his chin, and brings her mouth crashing down to his.

It’s not soft, and she doesn’t want it to be. They trade kisses like punches—she bites his lower lip, and in retaliation his tongue thrusts into her mouth. Her hands are everywhere; sliding around the nape of his neck, curved like claws at his jawline, pressed to his jugular. One of Rio’s hands skates up her sternum, yanking her dress and bra aside so he can tweak a nipple between his fingers. The other hand fumbles with his pants, shucking them down his thighs.

She feels when his cock springs free. He jerks his hips, and Beth gasps as the tip rubs against her cunt.

Rio snags her lower lip between his teeth, biting just hard enough to sting. “You want it?” he rasps, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He brushes her entrance again, but he pulls away slightly as she cants toward him. He’s playing with her, making her work for what she wants. Making her beg. It’s what he’s always done—why should this be any different?

Fuck that. She’s gonna take what she wants.

Beth pulls at her panties so hard she hears the fabric tear. It was a nice pair, expensive, but in this moment she couldn’t give less of a fuck. She pushes against him, swirling around the head of his cock, and she feels a pinch of triumph when he hisses through his teeth.

“You want bossy?” she says, and she almost doesn’t recognize her own voice. “Fuck me. Now.”

She locks eyes with him as he pushes inside, so she sees the moment he breaks. His jaw goes slack, his lower lip plush and jutting out in a way that’s so him, so familiar it makes her chest ache.

She’s dipping into her feelings, too close for comfort. Beth shifts her weight, pushing herself up on her knees before sinking down onto him again, and the pressure in her chest evaporates. He feels so goddamn good, stretching her out the way she remembers. Filling her up, no room for anything else.

Rio thrusts into her, sheathing his cock to the hilt, and the guttural cry that rips from her throat is entirely involuntary. She bears down on him, grinding her hips in a frenetic circle, and then he’s pumping into her harder, fucking her in earnest. The wet slap of skin on skin fills her office, punctuated by the lewd noises each of them is making.

“That’s it, ma, that’s—fuck—” Rio groans. He’s grabbing her waist so hard she’s sure she’ll have bruises tomorrow, but she doesn’t care. All she cares about is chasing the warmth that’s building in the pit of her stomach.

Beth braces her arms on his shoulders and surges up on her knees. His cock slams up into her, right against her clit, and she’s so fucking close, she can almost taste it on her tongue. He rams into her, again and again, and his thumb slips between them, circling just the right spot—

Her orgasm hits like lightning, blinding heat and static. She throws her head back in a wordless cry as all the air swoops from her lungs. She can’t breathe. She can’t—anything. She can’t remember the last time she came this hard.

(Yes, she can. It was in that fucking bathroom, his breath hot on her neck and his name stuck on her tongue).

Rio is still hard, still pumping into her, his arms solid like a wall around her. He’s the only thing holding her up. She’s still coming down, but already she can feel the embers stirring again, stoked by his nails digging half-moons into her torso, his cock inside her.

Will she ever have her fill of him?

“Desk,” she pants, jutting her chin.

His hips stutter, and his brow creases with confusion for a nanosecond before he gets it. In one swift motion, he hooks her legs around him and pivots them so that she’s on her back on the desk. Beth can vaguely feel something digging into her lumbar—a pen, maybe—but she’s too boneless to care.

Rio props himself on his forearms, framing her face. His pupils are blown wide like dinner plates, his chest heaving with how hard he’s breathing. “You cheated, mama,” he pants, fucking into her so hard that something goes crashing from her desk to the floor. “Didn’t—wait for me.”

“C’mon, then,” she breathes, digging the heels of her pumps into his back to urge him on. His eyes flash, and he ruts into her once, twice—

He spills into her with a choked-off grunt, his entire lean frame quivering.

For several moments, the only sound is the two of them breathing. The sun has dipped low in the sky outside, casting long shadows across his face. It makes him look like one of those abstract paintings, something that’s not quite real.

Beth knows what’s real. She suspects that he does, too.

But none of that matters. This will play out the same way it always does—the dust will settle, and they’ll both go back to pretending. Beth thinks they could fill up an ocean with all of the things they aren’t saying to each other.

She could do it. She could break the dam, open her mouth and ask the words that are a thorn inside her, the words she buries deep so he can’t use them against her.

What is this? What are we? Do you feel the same way I do?

What now, her heartbeat says, pounding a cadence against her ribs. What now what now what now—

Rio rolls off her, tucking himself back into his pants. She feels the loss of physical contact like a sucker punch, and it takes every ounce of restraint she has not to reach for him. For a moment, she just lies there, eyes to the ceiling as she wills her jackhammer pulse to settle.

When she pushes herself up from the desk, he’s already halfway to the door. “You got a good gig goin’ here,” he says jerking his head at the sales floor, but his double meaning is transparent as glass. You got a good thing goin’ with me. His eyes dart to hers. “Try not to screw it up, yeah?”

“Speak for yourself,” Beth snarls, and she’s all iron again, tucking away everything soft and vulnerable. 

His lips twitch. “You should wear red more,” he says, deliberately looking her up and down. Even from this distance, his gaze sears against her skin. “It suits you.”

Then he’s gone.

[laurazepamwrites]

The Chemicals between us ~ Chapter 13

 After their visit to Pix Elle, Mei and Angela had tried the other addresses of the missing omnics without further luck. One had refused to let them in at all and the other address was abandoned altogether, the premises ransacked of what little possessions left. The only thing to remain was the strange Omnic graffiti again. After this Angela insisted on some downtime to collect their thoughts by going to the fashion museum then feeling inspired by this, went shopping for ‘just one new pair of shoes and a dress.’ The boot of the car now loaded with a number of high end bags, they made their way to the bustling Port of Calais to find answers at Hubs most recent place of work. Seagulls screamed overhead and the salt in the air was strong. Huge cruise ships and cargo containers lined the docks. They parked close by and followed the signs for the shipping and logistics companies further along. Mei looked around as they walked past surly looking men, huge cranes unloading steel containers and security droids scanning for anything illegal. She caught sight of a sketchy looking Omnic in shabby clothes who stopped to give her and her companion a look of suspicion. Mei glanced away quickly and kept her eyes peeled for the Global freight logo. Luckily she did not need to search far.

 ‘Hey hey hey you ladies cant be down here!” A large man wearing a hi vis jacket and hardhat shouted across to them in a french accent. “Cruise ships are on the other side! Bloody tourists..”

 “Is this Global Freight?” Angela asked, ignoring him.

 “You health and safety? You're not due to next wednesday.”

   “My name Is Amander Muller and this is Lin Chang, we’re looking for Hub 0.5. We understand he works here?”

 “You police?”

 “Non monsieur, we’re journalists for the Connexion. Might I know your name?”

 He scratched his stubble of a beard and looked them both up and down. “Too pretty to be pigs I guess..names Vic Dubrand. I'm the foreman here. Now why are you after that rust bucket Hub?”

 “He may help us with a report we are working on but have unable to locate him. Even his wife hasn't seen him for days.” Said Angela.

 “You think I have? Look lady, Hub came to work as usual then never shows up again. Far as i'm concerned he don't work for me no more. Already got a bot to replace him.”

 “How was he? When you last saw him?” Mei asked

 Dubrand smirked at her. “Its an Omnic sweetheart, you think they have feelings or bad days like we do? He comes to work, does what hes programmed to, goes home. Ah mind you, he did argue with some other bots down by the old containers last week. I think they were some layabouts with no jobs causing trouble.”

 Mei and Angela exchanged glances. “When was this?” Angela asked.

 “Dunno exactly, about two days before he disappears.”

 “Did you see the Omnics he argued with again?”

 “Non, they just come by, paint their stupid propaganda and leave. Hub scrubbed most of it off.”

 “Where's the container?”

 Dubrand turned and vaguely gestured behind him. “Somewhere over there, I don't give a shit about what Omnics get up to as long as they know their place. Not much else to tell you.” He adjusted his hard hat and began walking back to his site office. “You get hit with a falling container not my fault!” He added before shutting the door.

 “Charming man..” Mei said bitterly.

 It only took them a couple of minutes to find the container Dubrand mentioned. It had been scrubbed hard to dispose of the spray paint but the strange code was just about visible. It was the same they had found at nearly every site an Omnic had disappeared. “This cant be a coincidence can it?” Asked Mei, kneeling down to run her fingers over the paint which flaked off at her touch.

 “Its certainly suspicious, but keep in mind there are posters and art everywhere for pro and anti Omnic. This could just be the latest one..see? look over there, there's a sticker that says ‘Humans cant be trusted.’”

 “I think you're right, but I'm going to send Athena a picture of this code just in case.” Mei replied, taking her camera out and taking a few snaps.

 Angela looked at her watch. “Good idea..we should head back, not much else to do until the rally tomorrow.”

 They headed back along the docks and to the street where they had left the car. As they walked Mei noticed Angela glance around behind them. “Act normal Mei and walk straight past the car.” Mei frowned up at her. “Whats wrong?”

 “We’re being followed. Look ahead and stay calm.”

 Mei did as she was told and resisted the urge to look behind her, she had no idea who was following them or how far behind but she was glad Angela had experienced enough to know they were in potential danger. She followed Angelas lead and soon the doctor led them to an alleyway. Angela pulled Mei behind her and took out her gun, aiming it at the entrance then at the head of their stalker who turned into the alley seconds later.

 “Whoa whoa whoa! Lady, that's a bit much!”  The shabby, rust speckled Omnic Mei noticed at the docks threw his hands up in surrender.

 Angela kept her pistol well aimed. “Who are you and what do you want?”

 “Sal! My names Sal, short for Shipping analysis lo-”

 “What do you want!” Snapped Angela.

 “Gee are you always this cranky? Can you put the gun down? it's making me      very    nervous.”

 Angela narrowed her eyes at the strange Omnic and lowered her weapon but kept a firm grip on it. “Talk.”

 “I heard you, back at the docks? You said you're looking for Hub..I know him.”

 “You're not the only one so why follow us? What do you know?” Asked Angela.

 “Know you’re not reporters. Old Sal here knows the media cares not for me and mine unless its something bad. You think they care if we go missing? If I had a mouth I'd spit!”

 Angela began to raise her gun again. “If you have no viable information than..”

 “I saw Hub get taken!” Sal exclaimed, cowering slightly. “He..he saw some strange omnics graffiting at the docks. He told them to clear off but they just stood there, Hub didn't move either! I couldn't understand what they were saying, we Omnics speak to each other in Omnicode but I couldn't understand this. It was like another language but Hub.. he understood. He let them go. I tried to talk to him after but he was acting weird..said he needed to ‘wake up’. Then Dubrand shouts at us to get back to work but I followed Hub home that night. I was worried..I watched him walk to the front of his apartment and the same image was there, he just stares at it and looked like he was waiting for something.”

 “Did you try to talk to him at all?” Mei asked, feeling slightly unnerved by Sals story.

 “I shouted his name and was about to go to him but a car comes round the corner, black windows. I couldn't see who was driving. Hub he..he just gets in! I think they saw me. They didn't drive away until I left. I can't go to the police, they don't care and then you ladies show up!”

 “Can you read the code on the painting?” Mei showed him the picture she took at the docks but Sal just shook his head. “Nothing Ive seen before. We Omnics all speak the same code, its how we communicate. Its how the defected had such an upper hand in the war. But this? This is just gibberish!”

 Angela holstered her gun. “Sal, I think you need to come with us. From what you have seen I think you may be in danger.”

 Sal shook his head and back off. “No thanks lady, still don't trust you. You could be the bad guys for all i know..oh I think I made a mistake talking to you. See Sal you just need to keep ya head down and shut up. That's what Dubrand always told ya..Ol Hub is probably just fine.” He backed up to the end of the alley and briskly walked away muttering to himself.  Mei looked from Sal to Angela. “Do we follow him?”

 “It would draw too much attention trying to force a twitchy Omnic like that in the car, besides we need to get this information to the Commander as soon as possible. Has Athena come back with any results?”

 Mei checked her phone for any contact. “No, not yet.”

 “Lets go. We’ll head back to the hotel and write up what we know so far, this isn't good Mei. I dread to think what this could all mean.”

                          -----------------------------------------------------------

 Ana and Satya watched each other intensely, waiting for the other to make their move. Satyas gauntlet glowed as she prepared to manipulate a cube of hard light between her fingers and Ana had her sleep dart aimed at her heart.

 “Ill ask again..what are you doing?” Satya asked coldly.

 “Would you believe me if i said i was the cleaning lady?” Ana smirked.

 “You kill a vishkar employee and you make jokes?”

 Ana tutted. “Oh shes not dead, just asleep. You are welcome to join her unless you power down that glove of yours.”

 “You think to challenge me?” Satya scoffed. “Do you know who I am.”

 “Yes my dear I know who you are. I wonder if you do.”

 The question confused Satya and the lack of focus showed in the hardlight that quivered in her hand. Ana saw the lapse in concentration, she could have shot her there and then, wipe Satya’s computer and leave the way she came, but she decided not to. Instead she placed her sleep dart at her feet, kicked it away from her and raised her hands, all the while smiling at Satya. As quickly as the sleep dart had fallen still on the spotless carpet had hardlight binds wrapped around Anas wrists. Ana looked down at the near transparent, crystal blue solid light. It was hard not to admire the craftsmanship behind it.

 “Well you caught me, and what will you do now I wonder?” Ana cheerfully asked. “Call security? Police? Maybe you and I can have a little chat before you do that?”

 “Silence! Before I bind your mouth too.”

 “A pity my dear, wouldn't you like to hear what an old Overwatch Captain has to say?”

 The binds flickered for a split second but Satya held firm. She could not keep this up for longer. Focusing hardlight was incredibly difficult which made Architects highly valuable. Soon she would need to make the decision to call security, drag her there herself or release her and talk. She had surrendered after all and the curiosity over this womans strange actions were dulling her focus.

 “Who are you?” She eventually asked.

 “My name is Captain Ana Amari. I am not here to hurt you or anyone else Satya. I'm trying to prevent that from happening to anyone.”

 “Why have you come here?”

 “Because Vishkar are potentially a threat, and you are much easier to get to then Mr Korpal. I wonder dear..do you know who you work for?”

 The binds cracked and loosened before solidifying once again. “How dare you.” Satya breathed hard. “Vishkar is building a better future for humanity, we have built home for the displaced, we-!”

 “Impose martial law to control people? My dear you are not unintelligent, did you ever stop to think what Vishkar was doing was unethical?”

 “We...I..I just want to make a better world.”

 Ana smiled sympathetically at her. “So do we Satya, but i don't think you’ll get the world you want by being Sanjay's puppet.”

 The binds disappeared completely in specks of light that glinted as they fell. A bead of sweat ran down Satyas face. “I owe him everything.” she said weakly.

 “No dear, i think you owe yourself that credit.” Ana said, pulling the microchip from the computer. She handed it to Satya. “Take it. I don't think what I am looking for is here after all.”

 Satya took it from her cautiously. Ana fished in her bag and pulled out a small notepad and quickly jotted down something, tore the page out and gave it to Satya.

 “This is my personal number, listen to your gut feeling and you call me when you really want to change the world.” Satya stared at it, plagued by questions and her head swimming with confusion. She opened her mouth to ask Ana more but instead a soft “      Oh!”    escaped her lips as she felt a quick sharp prick on her arm. Looking down she saw a tiny dart sticking in her skin like a small insect, she felt woozy.

 “Im sorry Satya but I really must be going.” Ana said sincerely, like she had stopped by for a visit with an old friend. She gently took the Architect's unresisting arm and sat her down on the sofa. Ana brushed a loose strand of her behind her ear. “Nxt time you see Sanjay..ask him. Ask him about Talon. Soon you will understand.”

 Satya mouthed silent words, unable to speak, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. She heard the door to her office shut softly, the      ding    of the elevator as it arrived on its floor. She slumped softly onto her side.

 “Am I a puppet?” She thought before falling asleep.

                     ------------------------------------------------------------

 Mei tossed and turned in the hotel bed, struggling to sleep. It was more frustrating here, she was on a mission and needed to be rested. As soon as they returned from their strange meeting with the Omnic named Sal, Angela had called back to base and updated Morrison on their investigation. He was concerned with their findings and warned them to be cautious and to find out what they could at the rally. She looked at the time on her phone. It was almost two in the morning. Feeling the insomnia defeat her for now she opened up her messages to check for the millionth time if she had any feedback from Athena. As she expected there was none, but something did catch her attention. Athena had set up a private network for the occupants of the Gibraltar base to stay in contact when out in the field or on opposite ends of the building. Mei occasionally checked it for messages, usually very late at night. Most of the time she noticed Junkrat was also awake at stupid o clock in the morning, just like he was tonight. Mei considered messaging him but what would she say? Her first thought was ‘Haha turns out this mission was a lot bigger than you thought.’ But that wasn't very becoming of her, she thought maybe she could just say hi, but she felt awkward doing even that. Especially if he poked fun or even ignored her. Still, she did wonder why he was up so late and so often. Angela mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over, Mei yawned and decided it was time to try and sleep again before she got herself annoyed again over the Junker. Still, he did prove to be a good distraction as Mei was soundly asleep a short time later.

 Mei woke up before her alarm the following morning, she had quietly slipped out of bed, washed and changed before heading down to the breakfast bar alone. She kept checking her phone, no update from anyone back at base. Mei took note of the time, It was nearly eight in the morning, another ten hours to go before they were due at the extraction site. She mulled over what they had found out from yesterday's leads and kept coming back to the strange conversation with Sal. Who were the Omnics who spoke to Hub? Had he really just left with them on his own accord? And what about the strange code on the graffiti? Did it connect to the strange language Hub apparently used? Mei had begun to wonder how much of Sal’s story was even credible. She jumped slightly as a coffee mug was placed on the table, jolting her from her thoughts. “Sleep well?” Angela asked brightly, sitting opposite Mei.

 “I think so, how about you?”

 “Hmm the pillows were too soft.” Angela complained, massaging the back of her neck. “Still, the mattress is a lot better than my one back at base.” Mei smiled in response and absent mindedly pulled apart the croissant in front of her.

 “Nervous?” Angela asked.

 “I guess? I'm worried how the rally will go. They start off with good intentions..but you know how some get.”

 “If that happens we leave as quickly as possible. We’re not in a position for combat and we can't give ourselves away. Just stay with me and we’ll be fine.” She gave Mei a reassuring smile which Mei returned, the anxiety still gnawing away at her. They finished up their breakfast and headed back to the room to start packing their belongings. Mei trying to coax an angry snowball to go into sleep mode and to be placed in a large duffel bag again and Angela delicately placing her new clothes into her luggage with as little creasing as possible. It was past ten in the morning when they checked out and loaded the car with their suitcases. They planned to be at the rally location by midday to get a good spot for surveillance so had spent some time wandering the streets and had a light lunch at a local cafe near to the square where the rally was to be held. As midday approached they headed to the square, it was already filling with people and omnics alike. Some held placards with pro omnic slogans whilst others opted for banners and flags. The atmosphere was jovial as music began to play as sound checks were being made on stage. Angea and Mei inched further forward,opting to be close to the stage and the large marquee next to it which Mei assumed was for the organizers and guests.

 “Over here Mei.” Said Angela, signalling to a free space by the metal crowd control barriers. “So now we wait.” She said, leaning on the barrier. “Chances are nothing will happen so may as well try to enjoy ourselves. There's a band playing after the speeches.”

 “I’m not sticking around so you can have a dance.”

 “You’ve really lost your sense of fun.”

 “We’re working!”

 “We’re blending in, go on - shout something pro Omnic!”

 “Angela I really don't want to draw attention to my-Owww!” Mei whined and covered her ears as Angela winced, most of the crowd copied their behavior and complained loudly as the speakers on stage blasted a high pitch feedback.

 “Désolé! Je suis désolé! Sorry everyone!” An omnic rushed to the mic to apologize for the noise. “Bad soundcheck but we’re almost ready to begin!”

 “Huh, earlier than expected.” Noted Angela as she looked at her phone which had started to vibrate. “Hello? Jack?” Angela answered her phone and looked confused. “Hello?” She looked at her phone and pressed the screen. “Weird.” She said, hanging up. “Maybe he called by mistake.”

 “What do you mean?” Mei asked.

 “I couldn't hear him, just strange noises..maybe there's a bad signal here.”

 “Maybe..” Mei hoped it was something that simple, looking around she noticed some omnics still recovering from the harsh feedback noise. Some were shaking their heads, others looked rather dazed. It must affect them more than humans. “What if he was calling about the code?” She asked Angela. The Doctor was already on it and had her phone pressed to her ear. “No..nothing.” She said hanging up. “Can you try?” But Mei had the same result, she even tried Winston and Reinhardt, stranger still was that she had full signal on her phone. Out of the corner of her eye she saw an Omnic stumble on the spot..her anxiety started to flare up and she barely heard the announcement on stage. She heard the crowd cheering louder and she glanced up at the stage, her eyes widening.

 “Angela..its Liberte..!” But Angela was fully aware the presumed missing Omnic had made a sudden appearance. The crowd cheered as the artist came on stage. “Maybe it was personal reasons after all.” She looked up at Angela who was frowning at the Omnic, “What is it?” Mei asked, following her gaze. Liberte had reached the microphone and simply stood there, not greeting his audience, not saying a word. The cheering had died down and there was awkward laughter and mutterings from the crowd. “Maybe this is a live art piece!” Mei overheard someone say.

 Liberte stood silent a minute more then very slowly his head began to raise, it jerked to the side suddenly as if he just got shocked. He began to speak. “Brothers, sisters. What a sad sight you are before me..” The crowd murmured, confusion rippling among them. “We have been victims from the day we were born from our Mother Omniums into this ravaged planet. We have been made scapegoats to Mankind's own failures. We have been murdered, mutilated and made into slaves by our oppressors!” Mei looked through the crowd, some were nodding their heads in agreement, others looking nervous. Some humans had already begun to leave, she saw some of the Omnics affected by the high pitch noise from earlier and felt her stomach knot. They stood completely still, heads down, no glow to their eyes. As if they were sleeping. “Angela…?” She said nervously.

 “We’re leaving. Nice and easy and keep calm” The doctor said, taking Mei’s arm and turning her around. As they began to push back through the crowd Liberte continued to speak. “You traitors that slave under human rule.” His head jerked violently, his eyes flashed. “You cowards that live in fear of flesh and blood! We are the stronger race!” Liberte screamed and jerked.       “    We are the cure! -      Jerk-    We will rise from the ashes of our dead and the bones of our oppressors!”

 The crowd was getting stirred up as humans and Omnics alike tried to leave, there were shouts for Liberte to leave the stage and a bottle was even thrown at him, the glass smashing on stage yet he did not even flinch, shouts for uprising, shouts for a new crisis. Scuffling broke out nearby in the crowd and one of the sleeping Omnics was shoved hard, falling to the ground. Mei looked back and hesitated. “Angela wait!” She shouted, making her decision and rushing back to the fallen Omnic. She crouched by him and shook him but there was no light in his eyes and he made no movement. “Leave him Mei!” Angela grabbed her and half dragged her upwards on to her feet. She had her phone pressed to her ear again. “Dammit!” She shouted, still getting no signal to contact base. “This was planned! We need to get out of here before a riot happens.”

 “Liberte! Angela look at Liberte!”

 Liberte was jerking more violently, his eyes flashing from blue to red, he gripped the microphone stand to support himself and a burst of sparks flew from circuits on his neck. “The eye is lost but the eye will open! It's time to wake up.” A final jerk and his eyes went dead and his head slumped forward, mirroring the ‘sleeping’ Omnics standing like sentinels in the panicking crowd. Slowly his eyes glowed red and he raised his head, a strange sound erupting from the speakers. High pitched noises of different frequencies almost sounding like a song as it pulsated from the speakers. It took a few seconds for Mei to realize Liberte was making the noise. “Wha..What is that?”

 The strange noise stopped and Liberte began to laugh as oil started to drip from his red glowing eyes, his omnic mouth and from joints in his body. “The eye is opening!” He screamed as his body jerked and crackled from exploding circuits within him as he slumped forward and fell from the stage.

 “We need to get to him! Mei, head to the barriers.” They went back on themselves, finding it much harder as the crowd pushed back against them as they tried to leave. More projectiles were being thrown and the atmosphere increasingly heated. Mei saw the fallen omnic on the ground, his metal fingers twitching, she barely registered him this time, she was scared and felt incredibly exposed. Angelas hand on her shoulder was the only thing keeping her grounded as her small frame was shoved and pushed by those around her. She gasped and ducked as something smashed against a wall close by. The shouting was getting too much..she could hear sirens blaring and getting closer. “Keep going, almost there.” Angela said. Fuelled by adrenaline they reached the barriers, Angela vaulting herself over them and reaching back to help pull Mei over. She felt instantly safer with the barriers between them and the increasingly angry crowd. As she caught her breath she spotted Liberte sprawled on the ground below the stage, Angela was already rushing to him.

 “Liberte? What happened? Who did this to you?”

 His eyes had gone back to their normal blue, he was gasping like his body was in pain. “Where-am-I?”

 “Sshh It's ok, its ok. We’re gonna help you, we’re getting you out of here.”

 Mei’s head snapped to the crowd as the shouting suddenly began to change pitch to frightened screaming. More pockets of fighting were breaking out and others had started to rush the barriers, she backed up against the stage, broken glass cracking under her feet.

 Liberte gasped and reached up, pulling at Angela's shirt. He rasped and gurgled. It was an awful sound, an awful sight, as the oil bubbled as it leaked from him like blood. His eyes began to flicker and dull. His voice crackled as he tried to speak. “The-They are-c-c-calling.”

 “Who? Who's calling? Liberte..? Liberte!?” Angela shook him but his eyes were now dull. He was dead.

 “Angela! Behind you!”

 Angela felt something claw viciously at her back, She scrambled up, half stumbled over libertes dead body and fell against the stage, spinning herself she aimed her pistol and fired. One of the ‘sleeping’ Omnics fell heavily to the ground, a smoking hole between its eyes. Angela and Mei looked on in horror as the omnics that stood silent were now very much animated and attacking whatever was near them, their eyes glowing red. Mei watched as the one she tried to help had risen from the ground and was viciously attacking someone. She felt sick.

 “Mei! Down there!” Angela pulled her along after her, pistol in hand, towards a small side street lined with boutique shops and cafes that had closed for the rally. The graffiti with the strange code was hastily painted on one of the shutters, wet paint dripping down the metal. Mei looked over her shoulder as she ran and faltered, stopping in her tracks as people ran past her to escape.

 “Hub..?”

 It was him. The gentle looking omnic from the photograph with Pix Elle, he staggered down the street towards her, swiping and grabbing at anyone that came near, a spatter of crimson blood across his metal face.

 Angela fired and shot a red eyed omnic that had burst from an adjourning street, it crashed to the ground, its eyes slowly burning out. ‘      How many are there!?’    Thought Angela. ‘      Is the whole city affected?’    An omnic pushed past her and she aimed her pistol, it raised its hands and cowered before her, its eyes blue. She lowered her weapon and the omnic continued to run. ‘      Only certain ones    ?’ Close by a shop window smashed and she heard more sirens and shouting back towards the square, the combat medic in her urged her to return and help the wounded but with no valkyrie suit or medical supplies what use could she be? No, get to extraction. Just keep moving. “Mei keep going, I’ll cover you!..Mei?”      She was here, she was next to me!”    . “Mei?!” Angela screamed, desperately trying to see her through the rush of panic and terror.

 Hub shambled slowly towards Mei, his head jerking as Libertes did and he was struggling to stand. Whatever was causing this seemed short lived. The omnic weakly grabbed at anything that got to close as they ran past but his grip was too weak. Mei winced as he stumbled and fell to his knees, a lone drip of oil running from his eye and blending with the blood. Mei crouched down slowly, picking up an empty bottle left in the street and tentatively stepped forward.

 “Hub..?” She said gently and took a step forward. “Hub, my name is Mei..I..I know your wife. Pix Elle?”

 Hub stayed motionless, he remained on his knees and seemed fixated on the slow      drip drip drip    of oil as it fell to the ground. His head jerked at the mention of his wife's name.

 “I don't know what's happening to you Hub.” Mei took another step forward. “But I know it's not your fault.”

     Drip drip drip  

 “Its ok..we can help you.” Another step.

     Drip drip drip  

 “We can find Pix Elle. We can try and stop this..”

     Drip drip drip  

 Mei was close to him, he was ignoring everyone that rushed by now, she was sure he could hear her, understand her. She knelt in front of him.

 “I know you’re in there Hub..I know you don't want to do this. None of you do..im so sorry this has happened..”

 He slowly raised his head, oil now leaking from all eyes. He looked like he was crying. “Pix..Pix..Pix.” His head jerked with each word.

 “We’ll find her ok? Lets find her.” Mei smiled warmly at him and slowly held her hand out. Hub looked at it and his eyes started to flash back to blue. “I..I..”

 “It's ok Hub..” She said softly.

 “I..”

 She could hear the low hum of engines overheard and the crowds were getting thinner, maybe the French authorities were taking control of the situation. Close by a window smashed, Mei flinched at the sound and Hubs eyes flashed to red, He snapped his head at Mei.

 “Hub      no    !” Mei fell backwards as he launched at her, she scrambled back desperately as he clawed at her legs, his metal digits painfully scratching her, Mei kicked him hard in the face, one of his eyes cracking from the force. She struggled back and attempted to stand but Hub snatched her ankle and pulled her down roughly, the side of her head hitting the pavement as she fell. Mei gasped in pain and instantly felt nauseous and her vision blurred, she was barely aware that she was screaming. She thrashed viciously and felt his grip weaken, using the opportunity to pull herself up more before she smashed the bottle down on his head with all her strength, his grip slackened and finally he let go. Whether she killed him or not she did not know, her mind race and before she knew it she was half running half feeling her way away from the Omnic. “Angela!” She tried to scream, her voice feeling hoarse. “      Angela!”  

 But she was too disoriented, she had no idea how far she had run and no idea where she was now. She felt people running by, the ringing in her ears adding to the confusion. Someone tried grabbing her wrist and shouted but without her glasses she couldn't tell if it was someone trying to help or harm her, she wrenched her arm free and ran once again but she was feeling more sick by the second, she stumbled on something and she reached to steady herself, feeling cool brick wall beneath her fingertips. Mei involuntarily leant against it and slid to the ground, catching her breath and fighting the urge to vomit. She was sure she heard her name over the distortion in her head, but the world was too blurry to make sense of, her glasses cracked and useless. The throbbing in her head was intense. She tried to sit up but the pain made her feel more nauseous. Over the ringing noise she heard her name being shouted again but maybe she imagined it. Mei blinked trying to focus, something was in her eye, she blinked again, It was wet and red and hot. Mei gave a startled cry, squeezing her eyes shut and tried once again to move, her body feeling like lead, panic bubbling in her stomach and chest growing tight as her mind began to catch up on what was happening. She needed to find Angela. With effort she braced her arm against the wall and attempted to push herself up, ignoring the urge to throw up and the pain pulsing through her skull. Suddenly hands were on her pushing her firmly back down, Mei yelled in alarm and lashed out, her fist connecting hard with whoever was in front her.

 “Ow! Fucks sake woman, you wanna be left here?”

 Her hair was sticking to the blood on her face as it began to dry. “J-Junkrat?”

 “...Gotta keep still ok Mei, dunno how bad you are. Just focus on yer breathing before shock gets to ya alrite?” He gave her arms a reassuring squeeze.

 Mei gave a small whimper in reply, trying to touch the bleeding wound on her head. Jamison grabbed her hand and held onto it.

 ‘Nope, no ya dont wanna touch that ok. Trust me it's not that bad, just a lil nick.’ He reassured her.

 Tears now joined the blood streaming down her face as her choked on a sob. “I can't..I can't see”

 “Yeaahhhh...ya glasses wanna bit o’ glue i won't lie. But don't worry about that kay? Lets just get you moving.”  He reached up to his communicator. “Yeah hi, whoever's listening I found Frosty- I mean Mei! Mei! I found Mei..yeah she's ok, bit of blood. Maybe concussed to fuck...Uh huh..yeah..yeeaah..ok bored now bye!” He reached into one of the leather wallets on his belt and pulled out some gauze. “Sorry this might hurt.” He said, pressing the gauze against the wound.

 “Ahh!” Mei squealed in pain.

 “Told ya. Keep it pressed on coz we gotta move, Jesus Christ what the fuck happened here?” He crouched next to her, hooking an arm around her as she gingerly placed hers around his shoulders. “Ok on three..three-!” He vaulted her up onto her feet with ease but the sudden movement threatened her stomach and her head felt like it was about to split.

 “Ahhhoowww oww owww! Why did you do that?” Mei whined loudly.

 “Your up aren't ya? I don't fancy hanging around! Fucking hell you are      tiny!”  

 “Can someone else come get me?” Mei whimpered.

 “Ok down you go.” Junkrat replied bluntly as he began to lower her.

 “No no no no!” Mei clung on to him in panic, her nails sharply digging into him.

 “Yeah that's what I thought...”

[moonstruckbucky]

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Summary: Something dark has found its way to Hawkins.

Pairing: Demon!Billy Hargrove x fem!Reader

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT, 18+, dubcon, a teensy bit of blood play, dark!Billy. Please, for the love of god, don’t read this if you’re under 18.

Notes: Well, obviously the newest trailer/ALL OF SEASON 3 has rekindled my thirst for Billy and so of course, I had to get back to writing him. This is my first time writing anything like this. I want to branch out, go dark, all that fun shit. This is going to be a dark!Billy fic, as in, it probably won’t be a fun time for everyone, so read at your own risk. This is 2k words of pure filth. Enjoy, kiddos! x

You feel it as vividly as the scalding water on your skin. A change in the air of Hawkins. Something heavy has settled in the formerly quiet town, something kind of like the mess Hawkins Lab created last year. And yet, it’s different. More chilling, more foreboding. Your growing paranoia glances to the ugly floral curtains in the bathroom, rustled just barely by the open window. The sound of the shower is tuned out as you watch the darkness creep up, laying a dark blanket over the town.

You finish your routine as quickly as you dare without slipping. A towel around your body, hair dripping on the carpet behind you as you scurry to your bedroom. You bypass your parents room and peek your head in; they’re sitting up in bed together, the glow of the television reflected across their faces. They seem unperturbed by the sudden shift. You exhale shakily, and it draws your mother’s gaze.

Brows furrowed, “Everything all right, sweetie?”

“Mm-mhm,” you mutter, distracted for the moment by a faint, indescribable sound. “Just wanted to-to say goodnight.”

Your mother smiles softly. “Goodnight sweetheart.”

You miss the look of concern on her face as you turn away, shut yourself up in your room. The towel drops to the floor and is replaced by a t-shirt, one of Billy’s, and a pair of cotton shorts. Eyes to the window. It’s too warm to close it but, you’re nervous by this feeling of foreboding in your gut. The window closes with a muted thud.

You kick your blankets to the end of the bed, keep the top sheet tucked up tight under your chin. Bottom lip bitten raw, a tremble in your fingers as you curl them around the sheets. A quick glance to the phone has you itching to call Billy, risk your parents’ wrath because you could use some reassurance right now that you’re not going crazy with this feeling.

But you resist. Neil hates it when you call past eight—well, he hates when you call, period, but before eight has less of a risk of Billy getting hurt. So you sink down into your pillows and bury your nose in Billy’s t-shirt, eyes closing as you distract yourself with his smell. Despite the loudness in your mind, the creeping paranoia, you fall asleep.

Billy isn’t at work the next day when you stop by in the afternoon, and the feeling hasn’t gone away. Heather gives you a snippy reply that he hasn’t shown up, and you try to keep the irritation out of your expression. Billy’s ex isn’t the most pleasant towards you.

It puts you at a loss as to where he could be if not at work. A drive by his house, the movie theater, the local diner, yields no results. Until you see his car, damaged and parked sideways, in the lot of the old steel mill. Heart in your throat, you squeal to a stop next to the Camaro.

“Billy?” you call as you get out, survey the damage of his car. The windshield is spiderwebbed, the driver’s side door dented as if something collided with it. Something heavy.

That feeling in your gut only grows as your worry does, and you call for Billy again. You do a full lap around the car before you look to the mill. It stands tall, dark, like a sentinel keeping guard. You swallow heavily but press forward. The phone in the booth outside hangs by its cord off the hook, the operator replaying her recorded message.

It’s horrifyingly chilling, the abandoned phone, but no more so than the dark dampness inside the mill. Inside, the air is cold, a bite to it that shouldn’t be found in the middle of the summer in Indiana. Yet it’s here, and it clings to your heart, grip icy as it flows out through your veins.

“Billy?” Your voice echoes in the empty space, and you’re reminded of a horror movie you watched once. You’re breaking paramount rules, but all that clouds your mind is finding Billy.

As you step foot onto the main floor, your breath expels in visible puffs, and a figure looms in your peripheral. Startling, you gasp and jump, hand to your chest before Billy’s familiar silhouette makes itself known.

“Jesus, Billy, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Your voice is breathy, afraid, and your breathing catches when Billy steps into what little light shines through the musty windows.

Something’s wrong. His gaze is vacant, posture rigid yet careless at the same time. He looks unharmed, except for a small scrape on his temple.

“Billy?” you question, fear in your voice. He’s behaving oddly, eyes glassed over as if he doesn’t see you.

Until he does, and he grins, and it’s feral.

“Hello baby.” His voice is different, deeper, and despite the chill to it, the danger, it brings goosebumps to your skin as it rolls over you.

“Billy, are you okay? I saw the car.” The overwhelming urge to step closer to him is too great to ignore, but you wish you’d resisted when Billy’s eyes come into focus.

They’re ringed in black veins that wriggle and stretch across the whites of his perfectly blue eyes. You inhale sharply, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt as you resist reaching out to him.

“Billy, what’s going on? Your eyes....”

“We’ve been waiting for you, baby,” he says, and he takes a prowling step forward. Instinct has you taking one backwards. In the faint lighting a muscle in his jaw jumps as he grits his teeth. “Why are you running from me, baby? Don’t push us away...”

He backs you into a wall, the concrete frigid against your back, and you tremble. The look in his eyes is possessed, unbridled, primal. Despite the fright you’re feeling, there’s an underlying heat just beneath it, sparking and catching low in your belly. Your face warms with shame at the realization and Billy seems to pick up on, a lascivious smirk curling his lips.

“We can smell you, baby. You want this, don’t you?” He crowds your space, denim-clad hips pinning yours to the concrete. His arms, which you now notice are streaked with black, rise to cage you in. The black rivers ripple under his skin, and you tremble as he ducks his head, runs his nose along your pulse points.

It’s hammering away, and you know he can feel it. Hell, he can probably hear it. Your breath rattles in your lungs as he presses forward, licks a stripe up the side of your neck that shouldn’t feel as good as it does given the circumstances. Yet it still turns your legs to jelly.

“We can smell your fear,” he whispers darkly, voice trailing off as he punctuates his words with a slow roll of his hips. Your responding whimper is choked, unwanted, but it has Billy smirking against the side of your neck. “You smell so enticing.”

Despite the coldness of your heart, your body is on fire when he runs one of those tainted hands up underneath your shirt. His skin is ice cold to the touch and momentarily it breaks up the fog in your brain. Your hands brace on his chest, attempt to push him away, but he stands firm like a tree, and his chuckle is laced with dark promise.

It’s both thrilling and terrifying, and you’re not sure which one is more powerful.

He tilts his head down, nose to your neck, hot tongue tracing over your racing pulse. He hums appreciatively. Hands settle on your waist, duck under the waist of your jeans, pry the button open. Yours fly to his wrists but your grip is weak; the clenching of your core as Billy’s eyes are swallowed by lustful black keeps you from prying his hands away.

You yelp as Billy’s teeth pierce the skin of your neck, face heating in shame as it sends a hot wetness between your legs. Of their own volition your hips cant forward against his, and a growl, definitely not human, rumbles in his throat. It sets your teeth on edge, sends an icy shiver down your spine, yet you yield to him when he kisses you dirty, tongue and teeth and blood. Your mouth fills with iron as Billy’s tongue laps at the wet cavern of it, still grumbling in his throat.

Without warning he hoists you up by your thighs, the cement cold and rough where your shirt rides up in the back. You wriggle in his arms, a poor attempt to get your feet back on the floor, but he’s strong. Too strong, and he knows it. He grins, dark and mean and sinister. His mouth is harsh and biting as it claims yours again, those hands diving for the button on your jeans.

“Billy,” you whimper, the blur of tears in your eyes blending him in a mishmash of watercolor. “Billy, please, don’t do this.”

It’s such a conflicting thing to say, because even as you try to fight the heat under your skin, he just brings it to the surface again. He works quickly to shuck your jeans, and then his hands are there, oh god and it’s like you’re burning from the inside out. He chuckles again when he feels how utterly wet you are, dips his fingers between your folds, and pulls them free to show you.

“Are you really sure about that, sweetheart?” There’s a deeper undertone to his voice, and the black veins under his skin seem to pulse with life.

He frees himself from his jeans, long, thick, purple-red tip swollen and leaking. It should sicken you that he’s turned on by this, but only a small, quiet part in your brain is rationalizing. The other side is feeling raw, needy, primal, and all you want is the slow drag of his cock inside you.

He sees the neediness, the lust, in your eyes and he grins again. Billy pushes your panties to the side, thrusts his hips so that his hot, hard length glides along your lips and catches on your clit. He’s velvet over hot steel, and the stretch when he fills you pulls a ragged moan from your throat.

Billy doesn’t wait. He sheathes himself to the hilt, relishing in the sharp gasp at the burn as your walls stretch and clench around him. And he moves. Brutally hard and deep, knocking you into the wall on each thrust. It isn’t gentle, or loving, or tantalizing in any way, especially when he brushes your hair back and sinks in his teeth so hard he draws blood.

The tears blurring your vision have tipped over, both in fear and in complete euphoria. He’s vicious, pounding into you so hard it punches the breath from your lungs. You’re inconsolable, hands grappling to grab something, anything, as he fucks you into oblivion. You kind of hate yourself, but at the same time, you’re far too fucked out to care at the moment.

His voice is different when he leans over you and growls, “God, you’re so pretty like this.”

It doesn’t register, not completely, and all thought flies out the window when he reaches between you to pinch your clit, hard, making you scream into the empty warehouse. It echoes, reverberation bringing goosebumps to your arms as you tighten your fists in Billy’s shirt.

There’ll be bruises tomorrow where his hip bones are slamming into your ass, where his fingernails break the skin on your outer thighs. It’s overwhelming, the assault of his fingers on your clit, the beating your cunt is taking from his cock. His thrusts shove keening whines from your throat on the upstroke, and a particularly harsh grind of his pelvis on your clit has you coming apart against him. Voice hoarse and choked as you cry out your release.

Billy’s not far behind, and once he’s emptied inside you with a snarl, with astonishing strength he lifts you higher, attaches his mouth to your heat to lap up your juices and his. He’s merciless, tongue delving deep inside you to curl up against that place that sends you shooting off into another orgasm. You can’t even cry out, your voice stolen from your lungs. He sucks you dry, lands a harsh bite to your inner thigh as you sag against the wall.

You’re trembling, the shame finally washing over you, as Billy all but drops you to the floor. The concrete rough on your ass, tiny pebbles digging little indents. You can’t help but sob now, the realization of what had just occurred hitting you full force. Billy fixes himself, tucks his softening cock back in his jeans.

He tilts his head, peers down at you as those black veins move again. An impact tremor shakes the building, something moves in the shadows beyond Billy.

“I wish it hadn’t come to this, sweetheart,” he says, that deep overlay in his voice again, “but it’s what he wants.”

A frigidness comes over you when the shadows move, one massive, muscled limb stepping into the dim lighting in the warehouse. Billy backs up a few steps, giving you a full look at the monster as it edges closer. You can’t even scream, rendered stock-still by your fright as the monster growls, shows off rows and rows of jagged teeth. It has no eyes with which to see you, but see you, it does.

It ducks down, eye-level with you, and just as your scream is clawing up your throat, everything goes dark.

[ninzied]

another kind of goodbye

for @carry-the-sky. happy birthday, my friend! have a little post-cancellation kastle fic.

It’s three months, give or take, when Frank lets himself think about her again. Really think about her. Not in the passing kind of way, where he’s walking down some street and sees a bouquet of gardenias, like the kind he’d almost gotten her instead of the roses that day. Or when he’s sipping on coffee, and Karen’s face flashes like a mirage at him across the cheap Formica table – blonde hair almost white under the shit diner lighting, but those eyes still so blue as she told him he would never lie to her.

So – okay, so he thinks about her. He thinks about her.

(He wonders if she—)

Frank eventually makes his way back to the city again, after. Another day, another job. Madani thinks he’s meant for something greater than this – than picking off these scum-of-the-earth kinds of assholes that litter the streets of a place like New York.

He can’t believe that he was meant for greater, but. Sometimes, he does wonder. If a part of him – whatever part of him that’s not still buried deep down in the ground with his family – was meant to come back here. To walk these streets and feel the pull of her, always, even when that’s all he can afford to feel.

He tells himself that has to be enough.

He’s been laying low, since his return. Coughed up some cash for a three-hundred-square-footer in Brooklyn, but he crosses the bridge to the city most days, maybe even finds his way to Hell’s Kitchen from time to time too. It’s risky, he knows. If Murdock catches wind of him, they’d be lucky to walk away from each other in one piece. And Karen…

There’d be a different kind of hell to pay, if Karen ever found out.

His phone gives a single buzz in his pocket as he’s hunkering his way down 47th, and he stops in his tracks, nearly colliding with an elderly woman in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Excuse me!” she says in a shrill voice, bag clutched tight to her chest.

“Apologies, ma’am,” he nods as she makes a show of putting as much distance between them as possible, and then he fishes his phone out, hesitating for one absurd moment before glancing down at the screen.

Back in town yet, Castle?

He barks out a laugh. Chrissakes, Madani.

His phone buzzes again.

I have a job for you, if you’re still interested.

“Still,” mutters Frank, with a scoffing shake of his head. He thinks he admires her perseverance, but Madani’s gotta know she’s only wasting her breath.

He cuts south down 10th, toward Lincoln Tunnel. It’s a brisk day, and the wind on his face feels sharper than usual, considering he hasn’t bled much there in a while. He jams his hands deeper into his pockets, ignoring the insistent drone of Madani’s follow-up call.

He’s got a date with a park bench on the wrong side of town, and if he closes his eyes, he can pretend it’s the same bridge overlooking the water, and when he opens them again Karen’ll be there, waiting for him.

…

His closest call comes with, of all people, the lawyer. Not Red – the other one. Franklin Nelson.

Frank’s emerging with coffee two storefronts down just as another door opens, and he’s cursing himself for not seeing the signs when out tumbles Nelson with his back turned, adjusting his tie against the wind.

“Foggy bear, wait!” someone else is laughing, and a blonde lady steps out to chase after him, slinging a purse over her shoulder and reaching with her other hand to link around his elbow.

“I told him this was gonna make me late for work,” grumbles Nelson, but without any heat to the words. “Dad’s surprise party isn’t until tomorrow, don’t know why this couldn’t have waited – oh, crap, I forgot I told Karen I’d pick up some coffee—”

Nelson’s about-facing sharply, girlfriend following closely behind. He doesn’t appear to notice Frank crouched down in a corner by the 7-Eleven, hood obscuring half his face as he trains his eyes on the ground by their feet. The girl unearths some coins from her bag as they pass, clinking them onto the lid of Frank’s coffee cup without seeming to hear his low mutter of thanks.

He’s leapt up the moment he hears the door latch shut, brushing the coins into his palm as he goes.

He leaves them with a guy camped out by the train stop, a dog lifting her head from their blankets to blink sleepy eyes up at Frank, and he walks away harder, takes the steps two at a time and wishes – God he wishes—

…

Another text from Madani.

He shuts his phone off. Goes back to retrieve it ten seconds later from the trash can that he’d dumped it in, wiping it down and scowling as her message pops up on the screen.

Castle – offer still stands, FYI.

“You should call her back,” advises a man huddled down by the newsstands next to him. His face is like leather, worn down and weathered with age, with living. “Apologize for whatever it is that you did, so you don’t end up out here like me.”

“Already there,” Frank tells him, turning the phone over and over in his hand. Madani’s message lights up again each time, flashing and flashing until he sees it like a burn through his retinas even when the phone’s no longer facing him.

“Damn. That’s a damn shame.” The guy shifts, scratching at a spot on his back. “Maybe shouldn’t’ve stayed away from her for so long.”

Frank shakes his head, uttering a short, incredulous laugh. “Well, maybe I got my reasons, yeah? You think about that?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” shrugs the guy. “Does she think they’re any good? These reasons of yours?”

Frank turns away, jaw working furiously.

“Yeah.” The guy shouldn’t have any right to sound as smug as he does, and yet. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

…

He’s got no place in coming here. He knows it. He knows it, but he thinks it was always meant to be this way, him circling back around to her, even after everything that he’s done to push her away. Maybe a part of him had never left. And the rest is just – there, hovering right at the edge of some sharp realization, that he could try to be whole again if he simply took that first step. And a part of Karen must at least sense that. It’s why she’d never really given up on him, before.

It doesn’t change how I feel about you.

Frank wonders if she’d forgive him this time. If he’d even want her to.

It wouldn’t be anything close to what he deserves, that’s for goddamn sure.

He gazes up at her fire escape, counts the number of steps it would take just to be able to reach that bottom rung from his vantage point across the street. Her shades are drawn, the lines of them blurred out in the dim orange light. On one corner of the windowsill, wedged up against the glass, there’s a small stack of books. On the other, a vase. From this angle, the shadows folded into the fabric of her curtains look almost like flower stems.

Frank squints, and the stems disappear.

…

There’s about a week in between, where he feels himself inching closer to something, each time he drops by her block. He never goes farther than the patch of sidewalk across from her building, but it’s getting harder not to just careen over the ledge.

More than anything, he wishes he knew, in those moments obscured in half-darkness, whether he’s come to look for that after she’d spoke of, or if he’s come to say goodbye.

Then, one day he spots flowers in her window, for the first time since—

(They’re pale white against the cream of her curtains, their stems dark slivers of green, and he imagines them pricking the pad of his thumb, drawing up a spot of blood.)

Frank takes a deep breath.

…

She doesn’t look surprised to see him when she opens the door, swinging it back two-thirds of the way before stopping. Her lips are pressed tightly together, like there’s too much to say, or maybe there’s things that she can’t, either way he can’t read her and he thinks she’s never terrified him more.

Frank drops his gaze, mouth moving soundlessly until the words grind their way out. “How’d you know I was here, Karen?”

He’s not sure what kind of answer he’s expecting. That Nelson had grown a real pair of eyes, or that Red had managed to ferret him out of his lurking somehow. Or maybe Karen really just hadn’t known at all, and those flowers were never for him.

What Karen says instead is, “Dinah and I grab a beer together, sometimes.”

“That right?” he asks, trying to lay out an image of this in his mind. It sits strangely there, stumping him for a moment, and some of his bewilderment must show on his face because Karen’s mouth almost turns up in a smile before flattening again.

She leans away from the doorjamb, waving her hand in a worn-looking gesture before letting it drop to her side. “Besides, you…haven’t exactly been subtle, in your haunting of Hell’s Kitchen.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, other than a gruff, “’S’what dead men do, Karen,” as she folds her arms and sighs at him.

“You sure you’re not just losing your touch, Frank?” She steps into the doorway, whether to move closer to him or to block him out of her apartment, he can’t tell. “Or was it because you wanted me to know but couldn’t tell me to my face?”

His eyes snap up to hers, twitching slightly under the sharp weight of her gaze. He shakes his head, wishing he could just ask her, What do you want from me, Karen? but they’re long past that now, and if he can’t find his own way to answer her, then.

God, he really doesn’t deserve this woman.

“I think I—” He shifts his body and tries again. “I think I needed to figure some things out. Karen. I was waiting 'til I felt like I was ready, and I don’t think I’ll ever be that.” But I’m here, he wants to say, but I’m here.

“Yeah.” Karen’s nodding, hair falling into her face, and she brushes it back, resting her chin in her palm for a moment. “I know that, Frank.” All of the fight in her seems to have ebbed slowly back, and he resists the urge to reach out and shake the storm back into motion, to make her understand she doesn’t get to let him off the hook so easy.

The look she gives him now is softer, but he knows. Fight’s not done. May never be done. And he knows this because he knows he’ll never stop fighting for her.

She’s stepped back into the door, letting it swing open further. She doesn’t invite him in, but she’s quirked an eyebrow up at him, biting her lip with another deep sigh and a shake of her head.

“You, uh.” Frank glances back and forth at their surroundings, doesn’t quite meet her eye. Tries to lighten his tone through the gruffness as he asks her, “So, you wanted to see me?”

Her voice is soft, forbearing, with a hint of gentle knowing behind it. “You didn’t?”

She’s holding back the clear start of a smile from him this time, and Frank. Christ. It’s taking everything in him not to step toward her, to—

Karen tilts her chin at him, the motion loosening another wave of blonde hair, and he can’t remember anymore why he was trying so hard to stand back from all this. He’s moving, swaying forward until she’s just an arm’s length away, and there’s something almost teasing about the way she relaxes her shoulder into the door as she watches him.

“You back to kill some people, Frank?”

He feels a corner of his mouth turn up. This girl. He licks his lips, lets out a quiet sort of laugh. “That was the plan, yeah.”

Karen gazes up at him, unblinking. “Have you?”

“I was—” Frank has to look away for a moment, finally turning back when he can. His eyes are steady, boring into hers, voice low and full with meaning. “I was. Working on it.”

Karen nods. Doesn’t speak for long seconds, and he measures them out in heartbeats, chest tightening hard enough it feels like it might break when she asks him, very carefully, “Still?”

Frank steps closer, close enough to feel the way her breath shakes with a small sigh, how her body moves away from the door to meet him.

His hand is inches from hers, but he doesn’t reach for her. Not yet.

She waits, gaze searching. He gives the barest shake of his head, and a single word, gravel-filled, a promise. “No.”

Something cracks open in her expression, and it means everything to him, her head ducking away as though she can’t have him looking too closely at the way she's biting back that smile of hers, and he thinks – he thinks he wants to make her do it again, and again, for as long as she will have him.

“Would you like to come in, Frank?”

He takes her hand in his this time, feeling the pull of her as he steps across the threshold, door shutting firmly behind them, and it feels like coming home.

[klancin-with-myself]

shut your mouth and let my body talk

Summary: They all have their ways of decompressing from the stresses of the universe. Keith's vice just so happens to keep Pidge in a state of blissful contentment.

Rating: Explicit

keith eats pidge’s pussy.

read here or on AO3.

It had taken five years in space for Keith to find his outlet. His teammates - his family - had found theirs long ago. Some of them had never been made to find them, like Lance; yoga could be done anywhere, at any time. Oftentimes, the blue paladin would retreat to his room or the observation deck and spend hours contorting his body into all kinds of positions that had Keith wondering if Lance would disable his joints at will. Hunk channeled his emotions into either baking or meticulously ripping apart any mechanical thing he came across, figuring out what made it run, and then putting it back together with a higher functionality than what he found it with. 

Shiro had taken to reading. Pidge had invented an overlay that could be placed over the Altean novels, translating the words into any Terran language. Shiro didn’t even bother trying to hide how giddy he was to be able to read a book again, and frequently holed himself up in the castleship’s library, curling up in a squashy chair and reading for hours on end, a content smile on his face. 

Pidge’s escapes tended to shift. She hadn’t done much relaxing before she’d found Matt. She’d always been working on some new algorithm to find him, or on some new upgrade for the Green Lion. After being reunited with Matt, she relaxed considerably, playing video games with him, building things, working on the other lions (while remembering to sleep adequately, because even Pidge wasn’t immune to Matt’s weaponized puppy eyes).

At first, Keith’s only respite from the new, harsh reality he’d been thrust into was training. Methodically destroying the training droids (Allura gave him hell for it, but was secretly pleased when Pidge and Hunk rebuilt them into something more challenging), running laps, honing his skills. At first, it had been enough.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

When he finally settled on something, it ended up shifting the dynamic of how the rest of the team spent their down time. Not drastically, of course. Not in any way that meant that the others couldn’t do what they wanted. They just had to, maybe, stay away from the general vicinity of Keith’s bedroom. Or put ear plugs in.

Keith’s mental retreat was more of a vice. 

More than a vice, it was an addiction. 

He craved it. Became temperamental without it. Begged if he were denied it. Consumed it like a man starved, let it consume him like a wave of lava rolling down the slope of a volcano. 

It had the side effect of once again shifting Pidge’s outlet. Shaped it from an outlet into a release, a spout, a fountain. Shaped indents into her thighs where his head fit perfectly into as she clamped down around him. Shaped the back of her neck into an arch as she let her body fly from the bed as Keith indulged. 

He supposed he should feel a little guilty. The one escape he found that allowed the weight of the universe to melt away also involved pulling Pidge away from the things that she wanted to do. (They’d tried it, once, while she was working - she’d burned herself with a soldering iron and spent the rest of the day with a weird Altean gel pack strapped to her hand.) She’d reassured him, however, multiple times, that having her mind go numb and white and fuzzy at the edges was incredibly therapeutic, and had often led to further breakthroughs with her projects. All he had to do was glance at her, heat in his eyes, a quick tongue on his lip, and she would let him lead her away. 

And that’s exactly what he’d done today. He found her in the lounge, lazily typing away on her laptop. She wore one of his t-shirts, loose on her slender frame, and a pair of long shorts that stopped just below her knees. She was barefoot, her toes wriggling or scrunching up every so often as her brilliant mind worked through whatever she was trying to figure out. Keith stood by the door, arms folded, watching her fingers fly over the keys, smirking at the way her brow crinkled and smoothed. He stepped into the lounge after another moment of soaking in the wild mess of her hair, which hadn’t changed much in five years. Pidge’s eyes flicked up at the sound of his footsteps, and a smirk formed on her own lips, her typing slowing down subconsciously. 

Keith knelt down, his knee resting on the back of the inset couch, and when Pidge looked up at him, he pushed a hand into her hair and pulled their lips together roughly, allowing the kiss to fall tender as she opened up to him. His kiss was a question as much as it was a greeting, a request and a plea, and an expression of the emotions he was so bad at giving words to. Pidge lifted her hands from her laptop, grasping his wrist and cupping his jaw, kissing him back with equal amounts of fervor. She wasn’t so great with words either, and Keith loved her all the more for it. When he finally pulled back, his breath was heavy and damp and needy, and Pidge huffed a laugh against his lips.

“Yeah, okay,” she agreed softly. 

She’d never told him no, never sent him away, and yet his relief every time was a cool wave washing over him and soothing away his anxiety. She slid her laptop off her legs and slipped her small hand into his, and he pulled her up to her feet easily. She moved fluidly, stepping up onto the floor and into his arms in one easy motion. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lowered his lips to hers again, wishing not for the first time that he could simply toss her down and take her here on the couch, the walk to his room seeming unbearable in its distance. Pidge hummed against his mouth, her lips curving into a smirk as she pressed her body against his and felt his growing erection pressing against her abdomen through their clothes. She broke the kiss with a nip to his lower lip, drawing in a sharp breath through her nose.

“You shaved. Like, ten minutes ago,” she said, mildly accusatory. Keith cocked a smirk at her, his eyes glimmering with amusement. 

“I can be sweet,” he murmured, rubbing his smooth cheek against hers. Pidge chuckled, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. 

“Fucking sap,” she said. Keith rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, let’s go.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against the shell of her ear, tongue darting out to curl around it, winning him a hiss of pleasure. “I’m hungry.”

Pidge made a noise, half indignant and half aroused, and Keith grinned at her, his eyes crinkling in barely concealed delight. He squeezed her hand and drew her backward, leading her down to his bedroom. 

He barely resisted the urge to cram the two of them into a utility closet as they passed it, though he did fail at resisting the tempting heat of her mouth, pressing her against a wall more than once, hiking her legs up and grinding against her core as his tongue plundered her mouth, a taste of what he’d be doing to other orifices very soon. Pidge indulged him, her laughter each time cutting off in a groan as his kiss sent shockwaves down her body, lighting her arousal on fire and driving her patience away. Pidge was growling into his mouth, hands fisted in his shirt, shoving him back toward his door when they finally reached it. One of Keith’s hands flew back to smack the control panel, sending the door sliding open and them stumbling in. She took care of closing the door, leaning back against it to catch her breath as Keith stared at her with a predatory look in his violet eyes, panting harshly. Smirking at him, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, dragging them down her hips, revealing slim thighs -

Keith snarled, hands shooting out to grip her hips to hold her still. Pidge continued to smirk up at him, devious little shit that she was, and he touched his forehead to hers with a groan. His hands gripped the sides of her neck gently, and he kissed her, rough and wet and brief. He fell to his knees and he dragged his hands slowly down her body, palms pressing into her sides. His thumbs brushed across her breasts, and of course she wasn’t wearing a bra. Did underthings not exist in her wardrobe anymore? He groaned, burying his face into her hard stomach. His hands continued their trek down her body, squeezing her hips, scratching down her thighs. He pressed his palms down her legs, prickly with unshaven hair, kissing just below her navel, reverent and soft. He resisted the urge to tickle her ankles, drawing his hands back upward, his thumbs leading inward. He groaned again, cursing under his breath.

Her arousal shone on her thighs, shiny and slick and quickly driving away Keith’s threadbare self control. He grasped her left leg and hoisted it up, resting her foot on the little table by his door and baring her cunt to him. He leaned in, kissing her mons and reveling in the full body shudder that coursed through her. Her folds were slick and only open from her leg being spread so far. He kissed her a little lower, and she canted her hips forward. It could have been a demand, but they both knew it for what it really was - encouragement, an offering. Beneath all of that, a gentle request for Keith to relax and enjoy himself, to cast off the burden of the universe and simply be a man with human desires and cravings. As his thumbs found her outer labia, gently opening her to him, Keith thought that that was his favourite part about the way they crashed together. That she did all of this for him. That she wanted him to let go and indulge and relax. Wanted him to use her body for his own escape from reality. 

So he treated her like a temple, pressing a devout, sacrilegious kiss to the living statue of her clit, basking in the way she hummed contentedly, rolling her hips forward again. He kissed her again, then rocked back on the balls of his feet and stood, dragging her against him and kissing her soundly. She lifted her arms and rested them on his shoulders as she kissed him back, the curve of a smile never really leaving her lips. Keith’s hands flirted down her body and he gave her pert ass a squeeze, smirking into the kiss as she jolted against him. He bent his knees and adjusted his grip to just below her rear, easily hefting her off her feet and holding her against him. She huffed into his mouth, amused, clamping her legs around his waist and burying her fingers into his soft black hair. 

Keith turned and stepped toward his bed, lowering her down onto it gently. Her legs didn’t release him, loosening only enough to allow him to shift onto the bed and hover over her. Pidge rubbed at his sides with her legs, purposefully dragging his shirt up. He twisted his arms back and yanked the shirt over his head, not missing the damp spot on the front of it where her crotch had pressed against him, and if he breathed in a little deeper while he was dragging the shirt over his head, well, she either didn’t notice or didn’t say anything. He flipped his shirt away from him and fell back onto Pidge’s lips, drawn to her like a magnet, secretly pleased with the way her eyes raked over him before fluttering shut in bliss. Pidge was a fantastic kisser, her edges softening as her tongue slipped against his, and Keith felt like he could kiss her for hours. They did, sometimes. In this moment, that’s not what he wanted. He couldn’t wait anymore, even if he tried, even if he were commanded by Shiro in his best Disappointed Voice. Desire burned brighter than the red of his lion, than the red of his blood. His head was pounding and he knew the only cure for it rested between her legs. 

Keith left her lips, smirking at her shortness of breath. He kissed at her throat and gently squeezed her breasts through the shirt of his that she still wore. He’d leave it on this time, he thought. She looked amazing in it, the way it hung on her slender frame, how it draped to one side to expose her collarbone. It was a good look for her, and the sight of her in his shirt with her legs spread for him would have made him weak in the knees if he hadn’t already been on them. He slid back down, kneeling on the floor, dragging her hips to the edge of the bed. Pidge dutifully draped her thighs over his shoulders, her fingers tightening and relaxing around the bedsheets in anticipation. 

He sat back and settled his eyes on the juncture of her thighs, the lips of her cunt covered in enough slick that it caused even the soft, short hair there to shine. His cock throbbed in his pants as he caught her scent, an intoxicating musk that had his mind reeling. He leaned in, peppering kisses along the insides of her thighs as he went, smiling as she hummed happily. He finally came face to face with her hole, he sighed, his hot breath rolling over her lips. He opened his mouth, pressed the flat of his tongue against her slit, and drew it from her perineum to her clit. Pidge moaned, long and low and satisfied, and Keith’s cock let him know just how attractive that noise was. 

Using both thumbs again, he pried her open, gently easing her lips apart until her tight little gash was exposed to him. Hot, he knew it would be so hot when he touched his tongue to it, and it glistened with slick and twitched with arousal. He groaned, burying his face into her thigh. 

“You’re killing me, Pidge,” he mumbled, nipping at her soft flesh. Before she could so much as hum in response, he sought her hole again, pressing his mouth against her fully, rolling his tongue across her clit and sucking on it gently. She cried out, hands flung out beside her, arching from the bed at his sudden onslaught. He gentled his tongue, curling it around her clit once more before delving lower. His mouth covered her slit completely, tongue working her open, sucking on her folds and soaking his face in her slick. He nudged at her clit with his nose and then pressed his tongue into her passage, effectively burying his face into her cunt. 

She tasted like nothing he could have imagined before, and sweeter than anything he’d had since. Tangy and milky if he delved deep enough, slippery and sweet as it dripped from her folds. If he worked her up enough, it slipped down her thighs like an early morning rainfall, sticking to her thighs and making everything a damp mess that he was all too happy to take responsibility for and clean up. He wanted her musky, heady scent in his nose, wanted her honey smeared across his face like warpaint. Keith could live and die with his mouth on her cunt and never regret a moment of it. She was refreshing even as she left him gasping for a another drink, crawling toward the oasis between her legs. 

He hummed, content to work his mouth so slowly against her slit, sucking on her folds and her clit intermittently, rolling his tongue over her and dipping it in and out. One of his hands crept up her stomach to rest at the base of her ribcage, thrilling at the feeling of her stomach and chest rising and falling at an increasingly rapid pace. His free hand fell to where his mouth was, using two fingers to spread her apart further. They slipped almost immediately, sliding through her juices and settling between her inner and outer labia. Above him, Pidge moaned, canting her hips down and grinding Keith’s mouth against her further. It was his turn to moan, then, tilting his head to the side, not dissimilar to when he kissed her mouth, his tongue flicking rapidly over her clit. She gasped, one of her hands flying up to grasp at the one pressed to her chest. Her fingers curled around his hand, pressing her nails into his palm, and his chest tightened with affection, momentarily pausing to kiss her folds. 

Keith pulled his face back, feeling the cooler air hit the slick on his cheeks and grinning. He moved his fingers up, pinching her clit between them and rolling it, violet eyes trained on her as her back arched off the bed again. She released his hand, grasping at the bedsheets again in a vain attempt at grounding herself. He let his fingers trail down her opening just enough for him to slide them into her slick channel. Pidge whimpered, an open mouth whine that Keith wanted to hear more of. He drew his fingers out and then drove them back in, twisting them as he went. 

“Oh,” she moaned, her voice an octave higher than it normally was. Tight and high sounded good on her, Keith had decided long ago. He slowly pumped his fingers in and out, twisting and curling them, his eyes heavy lidded and his cock painfully hard in his pants at the sounds that spilled from her lips. “Fuck,” she whispered. “Harder.”

He obliged almost immediately, never able to resist any demand she made. He began to piston his fingers in and out of her cunt, his lips descending on her again, tongue fluttering over her clit. Her little gasps and moans grew louder, unhindered and unashamed, having long since lost any care for others hearing her. He pressed his lips around her clit, working his tongue over it at a furious pace. Saliva mixed with her juices, dripping onto the sheets below her hips. His fingers were making the most delightful, obscene noises as they pumped in and out. She was soaked, and with every withdraw of his fingers, a string of clear fluid connected them to her opening, drawing him back in as if it were elastic. Her whimpering grew louder, her breath hitching in her throat. She sat up suddenly, her legs tightening around his head, burying her fingers into his thick black hair. 

“Don’t stop, I--” she demanded, cutting herself off with a guttural moan. She tugged on his hair almost painfully, but it only encouraged him, drove him to shove his fingers in harder, twist them more sharply, agitating her clit with his tongue until she fractured around him, shattering like glass. Her moans reached a fever pitch, loud and sharp as the walls of her cunt clamped down around his fingers. He moaned with her, eyes fluttering shut as he fucked her through her climax with his fingers, the tense and release of her walls drawing his fingers in like the vacuum of space. The sloppy, wet noises only intensified, and the whimpers of the last of Pidge’s orgasm went straight to his dick, which had been pulsing painfully in his pants the entire time. He moaned again, lapping plaintively at her cunt, easing his fingers to a slow drag as she came down from her high. He looked up at her through dark lashes, mouth still on her slit, his eyes narrow in amusement. 

Pidge’s fingers were still buried in his hair, and she dragged him up by it and kissed him breathlessly. Her lips were dry from gasping, open mouthed and out of breath, but his own drenched lips more than made up for it. He pressed his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself in him. He wondered if she found her own fluids as intoxicating as he found them, thought maybe he didn’t want to share this sweet ambrosia even with her. Her legs were still on his shoulders (and her flexibility still kept him sweating) and she gently bumped them into the sides of his head. He opened his eyes and she had him snared again, her brown eyes glimmering with amusement and challenge. 

“Again.” 

It wasn’t a request.

Keith smirked against her lips. “Aren’t rotary phones still a thing?” Her legs tightened around his head and he squeezed the outside of her thighs playfully.

“I haven’t used a rotary phone in ages,” she said. He sunk back to his knees, his eyes not leaving hers as he leaned forward and dipped his tongue into her slit, licking at her fluids. 

“Why not?” he asked coquettishly. 

“I - ah, shit - have you,” she sighed. Keith grinned against her opening, kissing her folds. If his brain weren’t complete jelly later, he’d maybe try to articulate to her just how happy he was that he satisfied her enough that she didn’t feel the need to touch herself anymore. Try to impress to her that she made him feel the exact same way. He’d probably end up stuttering over his words, feeling them catch in his throat and sit there like a half swallowed pill. He was better with his actions, though, so he sealed his mouth over her cunt again, letting every swipe of his tongue tell her what she did to him. Pidge squirmed, crying out and bucking her hips, oversensitive, overstimulated, overwhelmed. Over everything, by the sound of it. Keith savoured every sound she made, every twitch of her body. 

He slid two fingers back into her, and Pidge’s body accepted them easily, squelching noisily in her fluids. He curled his fingers and rotated them, the dirty, wet noises driving him wild. His own neglected cock throbbed in his pants; he thought briefly of releasing himself and wrapping a fist around his aching member, but the thought of deviating any attention away from the writhing, electric goddess in front of him seemed a cardinal sin. Keith suckled at her clit as he worked his fingers in and out of her, his room filling with slick noises and breathy, desperate moans.

“More,” Pidge gasped. He flicked his eyes back up at her - her face was completely obscured, thrown back into the bed, her chest heaving with every breath and whine. Her hands roamed the sheets, grasping and clawing at them, and her thighs shook upon his shoulders. He began to drive his fingers into her more forcefully than before, his knuckles bumping against her pelvic bone, her slick beginning to drip down his wrist. She cried out at the force he applied, and he nearly backed off but for knowing her so well, knowing that the particular noises she was making were only made when she was insensate with pleasure. 

He wanted to put his lips back on her, but with the force he was using on her beautiful little cunt, he found that he had to adjust his angles. He crouched lower, angling his fingers upwards, allowing him to latch back onto her clit and work it feverishly with tongue and teeth and lips. When he began thrusting his fingers in again, resuming his vicious pace, Pidge shouted. She thrashed above him, her small hands grasping at nothing, the muscles in her legs tightening and clenching around his head. 

“God - fuck - yes,” she babbled. “Yes, Keith, fuck.” Groaning loudly, Keith worked at her furiously, his jaw aching beautifully, his wrist borderline cramped, but he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to, not when Pidge was sobbing out above him, when her fluids were sliding down his arm to drip from his elbow. The filthy, sodden noises coming from her cunt began to grow - they doubled, tripled until it sounded like he was was splashing in a tub of water. Pidge made a different noise, sounding nearly alarmed and confused for a brief moment before she cried out again, devastated by another orgasm. 

Clear fluid burst from her cunt when Keith’s fingers withdrew; too shocked to stop, he pressed them back in and when he drew them back again, more fluid cascaded out of her, arcing over his fingers. He dipped his mouth back down to her, groaning, his eyelids shutting as jets of fluid spouted from her cunt and splashed across his face. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and with each pulse of her come on his face, each flutter of her inner walls around his fingers, his cock throbbed in his pants. His hips oscillated, thrusting against nothing. Pidge cried out, her voice hoarse and cracked, and another wave of come poured from her cunt like holy water over a sinner. Keith caught it in his mouth with a vulgar, sordid groan. He swallowed quickly and that incredible, clear nectar might as well have been liquid fire. Every pleasure receptor in his body lit up like she’d struck him with her bayard, and he cursed as she squirted on him again. He groaned loudly, his own hips thrusting, his cock pulsing and suddenly he was coming, untouched in his jeans. His thrusting fingers faltered as his abdomen clenched, and he sucked on her clit desperately. 

The last weak spurt of her fluids trickled down his arm, and she whimpered, her legs trembling violently on his shoulders. His breath came in harsh, ragged pants, and he nuzzled against her inner thigh, smiling tiredly. Keith crawled up her body when he finally figured out how to use the muscles in his legs again. He hovered over her, looking upon her face and falling in love all over again. Her brown eyes were hazy and unfocused, her hair was tangled and wilder than ever from thrashing. Her face and neck were flushed, and if he pulled his shirt down, he’d find her chest splotched with red as well. Her lips were swollen from having bitten them, dry from her panting and screaming. He licked his lips and then covered her mouth with his own, kissing her sweetly and letting her taste herself on his tongue. Pidge kissed him lazily, one hand fumbling down to cup his cock. She smirked against his lips when she felt him soft and damp, and he pulled back, flushed and pouting. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, sparky,” she murmured huskily. She grasped his head and kissed him again, surprising him again by finding the strength in her legs to wrap them around his waist, grinding her sodden core into the damp spot on his pants. Keith groaned into her mouth, cradling her face with his still wet hand. He felt his cock stirring again, and his mouth quirked upward in a smirk. Pidge dug her fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp with blunt nails. She loosened her legs around him and pulled back from the kiss, delight flickering in her eyes once again. 

“Back to work, smart mouth.” 

[devoraakss]

Please, Stay.

you know I had to do it to em

Aveana had a habit of burrowing herself into her books when she was upset. she didn’t remember how long she had been hole dup in the library, trying to forget that fucking smirk on Valerius’ face when he slipped out of Lucio’s quarters. 

she knew they weren’t... exclusive, hell Lucio was fucking married for gods sake... Aveana groans, setting her forehead on the cool desk and letting out a tired sigh.  She had went and invested herself in this fling and now she was paying for it. the painful clench of her heart as she shut her eyes, fighting the growing lump in her throat.  ‘foolish girl’, she thought, ‘you knew this would happen and you still did it anyway.’

The creak of the library doors opening makes her jolt up, quickly wiping at her eyes, erasing the evidence of her feelings before anyone could see.  “Aveana? milady?” the timid voice of one of Lucio's servant spoke up, peeking around the bookshelves.  “Yes?” She says, turning slightly to look at them. the servant straightens a bit, looking... flustered?  “The Count has asked that you be brought to him, milady.” 

Aveana suppresses the sigh that threatens to bubble up from her chest. of course he would, she hadn’t seen him in nearly a week, she suspected he was getting impatient. “of course he did.” is her curt reply, and she turns back to the books on the desk. 

there is a tense silence before the servant speaks again. “He... did not sound like he was keen on waiting.”

Aveana sighs through her nose, shutting the book she was reading. “I will be there as soon as I am finished here, you can tell him that if you must report back to him.” she says, harsher than she meant to but she couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment. 

“Of course, milady. I will let him know.”  she heard the servant skitter off, and she forced herself to sit down in the chair, trying to keep her hands from shaking as the tears burned down her face. She was going to take her sweet time. 

It was nearly nightfall before she made her way to the Count’s wing, by the look on the servants faces Lucio was having one of his temper tantrums.  the sound of shattering glass draws her attention as Julian ducks out of the room, dodging a... bottle? yes, it would seem that Lucio chucked a bottle of wine at the dear doctors head.  the acrid sweet smell of white wine filled her senses as she drew closer, glancing at Julian as she set her hands on her hips. “Rough night?” 

Julian makes a disgruntled noise, straightening out his shirt and picking a pieces of glass from his hair. “an understatement.” he grumbles, glancing back at the doors with disdain, the servants rushing in to clean up the mess, Lucio’s howling echoing down the hallway.  “you here to calm him down? strange how he always seems to listen to you.” Julian says, grey eyes glinting with mischief as he raises a brow.  Aveana keeps her face carefully neutral, offering no response, which makes Julian frown. “I see I wasn’t the only one who had a bad day.”  “I’ll tell you over some wine later. my treat.” she says flatly, watching the servants bustle out of the room. she glides past Julian, slipping into the room silently, her bare feet moving soundlessly as the door clicks shut. 

Lucio is sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace, golden hand glinting menacingly in the firelight as he flexes the metal joints. perfect, he only did that when he wanted to feel important. Lucio hardly lifts his head, likely thinking she was one of the servants.

“Done with your tantrum?” She says, keeping her neutral tone as she folds her arms over her chest. 

Lucio turns his head at the sound of her voice, expression souring further. “as I recall I sent for you hours ago. it’s terribly rude to arrive late.” 

“Cut the shit, Lucio.” She snaps, she was in no mood for his little games. “My, my, Veana, that is certainly no way to speak to your Count.” Lucio purrs, his gaze settling on her hungrily. of course that was why he wanted her here; she was nothing but a good fuck.  “do you require me for something? I do have work to do.” she says, clenching her jaw as she tries to ignore the way his gaze was making her feel. 

“Honestly my dear do I have to spell it out for you?” Lucio says as he stands, striding over to her with all the confidence of a strutting peacock. his metal arm slips around her waist, pulling her closer as his other hand traces her jaw. she resists the urge to lean into his touch, averting her gaze. “I haven’t seen you in so long... I've missed you...” he says, tone almost sickly sweet as his thumb traces her bottom lip. 

it was too much, too much, she couldn’t fucking stand it. he acted like everything was fine and it wasn’t. he was married for gods sake!!  “Just-- stop.” She says, making Lucio freeze. she steps back, taking a steadying breath. “We can’t keep doing this.” her voice came out as a whisper, her stomach twisting in knots. 

“something’s changed.” its not a question. 

She doesn't answer, she doesn’t trust herself. Lucio frowns, tilting his head as he looks at her. “Did something happen? did Nadia--” 

“No. No, Nadia hasn’t said anything...” she answers quickly, though she is certain Nadia already knows the exact nature of their relationship. 

“Then what’s wrong?” Lucio’s voice sounds genuinely worried but she cant bring herself to tell him that she wants more than just a quick fuck. she wants so much more than that...  “I just... I can’t do this anymore... the sneaking around... the lying-- gods, Lucio, Nadia is my friend and you are her husband!” 

“that didn’t stop you before.” Lucio says flatly, leveling her with his steely gaze and calling her bluff. 

Aveana glares at him, anger stirring in her gut as she stares him down. “You are an insufferable--” 

“You love me.”

Aveana chokes on her breath, the words she was about to speak catching in her lungs. it takes a second for the words to register but by then it was too late; he already knew.  Lucios laugh is low and smooth, pulling her back to him once again and holding her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “my dear, did you think I only kept you around as a toy?” 

Aveana doesn’t answer, forcing herself to try to breath. Lucio clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Well then I have failed as a lover.” he sighs, drawing his face closer to hers.  “Perhaps I should show you just how much you mean to me.”